Canadian Dreams in Fenway – Part II
The Boston Red Sox meant a lot to me before I arrived with my family to Fenway Park, but there is something about the building that immediately made me feel a sense of belonging.
Walking the streets of my hometown reminds me of the old brick outside of Beantown’s cathedral. The old General Motors plant, where I would spend time waiting with my grandmother, is made of that same style of brick. It is that look of old factories, where my grandfather put his nose to the grindstone every day, working so that he could provide for his wife and four children. Looking at the building, you get a sense of that labour, the blood and sweat that was poured into every fiber of the place. The plant was a defining part of what made our town successful. It was the men and women who worked there that made our future better, without worrying about the heat, the pain, or the sacrifices.
Blue collar truth. That same feeling is what I got as I moved along the brick masonry around Fenway. Every passage told a story.
My family and I took a tour before the game was to begin that night. As we walked up the ramp to the empty wooden seats, the sunlight shined so bright that it was blinding. It was as if the light marked when we were being allowed to share in what countless Bostonians were able to experience for decades. We sat down and I took my wife’s hand, as she held our young son in her other arm. She looked out onto the field and said how beautiful it looked. This comment came from a woman who ponders every moment why I love baseball, and yet at this moment she finally understood…even if it did not last very long. I looked out onto the field and imagined what it would have been like to see Tris Speaker playing short in center field, chasing down flyballs like a flash. What would Carlton Fisk have looked like, from my seat, as he waved his home run around the foul pole? What must the crowd have looked like when the Red Sox broke the curse and won the World Series? Then I remembered that the Red Sox won it in Game 4 in St. Louis, for a sweep, and felt embarrassed about my mistake. Luckily, these thoughts were all in my head, so I had no need to defend my honour.
We went all over the park. We took pictures of us sitting on top of the Green Monster. My stepson imagined catching a David Ortiz homer and smiled the entire time. We even went to see the famous red seat, where Ted Williams destroyed a pitch over 502 feet in 1946. Section 42, Row 37, Seat 21 for those keeping track.
The final stop to the tour was a special V.I.P. area, where they have a bar specifically for the season-ticket holders and special guests. Surrounding the large room, a number of glass cabinets hold a wide variety of memorabilia and historical artifacts of the Boston Red Sox. Original blueprint plans for Fenway Park; equipment used by former players, including King Kelly; and the American League Championship trophies from the modern era.
What was not so modern, but absolutely blew me away, was the collection of baseballs with the signature of every single World Series winner. Each winning team, since the World Series championship was created, signed a baseball and the Red Sox organization collected them, even if another team won that year. Standing in front of all of that history was incredible. It is one thing to say that you walked where Babe Ruth, Johnny Pesky, and Smokey Joe Wood worked their magic, but to see their signatures was like they were in the room with you.
People say how Fenway Park is a relic, a monstrosity, compared to all of the modern, efficient, spacious ballparks in the league today. They say that the Boston faithful should give up on Fenway, that they should stop clinging to the sentimental past, and get with the brighter future. When I stood there, it was plenty bright for me.
Between the great food, the crisp air, the grit, the grind, and the flaws, Fenway Park is Boston. Those factors are what I connect with the most. I may be Canadian, but Fenway Park is my past. We do not cling to the history, because that implies it can be taken from us. You judge the walls, the construction, or anything that you consider a mistake, then you judge us too. That brick is a part of me and my family. That field is a part of my dreams. Those seats are where my wife and I held our son and felt the same passion. You have a problem with Fenway Park? You have a problem with Boston. And, if that is the case, then you now have a problem with me. Come on, judge me, because Boston and Fenway Park are a part of what makes my past, present, and future: tough, passionate, and resilient.