Fenway Park

Some things on this earth are just magical. To some it may be the beach at sunset, to others it may be as simple as the drive to work in the morning. For me that place is Fenway Park in Boston Massachusetts. Going to a game in Fenway is a smorgasbord of delightful feelings. Even the walk up to the ballpark is some thing to behold. Walking with hundreds of passionate fans, all decked out in their red sox T-shirts, jerseys, and of coarse that iconic navy hat with the red B on it. I feel like I belong there with this organized group of strangers.

There is such a since of family as I see people from the “T” car I was on and chatted with. A few hundred yards ahead I could hear a “Lets Go Red Sox” chant as people around me began to join in it became more enticing to do so myself. After all this was my team, our team, and this was our year! That was the constant attitude of a Sox fan. Just as the team would look like they were primed to make a push for the World Series they would lose in heartbreaking fashion and mostly to the hands of the damn Yankees. As me, my uncle, and my dad approach the park down Yawkey Way, the air is filled with a combination of smells.

As you pass the sports bars the smell of beer and cigar smoke is thick in the air. As you pass a different vendors the smells of nachos and pretzels tempt you, and finally the smell of ”Fenway Franks” (the ball parks signature hot dogs) hit you like a baseball. I’m not just a sports nut but a food fan too, so I enjoy the aromas as they tempt me. The robust scents of sausage and onions fill the air along with smoke from near by grills. As you walk closer and closer to the stadium you are barraged with people shouting “programs.

Get you programs, three dollars out side five inside the park” and scalpers try to sell you “amazing” or “best in the park” tickets. As we near the gates I begin to shuffle in my pocket for my ticket. As I get it out I notice the cracks and pops between my Nikes and the asphalt. The sound of boiled peanut shells, plastic spoons, and the occasional lighter or beer can. The slick pavement and lunatic drivers keep me from daydreaming too much but still my mind races as I see the team’s championship banners and I think back to where I was when we won those years. I look down a gated lley that reads “players and coaches only” and I think If I was just there twenty minutes earlier I would have gotten a glimpse or even a word in with one of my favorite players. As I drift back in to reality I see several long lines at gate A this was unusual but my spirits were to high to be broken. As I slide into what looks like the shortest line my Uncle Geno grabs me and says, “let’s go” so my dad and I follow him. I was curious where we could be going and I really didn’t want to have to step out of line but I knew geno had something up his sleeve for us.

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Geno leads us around the perimeter of the park and to gate D. There was almost no line at this gate so we slide in easily. Geno had done it again, always the go to guy on street knowledge and somehow he knew everyone. When we make our way past countless vendor to the tunnel the crowd roars. As I step through the tunnel into the light the glare of the setting July sun hits me. When my eyes finally readjust to the light I look around and almost have trouble with my depth perception because of how big and crowded Fenway is.

As we begin our treck to our seats we pass countless passionate fans I look to the scoreboard, the giant Budweiser neon sign, and to the enormous coke bottle and marvel at their size. Then there it is the” Green Monstah” the 39 foot tall left field wall and the luxurious monster seats. The crowd roars again and the home team comes out of the dugout and takes the field. I could feel the excitement as it rose to a fever pitch as my anticipation exploded and I joined in the Let’s Go Red Sox chant. ~BPM

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