April 19, 2014

Last Saturday, April 19 in the Year of Our Lord 2014, Carol and I went to Fenway Park.

We don't get there often because we are low wage earners and sporting events today are grotesquely overpriced. We haven't been there for years.

This is a shame because Carol is a mad Red Sox fan and Fenway Park is a fucking church. We won't even talk about THE PATS, which is my thing. Football is so ridiculously expensive that I am officially prohibited from ever again experiencing live the team that I love.

You walk into Fenway and you are blown away by the vibe. The beauty. The history.

I was finely tuned in. This was the first in what I plan on being many memorable events  for us to revel in warmth and looseness over the next four months.

I have become wise at the age of sixty. Even though I plan on visiting Fenway three or four or five more times this year, I know damn well it could be 2021 before we get back there again.

So I was focused. I paid attention. Every pitch, every at bat. I continuously looked around the park, over my head, to the right, to the left, the Green Monster. The crowd. The players. I sang Take Me Out to the Ballgame. I belted out Sweet Caroline.

We have been following The Sox closely and they have been struggling. I told Carol that our game would be the start of something good for The Sox.

They went down 1 zip in the top of the first, thanks to Felix Doubront. But they got a run back in the bottom of the first. That's when I knew it was going to go our way. And Doubront sucked it up after the first and looked pretty good.

Big Papi had a big day. Pedroia had a good day. The Sox won 4 to 2. We saw Koji Uehara get a save and display his over the top enthusiasm. We saw Big Papi throw him over his shoulder.

If we wrote the script ourselves it could not have been more perfect.

It was sixty degrees with bright blue skies. Absolutely perfect. We sat in the stands like Hawaiians digging the beach. We were in heaven.

We sat by Pesky's Pole. First time for us. Very cool seats. Eight rows from the field. Big Papi hit a home run that curled around the pole. Pretty damn close to us. When we got home we watched the replay of the home run, froze it and tried to pick ourselves out of the crowd. Couldn't do it but it didn't matter. We knew we were in that shot.

We signed Pesky's Pole. How cool. How very cool. Our names are on that pole along with our home town. I don't care if they get rained off or painted over. Our names are on Pesky's Pole right now.

After the game we sat in the stands and let the crowd thin out. In fact we hung around until they literally kicked us out.

I drank that park in like nobody's business. My head was on a swivel. I listened to everything, I smelled everything, I looked at everything.

Because I may not get back there until 2021.

We enjoyed this day immensely. And for me it went beyond measurable sensory reception.

I looked at my lovely wife, I watched her and saw how happy she was. Her happiness fed me like the finest meal. My emotions were out of control, knowing how much she was enjoying this day.

Before the game we went shopping for a new Red Sox jacket for her. The one she was wearing was ripped and repaired with tape. Time for a new one.

We walked around a couple of shops. Carol knows what she wants. We looked and looked and looked. She tried a few on.

She finally found one she loved and the price tag was $125. She balked. I began to quietly work on her because I knew she would continue the search even though that was the jacket she wanted.

I kept telling her "if that is the jacket you love, then buy it and forget about the price."

She continued to shop. I would say "that jacket is only $40 less than the one you really like. What is $40?"

She came around. She bought the jacket. She asked the kid to cut the tags off so she could wear it immediately. An awesome jacket with The Sox B on it and, more importantly, the words "2013 World Champions."

That day was heavy for me. I was aware. I was tuned in. I enjoyed every goddamn second of the experience. It could very well have been my best visit to Fenway ever. No exaggeration.

But Carol's jacket, which she wore into the park, her happiness, her contentment, her joy at being in Fenway and seeing The Sox win, along with a Big Papi home run and an Uehara save, signing Pesky's Pole, all of that burned a memory into my brain and into my heart that will sparkle as I look back at The Amazing Spring & Summer of 2014.

We could not have kicked off warm weather fun more perfectly.

And perfection, as you are well aware, is pretty fucking rare.