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FENWAY IN WINTER. | metsgrrl.com



Finding ourselves in Boston with nothing to do for a couple of hours in November, we decided to take the Fenway tour. On a grey Monday morning with gentle almost-snowflakes falling out of the sky, we took the T to Kenmore (appreciating the signs at every stop that had a picture of a baseball player and said, TAKE ANY TRAIN EXCEPT THE E LINE TO KENMORE) and walked around the corner and there it was, looming up next to the highway. God, I love a city ballpark. I love that there are cars and people and lives and businesses intertwined with baseball. You want to tell me it’s blasphemous and Shea is Just Wonderful where it’s located? Shea and Citi Field would be a million times more wonderful if it was part of the city instead of stuck out in the suburbs. I know, blame Robert Moses.

Unintentionally, we ended up circumnavigating the park first: my companion had only been there once for a game, twice for concerts, so his familiarity of it didn’t extend more to “It’s got four sides. If we keep walking around it, we’ll eventually find where we need to be.” I liked the quiet and the photo opportunities presented by the grey winter light (it was vaguely snowing when we left the hotel that morning) but I also liked the idea of making the 1pm tour a lot more, so I had to pass on a lot of compositions I would have liked to have taken the time to record, but did still get a few poetic shots.


By the time we bought our tickets and sprinted into the team store, where the tour started, there were at least 50 people (so much for having the tour to ourselves) milling around the GIGANTIC ENORMOUS CAVERNOUS team store (that had EVERY shirt by EVERY player in EVERY color and EVERY language, and that’s without the entire OTHER side full of jerseys and more advanced memorabilia — but more on that later), and we went off on the tour of “America’s Most Beloved Ballpark,” as the GIGANTIC banner along one side of the ramps stated (both of us immediately thinking, “Um, the people of CHICAGO might have a few words to say about that.”)


The tour started in the press box, moved to the State Street Pavilion Boxes, and then past the Hall of Fame plaques and Cy Young Awards (where I had to physically restrain my companion from spitting on Clemens’ awards) down to The Most Uncomfortable Seats In Baseball (which will make you stop bitching about any seat at Shea ever again. No, seriously). No warning track, no Green Monster due to the construction, but it was still worth it to get inside Fenway, especially to the luxury boxes where I don’t have a hope in hell of ever sitting in otherwise.


The tour guide was classic Boston. She was cheery but not overly dogmatic, and the shpiel had plenty of self-effacing humor. My significant other hates the Red Sox because he hates Red Sox fans and thinks they are as bad as Yankees fans, so I was a little concerned he’d spend the entire tour making snide comments under his breath. But even he enjoyed the commentary and learned a thing or two. I got plenty of great photos and appreciated seeing the park under construction, as it’s a view most fans are never going to see. (We refrained from the touristy “get your photos taken with the Green Monster” in the background because it was winter and cold and if I want my photo taken at Fenway it will be in summer when I am there to see an actual game.)


And even in winter, sitting in the seats and shivering, there was something still soothing and therapeutic about sitting in a ballpark. Your blood pressure goes down, you feel like you’re miles away from the world. I liked Fenway quite a bit. I don’t know if it’s “America’s Most Beloved Ballpark” or not and I don’t even want to argue it, but there is unquestionably a vibe there — even when it was empty — that I would love to experience full. When we were talking with friends at the concert later, TBF mentioned that while Pac Bell is #1 on his list of ballparks he wants to visit, Fenway was #1 on mine. I hadn’t really stopped to think about it before but he was right.

We went back to the team store just to check it out, and were just astounded that the Mets for whatever boneheaded, idiotic, short-sighted reason have a MINISCULE store with almost zero inventory and for some reason refuse to make shirts available for the starting lineup. It’s ridiculous I can’t buy an Oliver Perez shirt without having one made custom, because the custom ones are ugly and not the same. It was ridiculous I had to make an Endy shirt last year. You can buy a shirt for ANYONE on the Red Sox, not to mention any kind of hat in any kind of color, not to mention any other piece of memorabilia you could ever want to buy.

I was gifted with a stuffed Wally the Green Monster to add to my mascot collection (and because he loved the ESPN commercial with Wally and David Ortiz). And, um, I came home owning a Papelbon shirt, Not one from the team store, though.


The flickr feed from the tour is here.

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