A Day in the Life – Part One

Last night I achieved something I had aspired to since I was 10 years old.   I got to a World Series game.

Even at 10, I wasn’t sure that I’d get to one at Fenway.   I hoped for Fenway, but my plan was to go somewhere, anywhere but Yankee Stadium, and see at least one World Series game.

Thanks to a thoughtful and generous friend, I got to live that dream last night.   And, better still, have it happen right smack dab in the middle of Fenway Park.

Here’s part one of the wonderfulness that was yesterday!  (Think of this as kind of a live-blog.  This is part one because it’s a bit long and I figured I’d spare your eyes a little!  Part two is on the way!)

• From 7:30am to 3pm, I worked.   Okay, ‘worked’ is a relative term isn’t it?   From 7:30am to probably 1:30pm I worked.   From 1:30pm to 3pm, I bounced around the office like Tigger on speed, waiting to make my way to Fenway.

• 3:10ish and I’m waiting for the Green Line.   I’m standing near a fella who, although he has no tickets, is convinced he’s going to get into the game.   He explains that willing yourself into getting what you want (like World Series tickets) is a lot like a wet dream.   As he starts to describe this, in detail, to his companion, I walk away.   Quickly.

• I’m finally on the train, which wet dream guy didn’t get on, and I’m sitting next to a mom and her three kids.   They’re heading to Kenmore, but not to Fenway.   As we approach the Kenmore stop, the oldest child warns the mom that they should get up and get close to the doors before the Sox fans swarm.   The mother laughs and says, “The game doesn’t start for five hours, there aren’t any Red Sox fans on this train!”.   (Mind you, I’m wearing my Sox earrings, Timlin jersey and carrying my Sox bag/seat cushion thingy that has my camo Sox cap attached to it and I’m sitting right next to her.)   As if on cue, everyone in this particular car stands up (and like something out of “The Sixth Sense” she suddenly SEES all the Red Sox gear) and beats her and her kids to the doors.

• Walking down Brookline Ave I’m accosted by a guy who wants to sell me the official program of the World Series.   Initially, I think this is one of those knock-offs, but, upon inspection, I realize it’s the real deal (Side note: If you want one of these and 1) don’t want to pay MLB s&h and 2) don’t have World Series tickets, they are selling them OUTSIDE the park. So go on down!) so I, of course, buy one.   And the vendor, of course, has no change.   So while I have visions of Kelly getting mugged for her table at the Cask, I anxiously await a co-worker of this dude, who has my $5 change.   I pick up the bootlegged version of the program as well, and head into the Cask.

• Kelly has snagged, literally, the last free table in the place.   We are snug and happy and drinking. Fenway is next to us, an old Sox/Orioles game where the Sox came back for a walk-off win is on NESN, and all is right with the world.

Man o’ my dreams is back in town!  Here is where I digress for a moment.   I’ve never made a secret of my affections for Bronson Arroyo.   They run to a totally embarrassing overflow.   I’ve never, NEVER, been this goofy over a baseball player.   Not even back in the Fred Lynn days.   (And I was some kind of goofy over Fred Lynn!)   One of my best friends and sistahs, also named Kelly, got to see first hand how nuts I am over Bronson.   Her reaction “I’ve never seen you like this”.   It’s a silly, embarrassing, weak-in-the-knees, response that I have no control over.   I’m not proud of it, hell especially at my age, but it is what it is.   With that, I’ve decided to embrace it.

This comes up for two reasons.   See, the game on NESN was a game from 2004.   Bronson started it and he, to put it mildly, sucked himself right off the mound.   (It should be noted that there was actually a time when I threatened to NOT go to a game for which I had tickets all because Bronson was pitching.   My sistahs talked me out of my boycott and, surprise of surprises, Bronson kicked butt that night.   But I’m digressing from my digression.)

The other reason I’m bringing Bronson up is because he’s pulling a mini-stint on Comcast Sports Net.   Prior to and then after Game 1 and after Game 2, they have him on to give his view on the games and the teams.   So, this means, Bronson is in Boston.

