Trifter

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We’d seen the ballpark hundreds of times on T.V. We saw the balls flying over the green monster, the large CITGO sign just a short distance away. We had to go. We just love those old parks, and only two are left. We are in awe of Fenway Park. My brother, Greg and I are die hard White Sox fans and share a hatered of the Cubs, the Red Sox and of course the Yankees. Doesn’t everyone hate the Yankees? Greg is an antagonist. When it goes badly for his team he berates them unmerifully so he is in a lot of pain with the southsiders. The White Sox did win it all in ‘05 but this was a mere pitstop on their way back to futility in ‘06.    

We made our plans to go into enemy territory with the excitement of two sixth grade kids on the last day of school before summer vacation. We arrived at Providence, Rhode Island on a post card perfect late summer afternoon, got our rental car and cruised up the interstate north to Boston. We came to town to see the Red Sox/White Sox matchup on Friday night of Labor Day weekend. We checked into a hotel near Copley Square, turned on the T.V. only to find a channel dedicated one hundred percent to the Red Sox. I wasn’t expecting that nor had I ever seen anything like it. Dennis Eckersley, the ex-Red Sox pitcher was analysing everything from their batting styles to what they ate for lunch. It made me sick. We got a cab and headed to the park.

Our cab nudged through the late afternoon rush hour traffic heading west toward the old ball yard. The town was everything I’d expected. The streets lined with lovely historic red brick buildings and an unmistakable big city feel of hustle and bustle of cabs, buses and large crowds on the sidewalks.

We got on the turnpike, drove a short distance when we saw the old familiar light standards. This brought back memories to my childhood when I’d see those same old fashioned lights sitting on top of erector-set looking towers, and I knew we were very close to seeing my heroes at Comiskey Park in Chicago, ready to play big league-big city baseball. The White Sox played there until 1990, when the unthinkable happened. They tore it down, turning it into so much rubble to be hauled to the dump. Greg and I could never figure out why Comiskey was expendable but Wrigley and Fenway were not. That’s why we came, to see this historic old park that is untouchable to the bull doziers of progress.

We slipped out of the cab and found ourselves on Yawkey Drive. They were selling beer and brats on the street. I never saw that even in Chicago back in the day. Up the street there’s a clothing store where only Red Sox gear is sold. I asked Greg, “how arrogant are these people?” Walking north to Lansdown Street we couldn’t help but becoming immersed in the ambience of this true treasure of baseball. It felt as if we were transported back forty years to my youth when being at a baseball game was an event to savor because summertime was all too fleeting and winter came way too quick.

We went to the Green Monster Grill beneath the famous left field wall it is named for, had a couple of beers and talked baseball with the fans who were both knowledgable and friendly. We had our White Sox hats on and no one seemed to mind.

Upon entering Fenway Park I was taken by the signs that seemed to be dated back to the 1930’s, the low hanging pipes under the stadium and the nasty, sticky floors that no one ever seems to clean. We got to our seats to find them of the iron and wood variety, probably original seats, I surmised. We sat down the right field line, several rows up from the Pesky Pole, the foul pole in right field. These fans truly love their Red Sox and soaking in this atmosphere made me realize just how deep this affection goes. The game was uneventful as the Red Sox pounded the listless White Sox but it was a small disappointment in an otherwise thoroughly enjoyable experience. No fights, cross words as one might expect, just plain fun at the old ballpark.

The next day we went on the Fenway Park tour to find much of the history and nuances of the park which made our trip complete. After the tour we went to the waterfront to find some clam chowder that didn’t require us to dip into our 401k. The next day we flew out of Providence with a new respect for both the Red Sox fan and their venerable field of dreams.