Fenway Park is 100 years old. Woo. Bleeping. Hoo. I’m sorry, but I am soooo tired of hearing about it and I’m glad it’s over. Celebrating the tradition of Fenway is not something on my bucket list. I’ve been to Fenway four times and that is enough. Only a New Englander could like its charm. Charm = old wooden seats that don’t even face home plate and a fake left-field wall that makes the stadium look like it was designed by a four-year-old. They charge the highest prices in the country and complain that they can’t compete with the Yankees payroll. Well, then, here’s a solution: tear down Fenway and build a new snazzy park with more seats. Red Sox Nation will fill those seats and you’ll make even more money. But, no, the owners of the Red Sox would rather honor tradition. Tradition= a fly ball out in any other field is a double off the Green Monster in Fenway. I’m still laughing at this one from The Onion: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9PnNBLWA-Sk
But I digress.
I was lucky enough to be out of town on vacation this past week while Red Sox Nation geared up for it’s Friday afternoon celebration of 100 years. While every player who ever wore a Red Sox uniform amassed in Boston, I was on a Punta Cana beach in the Dominican Republic, Robinson Cano’s homeland. We caught a late night replay of Sports Center (in Spanish) as they did a story about the event. But we were more thrilled about the actual Yankees-Red Sox game played after the pomp and circumstance. Good Guys beat the Red Sox, 6-2. To paraphrase Forrest Gump, “Sorry we ruined your Black Panther Party.”
That was sweet, but it gets better. The next day we’re flying back to Boston and we land around 5:15 PM. Since we have to go through customs, all electronic devices are off. As soon as we get through the gate, everybody turns on their phones and Ipads. I hear somebody say, “Yeah, Sox up nine to one.” My oldest daughter turns to me and says, “You can’t win ’em all, Dad.” I sheepishly agree. We corral our luggage, drive home, and fall into the living room. Since the refrigerator is completely empty, I go back out to pick up a pizza. I turn on the car radio and… HOLY COW!!! The Yankees are up 10–9!! Sell my clothes, I’m going to heaven! But the Bronx Bombers are not done piling on the runs. By the time I get back with the food, the Yankees are up 15–9. The announcers on the Sox broadcast sound like somebody shot the family dog. “You know, when you’re up by eight runs with three innings to go… you’d think you could pretty much count it as a win.” Yep. Except if you’re the Red Sox. Another beat-down win by the Yankees. Some things never get old.
It gets late early out there.