From the start, it was pure Miami, the most on-brand thing about the South Florida baseball experience. 

Its name is Homer, it’s painted in gaudy neon colors, and when the doors of the Miami Marlins new stadium opened to fans for the first time in the spring of 2012, it didn’t so much sit in left-center field of the vast park as it loomed, a technicolor beast that couldn’t help but draw the eye. As a part of a fresh start for the Marlins – new stadium and new name (from Florida Marlins to Miami Marlins) – it couldn’t help but dominate the view. 

Homer towers 70 feet high, a gargantuan masterpiece that, after every Marlins home run, wheeled around giant marlins and seagulls while flamingos shimmied, bright lights flashing and a water cannon on the side that shot liquid into the heavens like so many celebratory bottles of Dom Perignon in the clubs on Ocean Drive.

If Bill Veeck – the man responsible for the fireworks-spewing scoreboard and the misguided, ill-fated Disco Demolition Night – were still alive, he’d fall onto his knees in Homer’s shadow, weeping in joy at the beauty, the hideous, monstrous beauty of it all. 

No one knew what to make of Homer. Not the fans, not the players, not the critics. And that’s saying something when you consider the then-new stadium also boasted a fish tank with live fish behind home plate. 

Created by renowned American sculpture Red Grooms, Homer was commissioned by the Miami-Dade’s Art in Public Places program for the cost of $2.5 million but paid for by the Marlins as part of their agreement to help finance the new stadium. 

During the years Homer menaced the outfield of what is now called (ahem) LoanDepot Park, chances are the sculpture offered the best entertainment of the night if the Marlins themselves could muster enough offense to set the sculpture spinning. 

The same team that had won (or bought, depending on your point of view) World Series titles in 1997 and 2003 was mired in mediocrity. From 2012 through 2018, the team never finished above .500 even as stars like Giancarlo Stanton, Christian Yelich, JT Realmuto, the late Jose Fernandez and an aging Ichiro Suzuki graced the field. 

(It’s probably worth noting that, at the beginning of the 2013 season, it was discovered that Homer was more expensive than all but 3 players on the Marlins roster at the time.)

But at least there was Homer. Just like the Mets’ Big Apple or Bernie The Brewer’s slide in Milwaukee, Homer was something unique, a part of the Miami experience that set it apart from other stadiums. It was the kind of sports centerpiece that made you stare and say, “Well, that’s certainly something.” 

Homer was perfectly Miami. A blaring fever dream that bridged the gap between reality and mimosa-and-mescaline-fueled weekends along the Miami Beach Boardwalk. It was loud, it was wonderfully absurd, it made no apologies for any of the fun and havoc it caused (often both at the same time), and even the local wildlife loved it. 

Perhaps it was the Marlins’ 2003 World Series win over Derek Jeter and the New York Yankees that eventually sealed Homer’s fate. See, in 2017, maligned owner Jeffrey Loria (who helped bring about the end of Major League Baseball in Montreal) sold the team to a group led by Jeter. 

Homer was widely panned by fans, government officials, and even players. But no one, apparently, despised Homer more than Jeter. 

Maybe it was a thirst for revenge even though Homer didn’t exist when the Marlins shocked the Yankees in 2003. Or maybe Jeter, who spent a career looking sleek and stately in Yankees pinstripes, loathed the psychedelic flair of Homer. It could be he was worried about one those seagulls flying off and crushing a visiting outfielder. 

Or, maybe, just maybe, where the rest of the world saw baseball’s largest tribute to marine life and blinking lights, Derek Jeter saw dollar signs.

But it wasn’t just Jeter. Even Homer was safe from government shenanigans: the sculpture actually belongs to Miami-Dade because of the aforementioned public arts program. But since the then-mayor of Miami hated the sculpture as much as Jeter, the two put their heads together, an anti-fun collaboration that was about selling more seats despite the team’s anemic crowds.

Jeter and the government bigwigs got their wish, despite the pleas of Grooms himself, and agreed to move the sculpture to a location outside the ballpark – despite the original claims by the government that it was “permanent… not movable.” Funny how that works.

So Homer was dismantled and its place was built a new standing-room section that the team could sell tickets for so that fans could gather, drink overpriced beers and cocktails and try to (mostly) ignore the awful play of the home team. 

As for Homer’s fate, it appeared to be in limbo after being removed from the park. But, even if behind schedule, it was eventually resurrected in its new home outside of the stadium for fans to enjoy in Feburary 2020. 

And, in the end, Homer may just have the last laugh. 

The old mayor who hated the sculpture is gone, off to Congress where he can do more damage to our nation than public art. After several years of futility, Jeter announced in early 2022 he was leaving the Marlins. And then those in-stadium aquariums were removed before the beginning of the 2021 season. 

Whether Homer spins at 3:05 pm every day in a nod to Miami’s area code and after Marlins home runs, as was the original plan, I don’t know. 

But, in 2022, just surviving is enough. 

And, a decade later, Homer is a true baseball survivor. 

Feature image from Flickr CC BY 2.0/Jared

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