Wally on the new place.... ] Cash makes universal engine go November 13, 2006, 10:29 PM EST For the first time in anyone's memory, there were garbage trucks working the pockmarked stretch of 126th Street in Queens that separates the "Iron Triangle" from what will soon be the site of the most exclusive ballpark ever built. There were street sweepers, too, to clear the road of the debris that normally rots there 365 days a year, and a police detail to ensure the limousines a clear path to where the charade would take place -- a dozen ceremonial silver shovels plunged into already broken ground -- signifying the "start" of a project already well under way. "I've been here 56 years and this is the first time they ever cleaned the street," said Daniel Sambucci Sr., owner of an auto salvage company on the wedge of industrial land in Willets Point that sits in the crosshairs of the Mets' new playground. "They finally swept away all the garbage because they're here today," Sambucci said. "They" were Mayor Michael Bloomberg and the lame-duck governor, George Pataki, and deputy mayor Dan Doctoroff, a failure on two fronts -- the West Side Stadium and the 2012 Olympic bid -- assorted lower-level politicians, jock-sniffing bankers and other foofs of all types. None of them could find the No. 7 train without John Rocker as a guide, and since this was a part of New York they would normally never see, Sambucci had hoped to greet their arrival with a flock of area workers bearing homemade placards reading "No Eminent Domain." Instead, he settled for two signs posted on the chain-link fence that faced the ballpark. But the big shots had more important things to do than pay attention to the problems of some auto mechanics. They had come to give thanks, praise and money -- mostly money, fistfuls of it -- to Fred and Jeff Wilpon, architects of the $110-million team that couldn't quite get past the St. Louis Cardinals and into the World Series. All agreed that the Wilpons were great people. Their main virtue, it seemed, was simple: They were slightly less shameless than George Steinbrenner or Woody Johnson, owners of the Yankees and Jets. As Mayor Bloomberg pointed out, "Not once did they threaten to leave New York City." Such loyalty could not go unrewarded. Consequently, according to an April 21 memo by the city's independent budget office, the Wilpons were given $150 million in city subsidies, another $89 million in state subsidies, including exemptions from paying rent and property taxes, a sweetheart deal on the parking revenues, and an end run around a 1986 law prohibiting the use of tax-exempt bonds for the construction of sports facilities that will save them $105 million. Then there's the $20-million annual naming rights fee from Citigroup, which is enough to pay for Carlos Beltran, although perhaps not quite enough to make him swing at a two-strike curveball. There will be a mere 42,500 seats in CitiField, some 12,000 fewer than at rotten old Shea, but who needed $20 seats, anyway? The increased ticket prices and 54 luxury boxes will more than make up the difference. Best of all, every dollar spent at CitiField will go to the Mets and their owners. They will enjoy all the benefits of owning a state-of-the-art stadium while bearing none of the responsibilities of ownership except for maintenance costs. No wonder they love New York so much. Try getting that deal in say, Seattle. And the city expects not a thing in return. According to the IBO, "There is little reason to expect a large gain in local economic activity [from the new ballpark] ... since most of the spending will replace spending that would have occurred at the existing stadium." Or, as IBO chief of staff Douglas Turetsky translated: "People drive to the game, park their cars, and go home. It's not like a ballpark in the middle of the city. Nobody's going to go to dinner in the area or check into a hotel." Still, the land behind the ballpark soon will likely be seized under the state's right of eminent domain, the business owners paid off and evicted, and developers will swoop in to grab 50 suddenly much more valuable acres at the geographical center of the city. "I don't want to leave. I got 60,000 square feet, and anywhere else in the city will cost me $300 a foot," said Sambucci, who unlike the Mets, pays the city $54,000 a year in taxes. "Who can I complain to about that?" Unfortunately for him, the people to see were all across the newly swept street with Fred and Jeff Wilpon, helping them work their master plan: Stick a shovel in the ground today, stick a hand in your pocket tomorrow.