I owe this perfect baseball night to a guy named Daniel that I met at the SeaTac Airport only because my flight to Baltimore had been delayed. The conversation all started because of a small Boston Red Sox patch stitched to his backpack. I was in the Seattle airport waiting to board a non-stop flight to Baltimore. It was just announced that our flight had been delayed two hours, and that is when I began poking fun at this guy because of the Red Sox patch stitched to his backpack.
To give the story context, I was working for the Seattle Mariners at the time, and the Red Sox, who had the best record in Major League Baseball, had just been humiliated in Seattle. A phenomenon that had become habitual for the Red Sox at Safeco Field. We began talking baseball, and after a few minutes of conversation, it came up that I worked for the Mariners, and he, the Red Sox. My eyes lit up with excitement when he told me he worked for the Sox. Our conversation shifted from talking about petty player statistics, to more academic in nature. I told him that I was writing a paper entitled, Ballpark Nostalgia: Remembering a National Pastime. And that the purpose of my trip was to visit the historic ballparks on the East Coast. My first stop would be Camden Yards, then Yankee Stadium, and I would finish up in Boston, with Fenway Park.
My passion for writing the paper struck a cord with Daniel. He took a great interest in my research, jotted down his telephone number, and told me to give him a call in the top of the seventh inning of the Angels-Red Sox game I would be attending. We didn’t really get to what would happen after I called him in the seventh, but anything at all would be a pleasant surprise.
8 Days later…
I met up with my dad in New York, and after attending a ballgame at Yankee Stadium, we caught a train from Penn Station to Boston. My dad and I stepped off the Charlie and followed the hoards of Boston crazed fans from the metro to the ballpark. It felt like the wind was knocked out of me when all the sudden I found myself on the famous Yawkey Way. I could not believe where I was standing. I was enchanted by the rich history. My dad and I quickly purchased some Red Sox apparel for the ballgame, took several photos, and made our way into the baseball’s most holy shrine.
Our seats were in right field, second row, just feet away from the legendary right field “Pesky’s Pole.” We arose for the singing of the national anthem, but I don't think I was able to sing a single word. I had a perma-smile spread across my face that would not go away. The players then took the field, and the ballgame got underway.
The atmosphere was electrifying. I can honestly say that there was not a place on the planet that I would have rather been. I was so happy I could have cried. I was 23 years old, and for as long as I could remember, attending a ballgame at Fenway Park was just a dream I had conjured up in my head as a child. Soon, the bottom of the sixth ended, I reached into my pant pocket, and scrolled down through my contacts until I found Daniel’s name.
When he didn’t answer his phone at first I was worried. But just as I was about to leave him a message, there he was, calling in. We set a rendezvous spot and then he asked me if I would like to tour the park and see all of Fenway’s vantage points. I’m not sure that I managed to make out a single word in response. It was more of mouth wide-open, hypnotized stare. Somehow I think that got the message across though.
He took me all around the ballpark. The “guts” of Fenway were literally opened for my viewing. As we walked the lower level corridors past the vendors, I imagined Ray Kinsella and Terrance Mann ordering their hot dogs in the movie, Field of Dreams. Daniel, who was narrating much of this impromptu tour, cut himself off and asked me if I would like to go up on the Green Monster to watch the rest of the ballgame. What do you say to something like that? My eyes at this point were bulging out of their sockets. My dad and I sat down on top of the Green Monster, and Daniel left my dad and I to take the game in for a little while.
It was the top of the ninth when Daniel called again. He said there was a bunch of food and drinks on the executive suite level if we would like to finish the game there and hang out for a bit. He escorted my dad and I to a sizeable VIP suite along the third base line. We helped ourselves to gourmet pizza, sodas, and the buckets of multi flavored cracker jacks. My dad and I, on several occasions, looked over at each other in unbelief. The game ended, and a few people popped their heads in telling us to relax, finish our food, and Daniel would be back to get us soon.
By the time Daniel came back to get us, the ballpark was barren. There was not a single soul in the stands, or on the field. Even the clean up crew had come and gone. You could hear a pin drop it was so quiet.
The silence was interrupted when Daniel walked out to us on the balcony of our ninth inning private suite and told us we could now follow him. I looked at my dad puzzled. I had no idea what was going on, or why he had us hang around for so long. (not that I objected in the least bit). He led us down the now, dimly light corridor and into a heavily secured, coded room. Almost immediately, I heard someone say something that seemed directed towards me. I will never forget those words, “Now secure the base, it’s heavier than you would think.” I turned around towards the direction of the voice, and as I did, I was handed the most fantastic piece of modern baseball history; the Red Sox 2004 World Series trophy. The very trophy that broke the 86 year curse of the Bambino. I was not in any way prepared for that moment. We took a quick picture to capture the utopian moment, and then I reluctantly handed the trophy back over.
I must have done something to please the baseball Gods, because the events of August 19, 2007 were not normal. It was something out of a fairy tale. I could not have imagined a more pure night, with a more complete ending. It was more than an hour after the game had finished, and there were still hoards of people outside Fenway, having a good time. I love the game of baseball.
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