Red Sox Nation

My parents took me, my husband, my sister and her husband to a Red Sox game yesterday. If you've never experienced game day in Boston, it is quite the experience. We decided to take public transportation into Boston and the fun started the moment we stepped into the subway parking lot.

We were all adorned with our Red Sox hats, shirts, sweatshirts and immediately met two men also dressed for the game. Instant commaraderie. But there is always that ONE. Getting onto the T, we met the fair-weather fan. "Who's going to win the world series this year?" Our answer: "We are." And that 's when it started. "Nope, it'll be the Yankees." And so our ride began. Now this gentleman knew his Red Sox history and he regaled us with trivia fact after trivia fact, but as one of our new commerades said later, "Being a Red Sox fan isn't about trivia. It isn't about how much you know about them. Being a Red Sox fan is in the heart." If it's in the heart, you don't fall in and out of love with them based on whether they are winning or losing.

Off the subway, we headed to Yawkey Way and Landsdown Street where we had to partake in the food from the outside vendors. Had to. It's tradition. Plus there is something about the smell of sausage, peppers and onions at the park.

Then it was time to go inside Fenway Park where everyone is an instant friend. We were located in left field ... right near the Green Monster. Wow, what a view. There is something magical about watching a Red Sox game from inside the park. From the moment we put our hands over our hearts and sang the national anthem, the air was filled with tangible energy. Let the game begin.

Now, I'll talk about the game in a moment, but first, I must mention the fans. Watching the people is as much of a show as the game itself. First, as a woman, I have to say, Ladies, if you are attending a baseball game, it is not a DATE, it is an event. Fenway park at night is not the place to be wearing spikey heels or dresses that barely cover your arse. Even my husband commente on how inappropriate it was. Jeans and your Red Sox sweatshirt with comfortable shoes, aka sneakers are fine. Don't worry about your man. He's a guy. Guys are pigs. If you've got a pulse, and you are cheering for their team, you're already in.

Then there is the effects of beer on the fans. The drunk guys that put their beer on our table while they struggled to open a peanut. "Oh, we just needed a place to put our beer for a moment. Our friend, he's dating a new girl and she's aweful. Oh, the drama." And off they went. Then we had a loud, foul-mouthed gentleman standing near us. Now, if you were going to use the F word in every sentance I wouldn't announce to the world around you that you are a cop and in what city you worked 'cause you never know who is going to be offended by your language. There was the drunk woman who hit on my brother-in-law by pulling on his hoodie sweatshirt and chatting him up ... while her boyfriend was beside her. Then there was the girl who spilled her beer all over the back of my mother's legs. Now, accidents happen, but when you ignore it and refuse to offer an apology ... Well, let's just say security was alerted and they stood and watched her for a while especially as she didn't look to be of an age where she should be drinking. A simple apology would have gove a long way in not getting my Irish up.

Another part of the whole experience was the fact that we had a brand new babysitter for our son. A fifteen year old from the neighborhood and this was going to be a nine hour babysitting day for her. My cell rang at 8:40. I missed the actual call and listened to the message. It was my son talking in quite the most forlorn voice ever. "Mommy, I miss you. Come home right now. I miss you. I love you. Bye." I did call right back, but only to reassure my little boy, but I had no intention of rushing back home. Instead, I replayed the message for everyone to hear while I laughed at my son's hysterics. The babysitter got a little extra for the drama.

Now for the game itself. Oh, the fun. The excitement. Baltimore scored first but it was early and the fans had faith. We were behind 3-0. Then came the 7th inning. That's when the Red Sox became red hot. Varitek. Youk. Lowell. Lackey pitched a good game and our boys were on fire. Until the 9th. That's when Baltimore came back. Okay, fans, I don't know how you can leave Fenway before the game is over. Baltimore brought the score up to within one. It was 7-6, Sox with 2 out, 2 on bottom of the ninth. Paplebon breathed. Paplebon focused. Paplebon struck them out. Red Sox won. Fenway was electric.

Back onto the T where it was so crowded we were pressed together like sardines. As Bill Cosby once said, There is a nut in every car. And sure enough, we met another. There were 3 couples that got somewhat separated because of the amount of people ... and they were also a bit drunk. Now these people were not at the game. (we found that out later) but they were loud and very funny to watch. And then my dad recognized the loudest as someone he knows from one of the stops he makes at work. Mark. Once Mark recognized my dad, he pushed his way through the crowd. "Jack. Jack. Oh, man, it's great to see you. Oh, these are your daughters. Let me tell you, I work with a lot of jerks, but your dad is one of the nicest guys I've ever met because I work with a lot of jerks. : And yes, it went on from there. That's how we found out it was Mark's birthday. We told our dad later that he'll have to remind Mark about seeing him on the subway because we highly doubt he'll remember any of it.

Yes, going to Boston on game day is an adventure. It's an experience that never gets old. And next month, my parents are going again... this time they are bringing the grandchildren. And I am so looking forward to hearing the stories the kids (and my parents) will be sharing then.