Redsoxchickie: Just This Side of Stalking

The first time I came out from the bowels of Fenway to look out on the field I cried.

The first time I came out from the bowels of Fenway to look out on the field I cried. I didn’t bawl or anything, but I welled up sufficiently to necessitate using my sleeve as a Kleenex. I think I was sitting in the right field box area. I could be wrong, because the whole day is a blur. I couldn’t tell you who was playing or if the Red Sox even won because I was so preoccupied with being in what is perceived in Boston as the holiest place west of the Vatican. But as much as I love the sights, sounds and smells (excluding the stench of stale beer) of Fenway, I now realize we have to let it go.

If you call yourself a Red Sox fan and you haven’t been to Fenway you’re missing out. People in other areas can’t believe the price we pay for bleacher seat, ranging from $18-$20. What they don’t understand is that is the only ballpark in the country where you can sit in the bleacher section and still see the flies that Carl Everett’s always swatting at because you’re so close. Sure you can pay $10 for bleacher seats at Yankee stadium, but you better bring the binoculars unless you want the players to look like ants dressed in polyester. So I think paying $20 to actually SEE the game is a bargain.

That $20 also buys you baseball history. Fenway is probably the most instantly recognizable sports icon in the country, with its manual scoreboard, green monster, and cozy confines from any area. In 50 years is anyone going to remember what The Staples Center looked like? Is anyone going to say to his or her grandkids, “I wish you kids could have seen Associated Networks Coliseum”? And any baseball fanatic should have the chills induced when he realizes the names in baseball that have set foot on the field. I don’t think anyone is going to stand in the middle of the Skydome and think, “Gee, Homer Bush played here”. The Hall of Fame Shouldn’t be in Cooperstown, they should just plop it right in the middle of Fenway and serve Fenway Franks to every visitor. NOTE: When buying a Fenway Frank, always buy from the vendor guys. The ones from the food stands have soggy buns. Trust me on this one.

With the impending sale of the team at hand, I’ve been forced to reconcile myself to the fact that its time to move on. Can we really expect multi-million dollar athletes to play on a field, where if it rains enough, actual fish collect in the outfield? And after witnessing several games this season, I can honestly say sitting for three hours crushed between people in 90% humidity with my knees locked behind the seat in front of me, that a little more leg room and a cup holder would be delightful. And I now see the need for a new park more than ever in light of the latest rainstorm that cancelled a night game last week. A very scary scene was painted in the paper that weekend. Apparently, not only did a ceiling panel drop, dousing Chris Stynes with “stinky dirty water”, but while Pedro was standing at his locker in the middle of a lake on the floor, electrical lights above him started to short. I think the prospect of electrocuting the best pitcher in baseball is an argument that the most fervent of Fenway supporters would have to concede to. Therefore, I believe it’s time to close shop with the memories that we have and create some new ones elsewhere.

Recognizing the need for a new and state of the art ballpark is one thing, but there will have to be concessions made by the new owners. And on my part I would like to offer them a little advice. First, keep the park in Boston. We have ‘em, we want ‘em, and we’re going to keep ‘em. End of story. If Connecticut or Rhode Island wants the Patriots, Celtics or Bruins they can be my guests, but I will, under no uncertain circumstances rename the Boston Red Sox. And if we can avoid putting them on the South Shore, it would be much appreciated. Anyone who think a South Shore park is a good idea must live in Quincy, because if you’ve ever tried driving North on 93 in the summer you know that a ballpark and south are two words you do not want to see together unless you enjoy being stuck in traffic for four hours.

Next on my list of dos and don’ts concerns the naming of the new park. I think after the Shawmut/Fleet/Insert the bank’s name of the week debacle when the FleetCenter was being constructed taught us a lesson in not naming a stadium after a financial institution. Also, naming it .com anything is a very bad idea. You generally don’t want to name a place after a company that could go under overnight. I say go with something traditional and non-advertising related. Fenway II has a nice ring to it as opposed to say, FleetBankBostonGilletteRaytheonMonster.com Field. It may really be a moot point because it may very well be known as “the house Pedro, Nomar, and Manny built”.

And lastly, some things need to stay the same. Bring the Green Monster. There’s something special about a large green painted wall riddled with dents that can strike fear into the best pitchers in baseball and make a really cool “bonk” sound that can be heard from the farthest corner of the park after a line drive smacks against it. You also need to keep the manual scoreboard, but you can add heat and air conditioning for those poor guys inside. They deserve it for all those years of service and dodging sewer rats.

Whatever the final decision is, I implore the new owners to never, ever tear down the old park. It’s too much a part of history to be destroyed. Charge admission for an extended tour to pay for maintenance. Rent the field out for parties, the revenue possibilities are endless! If you keep it, they will come. Just don’t let something that’s as big a part of Boston as Fenway go the way of the wrecking ball.

So that’s my case. As much fun as Fenway is, we have to let it go for the better of the team. Or else in the next monsoon that hits this city we could wind up with a Pedro Fricassee. So go to a game and take as many pictures as you can so you can show your kids and grandkids what the players looked like from where you sat when you could see them without a solar telescope.