I’ve been to Fenway a couple of times. When I was in college at Boston University, I think I went to two games – and got tanked at both. It was fun, but the game was secondary to a day with the boys, just drinking and having a grand ol’ time. We could have been at the circus; it was just a backdrop for our collegiate shenanigans. I took a date and her son to a game a couple of years ago – it was a good time. I think it was versus the Orioles and we got Standing Room Only tickets. Great game and I was a little awed by Fenway. The park and surrounding streets – Yawkey, Lansdowne, etc., have been completely redone and with 667 consecutive sellouts, Fenway is now “happening” every time there’s a game. Pack over thirty-eight thousand people into a stadium, add copious amounts of beer and a team to root for, and the atmosphere is pretty electric.
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| Fenway from SRO seats in 2009 |
But last weekend I lucked into one of those events that, as a sports fan, are simply sublime. As a fairly ordinary guy (read as: I was broke growing up), it’s pretty novel to fall into tickets from a corporate sponsor to their luxury box. Yup, one of my company’s corporate partners generously gave us their luxury box for the evening – Sox v. Padres – first game of the series.
Now, I don’t relate any of this as a way of saying “Hey! Look at me, big shot corporate box guy.” That I’m writing about this ought to indicate that, well, I’m still informed by – not bound – but informed by my past. And that’s a kid from Chalkstone Ave. in Providence, who could never have even considered going to a Sox game, much less winding up in a luxury box.
The night starts with meeting in the hotel lobby to get to the game. I figure we’ll grab a cab from where we’re staying in downtown to Kenmore. Oh, I was so wrong.
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| CFHQ folks in the limo to the Fens |
So, now I’m thinking, “Nice. Not a bad way to roll up to Fenway.” We get out, divvy up the tickets, and head through a side entrance, not one of the gates, and head up two sets of escalators. And we’re in the Red Sox Hall of Fame area, with a plethora of plaques. Since I’m the only local – everyone else being from the left coast or elsewhere, I linger, just dumbfounded, reading the names…
As I head down the hallway, trying not to be too much of a tourist in my home team’s ballpark, I see two security guys heading toward me and a gentleman behind them: thin, older gentleman, talking quietly to one of the men – I’m perhaps 5 yards away and I realize it’s John Henry, principle owner of the Red Sox. I’m close enough to take 4 or 5 steps and grab him. Well, if not for the two dudes who would have something to say about that.
By the time I recover my voice, I croak, “Mr. Henry…” and he’s gone through a side door and out toward… well, somewhere where the Really Fucking Wealthy-Important People go. I stand there, fumbling with my camera. Two other security guards are watching me. I’m a grown man. I’ve served in two or three of this country’s wars, depending upon how you count. And I looked like a 10 year-old too shy to get his first autograph.
“He would have taken a picture with you, ya know,” says one of the guards. “Mister Henry’s a nice man.” I showed him my ticket and just ambled by. Fuck…
I won’t linger over the luxury box – the sushi, chips and salsa, lady who comes by with the ice cream in the middle innings, or any of that shit. I think I’m supposed to be old enough and have reached a point as a corporate counsel that I’m supposed to be “cool” about all of this. Old hat, right? Like the old sports bromide goes, “when you get to the end zone, try to act like you’ve been there before.”
But it’s the view that is really what took my breath away. Third base side, upper middle tier of balconies. I think I can die happy now.
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| Fenway on a beautiful June night, 2011 |
I’m not smiling for only one reason. This was the fifth attempt with my camera by my friend, a professional photographer, who insisted on using my camera on manual settings, in order to do something “artsy.” After four blacked out photos, I say “you sure you’re a fucking professional?” “Yes, but your camera sucks.” “Well, no shit. I could’ve done this on auto,” I say. And he shrugs and goes inside to get more sushi.
I hope no matter how old I get, it still feels like that to get those kind of seats to a Sox game. It’s a pretty cool feeling. If it’s ever old hat, I hope one of my friends from back in the ‘hood bumps into me when we’re both leaving the game and whips my ass if I appear unimpressed.
Now I gotta see if we have a corporate partner who has seats for a Bruins game…