[We would like to thank Tedd Kanakaris (@teddkanakaris) for recapping last night’s show. Tedd is owner of Sandpiper Wealth, an advisory firm named after two great songs. He plays keyboards and tells stories about and for the Phish community on Instagram @teddkanakaris -Ed.]

There’s little Phish fans crave more than a first. A breakout tune. An unusually deep jam. A never-before-played venue. Whether that first is personal—your first “Fluffhead”—or a collective moment shared by 13,000, we live for those thresholds: new chapters written in real time. The band's debut at Forest Hills Stadium had that gravity. This is hallowed ground—once echoing with the grace of tennis legends and the screams of Beatlemania—now poised for our debut.

In the lead-up, anticipation buzzed with a curious mix of reverence and logistics. Could a venue landlocked in Tudor-style urban luxury—and boasting zero parking—deliver a proper Phish experience? Would the lack of a traditional lot dull our tribal pre-show rituals? Would the band tip their hat to Queens in some unexpected way? “Harpua” into something, anything, by the Ramones? As fans traded predictions online and in line, small but delightful details began to fill in the picture: Page McConnell, a secret Mets fan, would throw out the first pitch at Citi Field on Wednesday; Mr. and Mrs. Met would be on site, repping the right borough—but the wrong sport. It was also “Pollock day”, for those lucky enough to secure a print. And with a curfew looming at 10:00 PM sharp, an unusually early 6:00 PM (well, 6:30PM) start time commenced.

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