A Night at Fenway

Last week, Fenway Park was added to the Boston ranks of Historical Sites, a list that includes landmarks like the golden-domed halls of Beacon Hill and the Old North Church where Paul Revere hang the lanterns.  I visited Fenway Park on Sunday night for the first time, an experience I never will forget, but also felt compelled to share with you all.  As fans in the 21^st century, we see so much of the action through television that we lose the sense of atmosphere and electricity surrounding many sporting events.  It’s tough to feel the excitement of one baseball game on TV.  There are, after all, 161 others just like them in a given season.  But, every once in a while, a ballpark draws so many spectators that every pitch matters, every timeout, every lineup change…it all counts as life or death for fans.  Fenway Park is one of those.

The following is a running commentary I wrote to myself between my two trips off Yawkey Street.

7:00 PM – We arrive on Yawkey Street, the main thoroughfare running right outside Fenway Park.  My mom and two family friends accompany me, but I’m already walking in a haze.  The hated Yankees are in town, and the fans have come out in force.  Unlike games in DC, only Sox colors show on these folks, with pinstripes dotting the mass of humanity gatherine outside the gates.  As we walk toward what we think represents the entry point, I notice the outrageous accents of the program sellers, the ticket agents, and the security details.  What I mistake for homeless folks are actually Sox fans, straight off their weekend blue-collar jobs to see the Bombers in town, hot dogs and sodas in hand.  I hear vowels only known to New Englanders all around.  Beer spills, but we should appreciate these fans: their team 8 games out, and still they’re here. (I knew at this point no Nationals game would ever prepare me for Fenway).

7:05 – We get through the gates, and immediately feel cramped.  In most modern parks, the tunnels are relatively open and airy, reaching high above you to facilitate ventilation and crowd control.  Not so here.  The ramps are narrow, the food stalls push out into the walking area, and the ceiling feels like an oppressive hammer ready to stick you to the floor.  The walls look to be on their 300^th coat of paint, and people shove, push, and cajole to find their way through the crowd.

And yet, through all this…I see history.  Murals of Williams and Yaz on the sides, logos everywhere, pictures of history as you always hear about it.

7:07 – We are very, very lost.  We started near the Green Monster and have ended up back at the Green Monster.  Fenway does not believe in Sections, preferring to tell you which Field Box you’re sitting in.  If you’re not in the Field Box, you’re in the Grandstand, which relies on a completely separate numbering system.  One backdrop to Fenway being a Historical Site: nothing can be changed.  A rational, modern numbering system cannot be adopted ever.  We walk through 7 entrances until we find Right Field Box 93.

The workers here, just slabs of meat wearing team gear at most ballparks, take you to your seat if you’re in the Box.  Holding a towel aloft, they jog up the steps and wipe your seats down.  Our designated guy made like nice, then barely looked at us when we sat down, despite numerous thank you’s.  More on that later…

7:10 – I take a look at the park for the first time…truly amazing.  I’m immediately struck by the unique dimensions of the park.  Right field at 380 feet represents the furthest labeled distance.  Looking closer, there’s way more space between the right field wall and the foul pole than TV ever shows.  What looks to be 10 feet on FOX actually spans 25 feet up close.  Even weirder, the angle in right field makes no sense, as the field bends out after the foul pole, creating a weird image of the right field foul pole standing 25 feet before the right field stands.

Center field looks even crazier.  One terrace of seats in right field narrows in right center all the way down to two seats in straight away center field.  From my vantage point, the teardrop of space between the bullpen and the center field wall looks large, but the garage doors so prevalent on TV look to be in left field, not center.

Lastly, the Green Monster, an absolute behemoth of a structure that creates a feel one would get at Number 17 on TPC Sawgrass (look it up): “Looks like they planned poorly but what a genius use of space.”  I shudder to think about the cost of seats atop the Monster.

7:30 – First Fenway Frank…mediocre hot dog but couldn’t ask for a better souvenir cup.

7:45 – Wow what an old park.  The emergency plan is announced and illustrated on the Jumbotron…and it’s the most confusing thing I’ve heard in a while.  If you’re in the red seats like us, just walk out the tunnel.  But the blue seats must get up, turn around, and make their way across a few sections to exits in the back.  I forget the upper deck instructions since I had to contemplate the blue seat exits, but this is why ballparks really should just instruct people to get themselves out somehow.

