The City of Boston is well known for its rich history and
tradition. From the pilgrims, to the witch trials, to the battle
sites of the Revolutionary War, the city offers an eclectic mix of
our nation's past. Without a doubt, my favorite place in this great
city is also surprising to many, the site of the number one tourist
attraction in New England.
Fenway Park, the "lyric little bandbox of a ball park" on Yawkey
Way, draws over two million people through its hallowed doors every
year. Every year people flock to this sacred baseball temple to
catch a glimpse of the folkloric park, and to cheer on their
beloved Red Sox. To me there are very few things that can match the
excitement, the environment, and the nostalgia that the park has to
offer.
This past year I had the privilege of living two blocks from the
park. Like any passionate red-blooded Red Sox fan, I made it my
mission to watch as many games as I could. I don't know where to
even begin to explain the atmosphere surrounding the park before a
big game. You can feel the electricity in the air blocks away from
the park. I would walk to the games, and it was a sight to see.
Flocks of Red Sox fans wearing their team's colors. Proud and
passionate fans, who know that the difference between a "great
summer" and a "good summer" can be determined by where the Sox are
in the standings. Chatter can be heard in the groups of people,
anything from trade speculations and clubhouse rumors, to what is
going on with the hated New York Yankees. And God forbid if you
are a New York college kid, or anyone from age 14-60 sporting a
Yankee cap. The intertwined NY is enough to throw any rabid Sox fan
into a frenzy. Chants of "Yankees suck" can be heard throughout
Kenmore Square and Yawkey way, regardless of whether or not the
Yankees are in first place, or even in town that day.
When you head onto Yawkey Way you feel as though you have been
transported back to a time when baseball was more than just a bunch
of teams providing a revolving door to multi-millionaires. You feel
like you are in an another era. "Peanuts, get your peanuts here",
"Ice cold tonic here", "Programs! Get your programs here!" can all
be heard up and down Yawkey. The aroma of peanuts, hot dogs, and
sausages dominate the atmosphere like popcorn in a movie theater.
Swarms of people walk up and down the street looking for ticket
scalpers, just hoping to catch the game inside.
The weather-worn facade of the park adds to its appeal and
charm. It is inscribed with an antiquated "FENWAY PARK 1912".
What makes Fenway unique from other ballparks or stadiums is that
it was built right in the Kenmore neighborhood. The ballpark gives
off the aura and charm of your neighborhood sandlot, or stickball
parking lot. When you enter the park it has a familiar musty smell
that can be compared to an old town municipal building. But to me,
it smells like baseball. The ushers who collect the tickets are all
over 60 years old. You can feel their pain and can hear their
thoughts: "Will I live to see the Red Sox win the World Series?"
I have walked into the seating area of the park hundreds of
times. But every time I walk in, I am overwhelmed by beautiful
green upon green landscape of the park. My heart beats a little
faster and I look around at the Green Monster in left field, the
screen above it, the Citgo sign rising over Kenmore Square, the
retired numbers in right field 1, 4, 8, 9, 27, 42, and the lone red
seat in right field, representing the spot where Ted Williams'
home run landed.
I sit in my seat and continue to enjoy the prestigious baseball
environment. I always make a point to look for the children who are
here for the first time. It always brings me back to the first time
I saw this glorious baseball cathedral. The wide-eyed looks in
their eyes, their programs rolled up tightly with anticipation. The
extra beat in their step, and their little necks popping up, hoping
to catch a glimpse of Pedro or Nomar, spark up a wave of nostalgia
that cannot be described.
To me, what really gets me is the feeling that you get from
standing in the park. It's the memories, and the history. You get a
great sense of the players who have played here over the years. You
swear that if you squint hard enough, you can see Teddy Ballgame
hitting, the intimidating Bob Gibson pitching to Yaz in the '67
series, or Carlton Fisk waving his arms frantically coaxing the
ball to stay fair in the '75 series.
Baseball is a game in which history feels alive. There is no
place better to feel a part of that history than Fenway Park.
Although it was built during a time where the average height was
about 5'6", and the seats are cramped, the bathrooms a biohazard,
and the beer lines can be compared to Disney. There is no sight
like Fenway Park on a bright warm summer day. A day where the green
sticks out, and the city overlooks the cozy little ball park that
has helped shaped its landscape. There is nothing like watching a
game in the most beloved, revered, and historic ballpark in
America.