The New Environment at Old Fenway

Yes, this is the pitcher that helped me love baseball.

Since 1995, I've been to more Red Sox games at Fenway Park that I can even begin to recall. Sure, some of those games have stuck with me more than others (i.e., seeing the Sox crush C.C. Sabathia in Game One of the 2007 ALCS; the 14 run first inning against Carl Pavano and the Florida Marlins on June 27, 2003; seeing Pedro Martinez pitch against the Tampa Bay Devil Rays in 2001). But nothing will ever compare to the first time I ever sat in the uncomfortable Fenway seats and watched a young, upstart knuckleballer named Tim Wakefield take on the Oakland A's.

At the time, I wasn't really a huge baseball fan. I was only ten years old and I followed hockey and football religiously, since my Dad always told me that baseball was a lesser sport. "Not as much action," he'd say, "and only one team can score at any given time. What's the fun in that?" I still had a poster of Roger Clemens on my wall (hey, kids are stupid and make mistakes) but I spent most of my time agonizing over the awful play of the Patriots. But one June afternoon (June 9th, to be exact), my Mom and Dad convinced my little sister and I to go to a game at Fenway.

When we first got off the train we found a hole-in-the-wall baseball card shop right near the park. Of course, I successfully begged my parents to make a little pit stop and I got to look at some football cards. That's right - even when on my way to historic Fenway, I had football on the brain. I found the one card that I'd been pining for: a Ki-Jana Carter Rookie Summit rookie card. At that point I really didn't care about the game. I would've traded my Sox tickets for that damned card. Thankfully, my mother knew how to pry me away from the store: she promised to buy me a cookie. I chose the cookie over the Carter card and, to this day, am very satisfied with my decision.

Cookies in hand, we made our way through the gates (this was before Yawkey Way's development as a must-see pre-game destination) and found our seats in the infield grandstand. I don't have the ticket stub, but I'm pretty sure we were sitting in the furthest rows of Section 23 or 24. We showed up a few minutes late for the 7:05pm start, but that was okay. I fell in love with that park immediately. I'd never seen grass that green, not even at the old Foxboro Stadium. The park had an immeasurable energy about it, a feeling of simultaneous excitement and dread. Keep in mind that this Sox team hadn't won it all since 1918, so there was no bandwagon yet. In looking at the box score for this game on baseballreference.com (found here), I'm shocked to see that the attendance figure for that night was 30,304. From what I can remember, it felt like we were the only people in our section. We didn't stay for the whole game (which, apparently, only lasted for 2 hours and 25 minutes; can anyone imagine an AL game flying by like that today?). We did stay long enough, however, to see a quality A's lineup that featured some truly great players (Rickey Henderson at leadoff, Mark McGwire batting cleanup, and my favorite player named after a sandwich, the incomparable Ruben Sierra, batting third). The Sox lineup that day featured some players that would eventually become my favorites (thanks in large part to the advent of the Sega Saturn and World Series Baseball '95). including the following: John Valentin at short, Mo Vaughn at first base, Mike Greenwell in left, and Troy O'Leary (a member of the "black guys with Irish names" Hall of Fame) at DH. Wakefield pitched a complete game that day, allowing 1 ER on 3 hits with 2 BBs and 5 Ks, improving his record to 4-0 in a season in which he'd outpitch Roger Clemens (by far) and become the de facto ace of the staff:

Wakefield: 16-8, 2.95 ERA, 6 CGs, 1 SO, 195 1/3 IP, 1.183 WHIP
Clemens: 10-5, 4.18 ERA, 0 CGs, 0 SOs, 140 IP, 1.436 WHIP

Of course, Clemens went on to win multiple Cy Young awards after leaving the Sox. Pretty amazing for a guy whose career was obviously on the decline in his last few years in Boston. I'm sure he never used any PEDs. But that's neither here nor there. All in all, my first Fenway experience is one that I'll never forget. I may not remember many of the details of the game itself, but I know that it was the day on which I'd embraced baseball as my favorite sport, Ki-Jana Carter be damned.

Fast forward to 2009. This decade has seen the Sox win not one, but two World Series titles. It still takes time to digest that. After watching this team fail time after time from 1995-2003, it still doesn't seem like it actually happened. Of course, though, with all of this success came The Great Pink Hat Invasion of 2003, starting with the dramatic comeback in the ALDS against the A's (Note to Dan Shaughnessy: if you happen to come across this blog, don't steal that phrase and write a book about it, you hack). In 2004, ticket prices ballooned to the point where the average fan couldn't afford to go, let alone take their kids who wouldn't even have the chance to experience a baseball game. And then, miraculously, they won it all. I don't even have to mention the comeback against New York.

Since 2003/2004, though, the ambiance at Fenway Park has changed dramatically. This is not an overstatement. While the new ownership, led by 68-year-old grandmother John Henry, has made incredible upgrades to the stadium itself, they've commodified the whole experience. In order to gain entry into most parts of the park, fans have to walk by rows and rows of concession stands and player t-shirt vendors. Once inside, fans are able to enjoy the game and then, as a cherry on top, are able to sing "Sweet Caroline" in the middle of the 8th inning. I don't know exactly how this tradition started, but it makes me question the existence of a loving god. The toughest part of the whole experience is that, with the average fans gone, no one even cares if the Sox win the games! As long as a person can hang out in the bleachers for a few hours, drink some $8 beers, and sing some Neil Diamond, then it's a night well spent. Never mind the fact that the Sox just got crushed 9-2 because Francona left Masterson in for way too long.

Since the Invasion of 2003, here are some of the more egregious sights and sounds I've heard while at Fenway:

1) During Game One of the 2007 ACLS against the Indians, my sister and I had standing room tickets behind the infield grandstand. In the last row sat a couple who seemed to be enjoying the game. Until the woman took out her textbook and began to do some highlighting, of course. During a playoff game.

2) This April, in a game against the Rays, Shawn Riggans hit a homer into the visitor's bullpen in right. J.D. Drew was playing in right that day. When he failed to make a catch on the ball, the two girls behind me scoffed him, saying, "Nice going, Trot Nixon".

3) The other day, against the Indians, my friend Phil and I had standing room tickets again. Standing directly behind us was this young couple, apparently on their first date after meeting at a bar or something. The gentleman initially said how much he loved the Sox, but couldn't divulge (a) how it is determined whether a batted ball is a hit or an error, (b) the name of the opposing team, and (c) the names of any of the Sox players. The whole night, I had to listen to him explain how "the old guy" (Mike Lowell) was "doing real bad this year" (second on the team in RBI).

Last year, when the Sox lost to the Rays in the ALCS, the streets of Boston were relatively quiet. In the past, if the Sox had lost to the Rays of all teams, I probably wouldn't be writing this because our city would have crumbled, leaving me with no electricity. But, in 2008, Red Sox fans just broke out in a chorus of "Sweet Caroline", and it was so good, so good, so good.