And they announce the Red Sox Code of Conduct, one of which is “keep cell phone conversations private.”  I love this idea, since there’s nothing worse than the foreigner sitting two rows ahead who’s trying to tell his wife where he parked the car at the airport.  Seriously, man, either take a cab or get her to drive you there without wasting our brainwaves while you tell her where she can find her toothbrush in the car.

7:50 – After tons of build-up, a children’s chorus give a truly horrendous rendition of the National Anthem, but they’re supposedly cute so everyone claps.

I just thought too: imagine how many bad Anthems pro athletes must stand through.  If this was the Anthem for a Yankees-Red Sox game, imagine a Royals-Padres game?  Puts into perspective why so few of them sing it out loud.

8:05 – Finally, we begin.  I will switch to inning designations.

Top 1^st – Derek Jeter comes to bat and I feel the hatred around me.  I get the very real sense that at least 5 people in the audience may have plotted at one point to kill this man.  That’s how prevalent their jeering and hate comes through.  Yanks put two on the board.

Bottom 1^st – A beautiful sunset over the 3^rd base line makes a picturesque night that much more special.  With temperatures in the high 70s and a fiery sky, I can’t get much better for a game.

My iPhone just auto-corrected “jeter” to “heterosexual”….I’m still trying to figure out if my phone might be a female phone or if there’s some relation between those terms.  Boston fans would likely aver there’s no correlation.

Jeter just dropped a long fly ball in the infield, allowing a Boston run.  Just like that, the hollering begins as everyone laughs out loud.  I’m amazed how many Yankees fans are here…there are tons of them.  Still, inning ends at 2-1.

(Editor’s note: I have no idea what happened in the 2^nd inning, but there’s no commentary on my phone.)

Bottom 3^rd – Jeter can’t field a ground ball hit by speedster Ciriaco.  Boston again insults his mother collectively through laughter and hysterics, but the official scorer rules the play a hit.  Very generous, especially considering Jeter beats the runner on that play 9.5 times outta 10.

Oritz singles off the Monster (yes, he hit it to right field!)…I can’t tell if I like the Monster from a baseball perspective.  It adds so much intrigue to the game but robs players of extra base hits with seemingly no reward.  Then again, in this case, it might be because Ortiz needs a golf cart to move between the bases quickly.

Top 4^th – I realize that another romantic yet pragmatically annoying aspect of Fenway are the narrow aisles between sections.  Sure the game might be packed, but this might be the most traffic I’ve ever seen between innings.  One wider person could hold up the entire line on one of those aisles.  We miss the first two pitches of each inning due to folks standing in the aisles with nowhere to go.  Again, not a ballpark meant for a century, but thank goodness we have it.

This game really is dragging by…Lester has thrown 62 pitches through three innings.  Nova has thrown 72!  And still no visit from the pitching coaches or movement in the bullpen…we might be here a while.

ALRIGHT!  One goal of Fenway achieved: I yelled “Nick Swisher can’t read” as he lollygagged stupidly in right field…only to have my thunder stolen by a responding Red Sox who yelled “he’s from West Virginia, that’s why!” to much laughter.  Just proves you can’t fool a smart fan base folks…Swisher grew up in West Virginia and, according to several well-known Boston sources, his literacy remains in question.

First “Yankees suck” chant.

Bottom 4^th – I realize just how decimated the Sox lineup is…they strike out for the fourth straight time against Nova, who clearly doesn’t have his best stuff tonight.  Mauro Gomez, the third baseman, scratches the head of the guy next to me, who keeps asking his 12-year-old son “who the hell is THAT?”  And it’s true: Ellsbury, Crawford, Pedoria, and Middlebrooks all reside on the DL, with Ellsbury and Crawford out the longest.  Have to wonder if these guys can hold it together the second half of the season.

Top 5^th – Finally movement in both bullpens.  There have been over 150 pitches thrown at this point, and my interest (as you can tell from the dearth of score updates) shifts from the game to my surroundings.  My mother gives voice to these thoughts as she admits she’s been people watching for the past inning.

