I’d never even noticed the tables before, in the hundreds of games I’ve watched on NESN. But we got incredibly lucky with table seats for a Blue Jays/Red Sox game in late June. Not only were they at a roomy table – with a great view – but included food and all the beer we could drink, which, forgive me brave Budweiser fans, was one. One beer. Which I didn’t even really want because it was 52 degrees. And raining.
It could have been hailing cat urine from the sky and I still might have been the happiest momma on earth, though, sitting there with the boys, enjoying bites of pretzels, popcorn, hot dogs, cotton candy, ice cream, and sausage hoozawatsis with peppers and onions. I ordered nothing. And yet, was not hungry when we left the park. Huh.
Yes, friends, the table had four chairs. No, we did not stuff Natalie in a duffel bag and sneak her in, though the thought crossed my mind. Yes, she was bummed to miss it. We added to the list of things to tell her therapist in 2025.
Listen. I have not been to a live Red Sox game since I was 22 years old. I didn’t have great memories. It was horrendously hot that August afternoon. I was with an ex-boyfriend. Not a boy who became an ex. One who already was one. (I know, WTH?) I think I even witnessed a fist fight – but that might be a mixing of memories from a trip when I was about 9. Not the stuff of memoirs, really.
But I’m telling you, I love Fenway Park as I do my own living room, which, of course, is where I watch most of the games. Now that the kids are older, and we watch a lot of baseball together, I have discovered I am more than a fair-weather fan. Sometimes I even find myself screaming at the television, especially if we’ve left, say, 11 runners on base by the 3rd inning.
Or, to be more accurate; I don’t so much find myself doing that as listening to Guy tell me to STOP DOING THAT. To which I later have to explain See? That is the reason we LOST. THE. GAME.
Which did not happen here. No losing on this lucky night in June. Because guess who pitched? My faaaaavorite,
delicious, very talented player: Jon Lester. Mmmm hhmmm.
Why I’m telling you about this trip – besides highlighting an awesome bit of our summer? Is this: I discovered that Garrett still believes he’s going to make it to the Big Leagues.
During the game, he analyzed not strategy, not base running, not hitting stance, not coaching technique. He said, “when I’m out there on the team, I’m going to be one of those guys who chats up the other team. I’m gonna be that guy.”
To which, we all nodded, like that made perfect sense.
If, on a one in a bakazillion chance that my son does become a Red Sock (a Red Sox?), a player, I can tell you exactly where the other four of us will be sitting.
Maybe they’ll let the mom of the center fielder bring in some decent beer!