Jason has been a fan since he was a kid. Yvonne converted, and the kids were born into it. We have seen the Red Sox play in several major league parks, but have never been to Boston’s home field, venerable Fenway Park. There’s always been a good reason not to go – too far away, couldn’t get tickets, not a convenient time, etc.
This year one of the excuses went away when Jason’s brother gave him two tickets to the April 13 Red Sox-Rays game at Fenway Park. It was still a long way to go, a tough time to be away, and lots of other excuses. But as April approached, Yvonne told Jason: “You’ll always have a reason not to go. Those tickets are a reason to go.”
So we went.
Our schedules were tremendously busy, and the weather was finicky and rainy and cold, and it was the middle of the week, but with some creative scheduling and some gracious friends willing to watch the boys, we packed our two tickets – plus two more tickets we bought from StubHub – Jason and Yvonne flew to Beantown.
Our hotel was in a cool neighborhood, and more importantly, it was across the street from the subway and within walking distance (less than a mile) from the ballpark. We packed as much of Boston as we could into the three days we could spare.
So about Fenway: after many years of watching and cheering for the Red Sox, knowing their history and the legends who played for them, and living and dying pitch-by-pitch so many times, we recognized the very real risk that finally reaching baseball's Mecca would be a letdown.
It wasn’t.
Fenway was magical. The Sox were 2-9 when we went, not the dominating start that we hoped for (although their slow start allowed us to buy greatly discounted seats) – but by the excitement in the park you wouldn’t know it. It was so vivid…so immersive. Sox fans everywhere. The Green Monster. Pesky’s Pole. The mound where El Tiante and the Rocket and Pedro and Beckett commanded the game. Home plate, where the Splendid Splinter, Yaz, Rice, and others chased opposing pitchers away. Wow.
We drank it all in for the entire game. Pedroia doubled, Lester pitched great, we sang Sweet Caroline (bom, bom, bom) as part of a 38,000-person choir, and Big Papi nearly brought the house down with one swing of the bat. Double Wow.
Of course Boston is more than Fenway. On a cold, rainy Wednesday we toured the old Boston Library, found a great seafood diner, and bowled in a funky underground bowling alley (for the record, Yvonne beat Jason two out of three games). When the rain persisted, we walked under a borrowed umbrella to the historic Coolidge Corner theater and watched a movie (a non-animated film even…that doesn’t happen too often).
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| Boston's Public Library, built in 1895, with Edwin Austin Abbey's murals depicting the Quest for the Holy Grail. |
On Thursday, with the sun finally shining, we visited centuries of history, including a tour of Fenway and a walking tour of the Freedom Trail, traveling the path from Boston Common that many of our nation’s forefather’s did when revolution was brewing.
It was amazing to stand where the Boston Massacre took place; to sit in a pew in the Old North Church where Paul Revere had two lanterns placed to warn that the British were coming by sea (although, as our incredible guide pointed out, the people of New England were technically still British, so the call was the Regulars were coming via the Charles River); and to stand in the square where John Hancock, Samuel Adams, and other forefathers fanned the flames of freedom. Another wow.
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| Our guide, "Doctor Samuel Prescott", gave us a two-hour walking tour of the Freedom Trail and eloquently described his role in Paul Revere's Ride. |
We ended the trip watching street performers at Quincy Market from the steps of Faneuil Hall before finding heavenly treats from Mike’s Pastries, a Boston institution, while overlooking the historic skyline.
As with any good trip, only one thing could have made it better: more time. We’ll be back…
