I live in the shadow of Fenway Park. On game day, cars park in front of my house and traffic is a mess. Yes, I was a huge fan back in 2004 and for the 30 years before that. But the bloom is off the rose for me. I went to one game earlier this year. We were down double digits before I sat down. My buddy and I spent the next four hours playing “mound ball,” in which you make increasingly large wagers on whether the ball will end up on the dirt or the grass at the end of each inning.
That same friend invited me to the game against the Orioles tonight. Brutal heat all day set up a perfect summer night at the old park. But with John Lester out with a strained lat muscle (Really, guys? Bruins players take pucks to the face, go off, get stitched up, and are back on the ice before the period ends), the greatest rotation in the league has been reduced to one ace and a bunch of nobodies, along with my personal hero Tim Wakefield. But I made some cash on mound ball last time and enjoyed being at the park, even if the team stunk up the joint. I even decided to scalp tickets for my six-year-old, a niece, and a nephew to all go to their first game with my wife.
The Red Sox hit six home runs. Their rookie pitcher won his third in a row. The Yankees lost. Some guy proposed to his girlfriend up on the green monster.
Being at Fenway for the sound of a ball leaving a Red Sox bat and flying out of the park:Â Best Moment of the Night.
(OK, I had two today. Sorry about that. Some days are just that good).
—Photo AP/Winslow Towson.
