Red Sox Road Trip: Part 4

Fenway Faithful

There was a list of emergency contacts and a FedEx plan in the event that the Red Sox tickets were left home alone. Izzie and I had talked about it on a few occasions even though we were both certain it would be near impossible to leave them behind. Of course, the story probably would have been more dramatic if that had happened, but that is not a story I would have wanted to live. Rest assured, two tickets to see the Red Sox and Rangers were safely tucked away in Izzie’s purse, and the four of us made it safe and sound to Fenway Park on that Saturday night.

After the Fenway tour and a quick loop around Quincy Market, we had returned to the hotel to change into our gear. Izzie had her Ortiz jersey; I had my Beckett. She was in her blue Sox cap; I was in my red. We had donned these outfits several times before, always sticking out just a little in the Mid-Atlantic, but never caring when it came to the matter of team pride. We still stood out a little bit in the ritzy lobby of the Omni, but once we hit the streets, we blended right in. We were waiting for the T when a girl with a thick Boston accent asked us for directions, and I have to say I was flattered that we looked like we belonged.

When we got to Kenmore Square and turned the corner onto Yawkey Way, the sight before us was much different than it had been that morning. The street was jam-packed with people in every Red Sox outfit imaginable. Smoke from the sausage vendor’s station hung in the air. There was an electricity that just doesn’t exist anywhere else.

After weaving through the crowd, we made our way to the turn-styles and then headed off in the direction of our seats in Section 10 along the right field line. We sat down and surveyed our view of the field. It was fantastic… except for the pole that blocked our sightline to the pitcher’s mound. My heart fell when I realized that Fenway’s famous obstructed view would prevent me from seeing Josh Beckett going for win number 12. I didn’t say a word about it, but Izzie read my mind and offered to switch seats so that I could at least see Josh’s wind-up.

Content in knowing where we’d be sitting and being the nacho connoisseurs that we are, Izzie and I then hit the concessions to see how the chips and cheese would compare to Baltimore, Philly, and RFK. I’m happy to report that the Fenway nachos held their own. The cheese was hot (unlike RFK), though they did not provide the plethora of chips that Baltimore does. (Incidentally, Philly still has the best chips because the oval shape renders biting the chip in half unnecessary, in case you were wondering.) I will admit that I did not partake of the Fenway Frank on that first night because I was too overcome with joy at the prospect of eating a Papa Gino’s pie for the first time in years, but I will say it was everything I remembered it to be.

I gobbled down my food just in time to see Josh Beckett jog across the outfield and begin his calisthenics routine, for which I now have entire sequence of photos for you to enjoy.

That night at Fenway, the Red Sox were honoring folks with mental and physical disabilities, so there were several moving moments during the pre-game ceremonies, but none tugged at the heartstrings more than the singing of the National Anthem. A young man who was mentally challenged stepped up to the microphone and serenaded us with the slightly off-key strains of the Star-Spangled Banner. Right around the time we should have been hearing about the rocket’s red glare, the man started to giggle. Then he sang another line, but the giggling was infectious and we couldn’t help but laugh with him. Before long, it was clear that the young man wouldn’t be able to finish because the laughter had eaten up the words, and that’s when 35,000 voices became one as every fan in the park helped him finish the song. I had goose bumps from head to toe. And who says Sox fans are incorrigible?

The Red Sox didn’t disappoint us during the first few innings. Beckett seemed to have the right stuff, and the offense took advantage of a weaker Rangers pitcher by scoring 4 in the first two innings. Youkilis hit a shot over the Green Monster, and the young Jacoby Ellsbury made his major league debut by beating out an infield grounder to first. Afraid to say anything that might jinx the evening, I turned to Izzie and said, “If this stays... well, you know... then we need to get a beer afterwards to, you know...” Well, apparently even that allusion to victory was too much for the gods of the jinx because not long after I tempted fate, things started to fall apart. During the 4th inning, the Rangers lit Beckett up and scored 4 runs of their own. Annoyed, but confident, I went to the bathroom in the 5th, thinking that our bats would prevail. Sadly it was Sammy Sosa’s bat that prevailed. He jacked one that hit just above the line on the Monster for the go-ahead run, or so I heard, and the Rangers didn’t need anymore. Becket would go on to lose only his second game of the season.

The Nation kept the faith right up until the bitter end though. The fans summoned up the air in their lungs once again for a rousing rendition of “Sweet Caroline” in the 8th and jumped to their feet to participate in the best wave I’ve ever seen. The crowd undulated with gusto a full four times before people’s arms got tired. Even when Youk, Papi, and Manny went down 1-2-3 in the bottom of the 9th, there was still that electricity of hope in the air.

For Izzie and I, that hope was a little more urgent. We had one more chance to see our team on their home field before we left Boston. It was do-or-die time for our boys.

One last note... when Izzie and I walked back into the hotel, a well-dressed wedding guest in the middle of the lobby took one look at us in our jerseys and launched into a drunken commentary about the Yankees. Izzie took one look at him and cracked, “That’s brave in the middle of Red Sox country.” We would’ve liked to have stuck around to see if he would be fed to the lions, but we were still smarting from the loss and we had a win to pray for.