Bronson is in Boston and I immediately become 16.   I’m sitting in the Cask watching 2004 Bronson suck like the suckiest suck, and I’m wondering if we’ll get to see him at the park.   Maybe he’s bunking with Kyle Snyder and Javier Lopez?   He and Snyder have the same agent!   (Yes, in my imaginary world, men who make $25 million need to have friends put them up when they come in to town.)   Maybe he can stuff a pillow or two under his shirt, put some thick-ass glasses on and pretend to be Eric Gagne.   (Who, in my imaginary world, has been hog-tied, gagged and locked in some underground bunker under the visitor’s bullpen until the World Series is over.)

So if I’m not already out of my mind in ecstasy over going to a World Series game, the possibility of seeing Bronson makes me cross the Rubicon.   Hello insanity!   How are the wife and kids?

• Only two things truly worth mentioning at the Cask.  The first being the guy we spot wearing an Eric Gagne t-shirt.   I decide we need to buy him a beer and Kelly notices he has a glass of beer in one hand and the pitcher of beer in the other.   We then decide the last thing he probably needs is more beer.   The other phenomenon is the number of people who approached us wanting our table.   Seeing the Sox gear we both wore, they correctly assumed we were going to the game.   Little did they know how dedicated we were to the beer that was a few dollars cheaper than inside.   And little did they know that Kelly was an old pro at this and had everything timed perfectly.   But, honestly, I’ve never seen such a rush.   Practically every time one of us moved, someone came over to ask us if they could have our table.   I’m not going to lie, we gave it to the cute guy in the Trot Nixon t-shirt.   Other people?   You lose.

•  Walking into Fenway was a bit surreal.  Hell, I’ve been in Fenway well over twenty times this year, including Game 2 of the ALDS, and none of them compared with last night.   It sounds so cliche to say there was ‘electricity’ in the air, but there was.  Last night, walking into the park, I was a kid, walking up that ramp for the first time.  Admittedly, there were a couple of tears

• Geekiness kicks in as the first thing we see is the Fox set up.  “There’s Kevin Kennedy” someone who sounds a lot like me yells.  I hate Fox Sports and everything about it.  Yet for a split second, I’m thrilled to see Kevin Kennedy.  Ah, MLB, you so own my soul.

• Kelly and I are both surprised to see Eric Byrnes with the gang.  I avert my eyes and notice Eric Karros.  Let me just say, he might be annoying on tv, but he’s one fine looking man with one helluva head of hair.  I’m tempted to scream “Eric, I love your hair!!” (because I’ve, obviously, lost my mind) and Kelly encourages me to do so.  It isn’t until I realize if I mention “Eric” and “hair” in the same sentence, Eric BYRNES will think I’m yelling to HIM, that I change my mind and stay silent.

• Holliday is batting .250 in the post season, Papi is batting .417, geniusOddly enough, I see lots of purple and black in the crowd.  Okay, maybe not ‘lots’, but more than I saw mentioned in the news today.  The Rockies fans made a, somewhat, respectable show of it.  Well, ‘respectable’ is being generous.  Any idiot who brings a sign to the opposing team’s park, trashing the most beloved player on the team, knows nothing about respect.  Interestingly enough, this idiot parading that sign around the entire pre-game but the moment Pedroia smashed that home run, he was nowhere to be found for the remainder of the game.

• Because, as I’ve established, I’m insane, I suggest to Kelly that we should go get beer before the game starts.  We’re IN the park.  We can see our seats from where we are.  And what do I want to do?  Go back ‘out there’ to get beer.  What a good idea!  We find a beer line that looks to be about 125 people deep.  Upon closer inspection (really just me barreling my way through the people) we realize the majority of these people haven’t a bloody clue where they are going and certainly aren’t looking for beer.  After Kelly and some random person, who also wants beer, almost beat a couple of three people to death for pushing their way through a line they can’t get past (thanks to barriers they refuse to acknowledge are there), we have beer and we head to our seats.