The Very Best of Boston

I finally figured out why Fenway always makes me so happy: Fenway is the very best of Boston. I think it's safe to say that Boston itself is not the friendliest town you'll ever visit. But if you go to Fenway you may briefly change your mind.

At Fenway, Bostonians come into their birthright. Anything you want from Boston you'll find here: accents thicker than a red brick wall, history and tradition, culture, local cuisine, every shape, size and shade of local color. It's all at Fenway. It's the smallest ballpark in the major league, and one of the oldest. And it's always sold out. The tickets aren't exactly cheap, but we members of Red Sox Nation cheerfully jostle each other for the right to sit in one of those uncomfortable metal seats to cheer on our team. We fill up the seats when the Sox are playing our mortal enemies, the Yankees. We fill up the seats when it's just some guys from another team from somewhere. We'd fill up the seats if the Sox were slated to play the cast of October Road. We don't care who's on the other team so much as we care about being there for moments of Red Sox glory.

After all this time, pretty much every new moment has a little glory attached. Like every other baseball team, the Sox build up all sorts of stats with every pitch, hit, swing, miss, run, out and base stolen. Maybe all baseball fans everywhere are also history buffs, but it strikes me (a relatively new baseball fan) that Red Sox fans are expert on a near-professorial level. The Red Sox and their fans live for the moment, but they inhabit history. Fenway and the Red Sox ARE tradition.

The traditions come in all shapes and sizes. Last night part of our personal experience of the tradition included sitting next to 3 drunk old guys with no teeth who seemed obsessed with taking our picture when we weren't looking. Annoying? Yes. Bizarre? Sort of. Enough to dampen the fun of being at Fenway? Not even close.

The seats are tiny and were installed years before the average American citizen had ever heard the word 'ergonomic.' Fenway Franks, eaten with plenty of spicy mustard while at the ballpark, cost $4 and, considered objectively, are just boiled hotdogs, but in fact, they are ambrosia fit for gods. I had two. When in Rome...

My favorite part about going to Fenway is the music. There's a real old-fashioned pipe organ there and they play all kinds of songs on it, some of which we sing along to. They also play recorded music between innings, while pitchers are changed, when a new member of the Sox steps up to the plate. Of course during the 7th inning stretch we all sing 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game' and by the end of the game we're all primed to sing Neil Diamond's classic, "Sweet Caroline." I have no idea why. Apparently this part of the tradition is fairly new. But it's completely embedded in the fabric of any fan's expectations now, so when the end of the game rolls around you'd better get ready to sing. If you think about it, this song is REALLY WEIRD. But you're not supposed to think about it. You're supposed to sing along at the top of your lungs with the drunk toothless guys next to you, and really shout the Fenway script between lines, as all good traditionalists should do.

So here in the 9th inning of this post, I give you the historic finale. Belt it out and make emphatic arm gestures. You'll almost feel like you're at Fenway.


...Hands, touching hands
Reaching out
Touching me
Touching you

Sweet caroline (bahm, bahm, BAHM)
Good times never seemed so good (so good!, so good!, SO GOOD!)
I've been inclined (bahm, bahm, BAHM)
To believe they never would

But now I
Look at the night
And it don't seem so lonely
We fill it up with only two
And when I hurt
Hurtin' runs off my shoulders
How can I hurt when I'm with you?

Warm, touching warm
Reaching out
Touching me
Touching you

Sweet caroline (bahm, bahm, BAHM)
Good times never seemed so good (so good!, so good!, SO GOOD!)
I've been inclined (bahm, bahm, BAHM)
To believe they never would

Oh, no, no... (fade out, clapping and hooting wildly)