I’ve rediscovered the charms of Fenway Park. Or should I say, I’m discovering them for the first time.
I’ve never been a fan of Fenway. I’ve been to enough Major League parks to see how badly “America’s Most Beloved Ballpark” suffers by comparison. It’s too small, too cramped, too old and too dirty. I got to hate covering Red Sox games because everyone was on top of each other. And that’s after architect Janet Marie Smith did the best she could to bring the park into the 21st century.
But shortly after my retirement, my wife bought a series of tickets for my son and me, and we’re now in our fourth year. We go four times a season.
And I have to say, it’s been quite a revelation. I’ve been seated in parts of the park I didn’t even know existed. I’ve landed in the sky boxes, and just feet from the Carlton Fisk Foul Pole, in the left-field corner. When you combine these with the usual grandstand seats and bleachers, about the only places in the park from which I haven’t watched a game are the Monster Seats.
Earlier this week, I went to two games in a row. My son, Andrew, is a member of Voices of Hope, a theatrical troupe whose shows are performed for the Termeer Center for Targeted Therapies, which is affiliated with Mass General’s center for cancer research.
The VOH group sang both the American and Canadian national anthems Sunday, and my wife Linda and I, along with Andrew, sat in the rooftop boxes and baked in the hot sun.
And I mean baked. It’s Friday and I still cannot take a hot shower without scalding myself.
But it was a beautiful day, brilliantly sunny, and jerk free. Obviously this is not always the case, but I guess the nincompoops stayed home that day.
Because of a back condition, I need a mobility chair for long distances because the issue limits my walking ability. The minute Linda wheeled me into the park (I think she was going to fall over by then) a Red Sox attendant took over and wheeled us to our seats. He couldn’t have been more courteous. It made me feel awful about all the rotten things I’ve said about these people over the years.
The Red Sox have what I like to call Tom Werner-itis. This is because they do little things now that remind you that co-owner Werner, who was absent the day they passed out clues and therefore doesn’t have one, is Mr. Showbiz. Some of that Minor League nonsense is creeping into the game, such as when an opposing batter strikes out, a hideous recorded voice cries out something that sounds like “Woo Woooooo.” It has Werner’s paw prints all over it.
Well, I find it annoying anyway. I imitated it and started doing it when Red Sox players struck out (lots of opportunity to practice). Andrew asked me to please stop, first nicely and then not-so-nicely.
The only fly in the ointment, other than the third-degree sunburn, is the Red Sox lost.
The next night, the Sox bashed Terry “Tito” Francona and the Cincinnati Reds, 13-6. This may have been the most entertaining game of the season. Wilyer Abreu hit an inside-the-park homer and then a grand slam. You don’t see that very often.
Because I’m a baseball fan who can’t help but focus on the game with all the surrounding chaos (a guy in our section proposed to his girlfriend on the jumbotron, for example), I observed two important things. First, if pitcher Garrett Crochet throws a first-pitch strike, nine times out of 10, he gets a relatively quick out. If it’s a ball, the count will go long. Yes, that’s a maxim. I’ve just never seen it so clearly demonstrated.
Second, “Tito” teams don’t quit. The Red Sox scored seven runs in the first inning, yet the Reds made a game of it and hung around until the eighth. Whose bright idea was it to jettison him? It could be their dumbest of too many dumb moves.
This yearly ticket combo has been a wonderful way for Andrew and me to spend quality time together. And right now, when it’s just the two of us, we’re on a 7-0 streak. The Red Sox should pay for our tickets. And thanks to this package, we saw Aaron Judge launch one to Mars, in a game last year the Sox ultimately won.
And thanks to this, I’ll remember Fenway Park as I get older with much more fondness and much less hostility.
