April 7, 2000, wasn’t just another day in Houston—it was the day the Astros turned the page on 35 years of history at the Astrodome and stepped into a bold new chapter at Enron Field, now known as Daikin Park. The air was electric, buzzing with anticipation as fans poured into downtown Houston to witness the Astros’ first official Opening Day in their retro-inspired, state-of-the-art ballpark. For a city that had cheered its team under the Eighth Wonder of the World’s dome for decades, this was a seismic shift—a move from the familiar to the future. And let me tell you, as someone who worked for the Astros back then, it felt like we were all part of something monumental.
A New Home for the Astros
The Astrodome had been iconic, no question. From its opening in 1965 with that exhibition game against the Yankees to the revolutionary Astroturf laid down in 1966, it defined Astros baseball. But by 1999, its time was winding down. The rodeo had moved out, and the dome sat in a kind of limbo, its future unclear. Meanwhile, the Astros were packing up and heading downtown to Enron Field, a ballpark that screamed nostalgia while embracing the modern. Named through a 30-year, $100 million deal with Enron Corporation—Houston’s corporate giant, once called Houston Natural Gas—the park was a symbol of the city’s ambition. Sure, Enron’s name would later fall amid its 2001 scandal, leading to a brief stint as Astros Field in early 2002 before becoming Minute Maid Park in June of that year. But on that spring day in 2000, Enron Field was the pride of Houston.
I got a sneak peek in the summer of 1999, when Bert Pope, our vice president of engineering, invited Astros employees to tour the construction site. We drove from the Astrodome, parked near the right-field gate by Highway 59 and Preston Street, and stepped into a muddy, chaotic work-in-progress. Hard hats on, we followed Bert through a trailer and into the skeleton of the ballpark. It was… small. Shockingly compact compared to the sprawling Astrodome. The Crawford Boxes in left field were just concrete slabs, no seats yet. The upper deck along the left-field and third-base lines was still rebar and steel. The retractable roof, nearly finished but not fully sealed, let the wind whistle through, a high-pitched hum that had folks like Rob Harris in engineering scratching their heads. They worried about the noise but figured sealing the roof would fix it—and it did.
Still, standing there, you could feel the vision taking shape. Enron Field was designed to echo the intimate, quirky ballparks of yesteryear, a stark contrast to the circular, futuristic Astrodome. The limestone arches across the outfield, the arching roofline mimicking a batted ball in flight, and Tal’s Hill in center field—named for team exec Tal Smith, who’d started with the Cincinnati Reds and tossed in the hill idea half-expecting it to be cut—gave it character. At 436 feet, that hill made center field the deepest in baseball, a nod to the old Crosley Field in Cincinnati. It was quirky, unexpected, and pure Astros.
A Fresh Look and a New Vibe
When Enron Field opened for an exhibition game against the Yankees on March 30, 2000, it was like the Astrodome’s grand debut all over again—same opponent, same sense of awe. But April 7, 2000, was the real deal: Opening Day against the Phillies, with the roof open for the first outdoor Astros home game ever. For a franchise renamed from the Colt .45s in 1965 and tied to indoor baseball since, playing on natural grass under an open sky was surreal. Fans marveled at the field, the roof that could slide open or shut in 13 minutes, and the sightlines that felt like a throwback to baseball’s golden age.
The Astros themselves looked different, too. Gone were the rainbow uniforms of the ’70s and ’80s, the navy and orange of the early days, or the midnight blue and gold from 1994 to 1999. On Opening Night, they debuted pinstripes for the first time, rocking brick red (a nod to the 1911 Union Station building attached to the park), black (for the smoke of the old train yard), and sand (for the Texas limestone in the outfield arches). The only Astros logo was a big one above the LED video board in center—no “El Grande” scoreboard yet, no splashy branding like today’s Daikin Park. The forest-green seats, the 1800s-style train chugging along the outfield archway pulling a tender of chopped wood from Europe (don’t ask me why Europe, that’s just what Bert told me), and the limestone arcade gave it a timeless feel. The train’s steam and horn? All special effects, though that horn was so loud early on it drowned out Larry Dierker’s pregame chats with Milo Hamilton. They dialed it down eventually.
One piece of Astrodome magic made the leap: the “Home Run Spectacular.” Digitized for Enron Field’s scoreboard, it brought back the six-shooter cowboys and fire-breathing steers from 1965 to 1988, complete with the original sound effects. The Astrodome’s version was four times bigger, but seeing it return was like reconnecting with an old friend. For fans, it was a bridge between eras.
The Feeling of New
Walking into Enron Field as an employee felt like moving from a cozy middle-class home to a River Oaks mansion. Everything was pristine. The plastic was still on the office chairs. My cubicle on the fourth floor of Union Station? I was the first to sit in that seat, fire up that computer. The smell of fresh paint, new carpet—it was intoxicating. We knew fans were in for something special, too. On April 7, the Phillies won 4-1, but the score didn’t dim the moment. The roof was open, the grass was real, and Houston was in love with its new ballpark.
A Legacy in the Making
That night was just the start. Enron Field, later Minute Maid Park and now Daikin Park, has hosted the 2004 All-Star Game, Super Bowl events, two World Series, and 12 playoff runs. Craig Biggio got his 3,000th hit here in 2007. Four no-hitters have been thrown, compared to the Astrodome’s six over 35 years. Tal’s Hill is gone now, replaced by party decks and social spaces that reflect how baseball’s evolved, but the limestone arches, the train (with oranges instead of wood since 2002), and the retractable roof remain iconic.