The Sox right fielder plays the Monster perfectly, holding Jeter to a single.  Another hometown play we take for granted on TV.  A-Rod, another subject of fan ire, hits a deep ball to center where Ryan Sweeney goes down in a heap.  Yankees clearly in control.

WAIT…a visit by the pitching coach!?  To John Lester?  I hope he’s enjoyed the cleansing nighttime air…the dude makes his first trip at pitch number 99 in the FIFTH.  Certainly took his time getting off his butt.  Lester struggling to get outs and keep anybody in the park awake at this point.  He’s gone after pitch 101 with a thoroughly pedestrian effort.

Someone needs to tell the bleachers The Wave rarely works and doesn’t require five innings’ worth of effort…and then it circles Fenway three times.  If a Nats fan has ever seen that in DC, please make yourself known.

Bottom 5^th -  The girl behind me has lost interest to the point where she’s guessing nationalities…and seems to think a dude with the first name of Pedro (Ciriaco) “must be Arabic.”

They just showed a guy proposing to his girlfriend on the Jumbotron…her hands rush to her mouth and she touches the ring before nodding (weakly, I might add).  I think proposing at a ballpark might be the stupidest idea in the world.  Very few things are romantic in life, but proposing falls firmly in that category.  And does romance do well with 30,000+ other people watching?  Shake your head knowingly and find some better spot when pulling that trigger.

Top 6^th – Jeter’s at-bat fights off tons of pitches before a single…major league at-bat I say.

Also, the dueling chants now come out “Let’s go Red Kees” which means there are far too many Yankees fans here for my liking.

Bottom 6^th – Ivan Nova hits 100 pitches total after inducing what feels like the 200^th Sox batter to chase a pitch in the dirt.  Seriously, they are not playing well.

Top 7^th – The bleachers are at it again, distracting my attention from my surroundings to watch their pitiful attempt to re-create The Wave.

Andruw Jones of New York just hit a home run to the seats on top of the Monster…what a sight that is.  I almost enjoy watching it, except for the banshee-like baying of happy Yankee fans.

Chris Stewart, New York’s catcher, comes up to bat.  I realize his picture on the Jumbotron shows him wearing a hat at least three sizes too big.  The brim almost extends all the way to his ears.  What a goober, but then again New York thrives on goober athletes (for further clarification, see any picture of Eli Manning).

Bottom 7^th – Cody Eppley joins the fun as the Yankees pitcher, and throws 5 straight balls.  His first strike, a foul ball, ends up near Swisher who tosses it into the upper deck rather than to my area.  The girl in front of me, in a heated rage, yells “That’s okay I don’t want your balls anyway!”

She stops looks around, and sees her own father grinning while her mother tries to wipe the same grin off her face…might be the best fan moment of the night.

Ciriaco comes up…he now might be Bedouin according to the anthropologist behind me.

Eppley mercifully sits down after 6 strikes on 16 pitches…we hit the three hour mark.

Top 8^th – The crowd begins to thin, but there are still more fans here than the spectators at an average Nats game.  Sweet Caroline comes on the speakers, a Fenway tradition.

Bottom 8^th – Bottom 9^th: Aviles doubles off the Monster and the Red Sox somehow put two mean on in the 9^th.  Rafael Soriano, the Yankees closer, looks shaky and at 7-3 a hit by David Ortiz could send folks scurrying back to their seats.

Only he strikes out and Fenway breathes a sigh of relief as Ortiz lives up to expectations (seriously, three people around me said “I bet he strikes out).

Final groundout by Saltalamacchia and we are put out of our misery.  Even Soriano felt the drear, needing 30 pitches to get through the inning.

At the end, we jump into a Boston cab for the drive back to Revere and the airport.  The game brought bile to my lips, but Fenway Park continues to be in my thoughts this week.  It’s not the best ballpark nor the most presentable, but there’s serious character in the building, from the fans to the seats.  Those walls have seen so many great players and plays that Fenway deserves its place in the pantheon of sporting venues.  The game might have sickened most in attendance, but to see a new chapter in arguably the best rivalry in sports certainly made the experience that much better.