Daikin Park is more than a ballpark—it’s Houston’s baseball living room, a place where history and heart collide. From that first muddy tour in ’99 to the roar of the crowd on April 7, 2000, it’s been a journey of pride and possibility. Cheers to the memories we’ve made and the ones still to come at Daikin Park, where Astros baseball continues to shine.
A New Home for the Astros
The Astrodome had been iconic, no question. From its opening in 1965 with that exhibition game against the Yankees to the revolutionary Astroturf laid down in 1966, it defined Astros baseball. But by 1999, its time was winding down. The rodeo had moved out, and the dome sat in a kind of limbo, its future unclear. Meanwhile, the Astros were packing up and heading downtown to Enron Field, a ballpark that screamed nostalgia while embracing the modern. Named through a 30-year, $100 million deal with Enron Corporation—Houston’s corporate giant, once called Houston Natural Gas—the park was a symbol of the city’s ambition. Sure, Enron’s name would later fall amid its 2001 scandal, leading to a brief stint as Astros Field in early 2002 before becoming Minute Maid Park in June of that year. But on that spring day in 2000, Enron Field was the pride of Houston.
I got a sneak peek in the summer of 1999, when Bert Pope, our vice president of engineering, invited Astros employees to tour the construction site. We drove from the Astrodome, parked near the right-field gate by Highway 59 and Preston Street, and stepped into a muddy, chaotic work-in-progress. Hard hats on, we followed Bert through a trailer and into the skeleton of the ballpark. It was… small. Shockingly compact compared to the sprawling Astrodome. The Crawford Boxes in left field were just concrete slabs, no seats yet. The upper deck along the left-field and third-base lines was still rebar and steel. The retractable roof, nearly finished but not fully sealed, let the wind whistle through, a high-pitched hum that had folks like Rob Harris in engineering scratching their heads. They worried about the noise but figured sealing the roof would fix it—and it did.
Still, standing there, you could feel the vision taking shape. Enron Field was designed to echo the intimate, quirky ballparks of yesteryear, a stark contrast to the circular, futuristic Astrodome. The limestone arches across the outfield, the arching roofline mimicking a batted ball in flight, and Tal’s Hill in center field—named for team exec Tal Smith, who’d started with the Cincinnati Reds and tossed in the hill idea half-expecting it to be cut—gave it character. At 436 feet, that hill made center field the deepest in baseball, a nod to the old Crosley Field in Cincinnati. It was quirky, unexpected, and pure Astros.
A Fresh Look and a New Vibe
When Enron Field opened for an exhibition game against the Yankees on March 30, 2000, it was like the Astrodome’s grand debut all over again—same opponent, same sense of awe. But April 7, 2000, was the real deal: Opening Day against the Phillies, with the roof open for the first outdoor Astros home game ever. For a franchise renamed from the Colt .45s in 1965 and tied to indoor baseball since, playing on natural grass under an open sky was surreal. Fans marveled at the field, the roof that could slide open or shut in 13 minutes, and the sightlines that felt like a throwback to baseball’s golden age.
The Astros themselves looked different, too. Gone were the rainbow uniforms of the ’70s and ’80s, the navy and orange of the early days, or the midnight blue and gold from 1994 to 1999. On Opening Night, they debuted pinstripes for the first time, rocking brick red (a nod to the 1911 Union Station building attached to the park), black (for the smoke of the old train yard), and sand (for the Texas limestone in the outfield arches). The only Astros logo was a big one above the LED video board in center—no “El Grande” scoreboard yet, no splashy branding like today’s Daikin Park. The forest-green seats, the 1800s-style train chugging along the outfield archway pulling a tender of chopped wood from Europe (don’t ask me why Europe, that’s just what Bert told me), and the limestone arcade gave it a timeless feel. The train’s steam and horn? All special effects, though that horn was so loud early on it drowned out Larry Dierker’s pregame chats with Milo Hamilton. They dialed it down eventually.
One piece of Astrodome magic made the leap: the “Home Run Spectacular.” Digitized for Enron Field’s scoreboard, it brought back the six-shooter cowboys and fire-breathing steers from 1965 to 1988, complete with the original sound effects. The Astrodome’s version was four times bigger, but seeing it return was like reconnecting with an old friend. For fans, it was a bridge between eras.
The Feeling of New
Walking into Enron Field as an employee felt like moving from a cozy middle-class home to a River Oaks mansion. Everything was pristine. The plastic was still on the office chairs. My cubicle on the fourth floor of Union Station? I was the first to sit in that seat, fire up that computer. The smell of fresh paint, new carpet—it was intoxicating. We knew fans were in for something special, too. On April 7, the Phillies won 4-1, but the score didn’t dim the moment. The roof was open, the grass was real, and Houston was in love with its new ballpark.
A Legacy in the Making
That night was just the start. Enron Field, later Minute Maid Park and now Daikin Park, has hosted the 2004 All-Star Game, Super Bowl events, two World Series, and 12 playoff runs. Craig Biggio got his 3,000th hit here in 2007. Four no-hitters have been thrown, compared to the Astrodome’s six over 35 years. Tal’s Hill is gone now, replaced by party decks and social spaces that reflect how baseball’s evolved, but the limestone arches, the train (with oranges instead of wood since 2002), and the retractable roof remain iconic.
Daikin Park is more than a ballpark—it’s Houston’s baseball living room, a place where history and heart collide. From that first muddy tour in ’99 to the roar of the crowd on April 7, 2000, it’s been a journey of pride and possibility. Cheers to the memories we’ve made and the ones still to come at Daikin Park, where Astros baseball continues to shine.
