The Hajj
I apologize for the late post today, but I was out late last night. I went to temple. Not the Jewish one--MY temple. Temple B'Nai Ortiz. Fenway Park.
My uncle H takes a share in a set of season tickets that are so ludicrously good that they actually ruin your idea of what good seats are. You know how when you tell someone you're going to a game, they always ask, "You get good seats?" Well, the seats that you said "Yes" about before...not after these tickets.
They can alter your memories of other sporting events. You think, "Dude--(I don't say dude. This is an example.)--Dude, can you imagine seeing that game from The Seats?" Or, "Yeah, that game was pretty good, but we were like fifteen rows back." They're that close.
The last game I saw from The Seats was a twelve-strikeout classic from Pedro Martinez against the Mariners about five years ago, or 3 B.C. (Before Championship). Needless to say, when H called and offered to take me to another game, it was not something that required a great deal of consideration.
We parked in Brookline--which is almost an oxymoron--and took the T in. You would want to do this for a few reasons. One, it's a gorgeous late afternoon and you feel a natural high just by being outside and going to the ballpark. Two, it's more convenient in that you don't have to spend a half-hour looking for a space. Three, parking can run you $35.
You did not read that wrong--$35. Here, I'll put in check form: Thirty-five Dollars and xx/100 cents. To park your car for three hours. The average ticket price in the major leagues last year was 21 dollars. It is literally more expensive for your car to get to a game than you.
(My uncle and I were at the T stop when my brother called to tell us that the Sox have finally been cought up in the steroid/HGH scandal. Paxton Crawford, who once claimed the most laughable excuse for injury in memory (he "fell out of bed and cut his abdomen on a broken glass"), admitted to using steroids and HGH and is threatening to take down the entire clubhouse. We know the Sox are no purer than any other team. We know the scandal was coming home eventually. But this chucklehead? This guy with 6 decisions in his entire career? Come on.)
Fenway is a lot nicer than I remember it. They close down a section of the street around the park and set up beer gardens, food stands, and souvenir tables for people to mill around at before the game. And man, is it cleaner than it used to be. The whole place, as old as it is, just felt refreshed.
Then you go out to The Seats and the field is right there. It's seventy-five degrees out with a light breeze and there's a moment where you realize that if The Seats were an apartment, the rent would be higher than you're paying right now. But it would be worth it, because The Seats are clearly the place from which all Good flows.
As for the game itself...well, wow. I was convinced that the Sox, 8-0 in interleague play and winners of five in a row, were due to drop one and it was naturally going to be the game I attended. That turned out not to be the case.
Jon Lester is for real. He pitched six innings of three hit ball, walked two, and struck out ten. His pitch count got up there early because the Nationals were working him pretty well, but he never felt like he was losing control. His last two starts have been high-quality and this is something to feel very good about as the season goes on.
And then there was David Ortiz. Ortiz, who has been Ruthian since he got out of Minnesota last week, clubbed a grand slam in a second inning where every runner got on base with two down. It was out to centerfield--not the deepest part of the park, but deep enough to be be really impressive. As it left the field, I looked at my uncle because I couldn't believe it had happened. He, who attends 14 games a season, couldn't believe it either.
We got to see Manny and Varitek knock in RBI hits, the team racked up 16 hits, and the game was never in doubt. It was, if not a Perfect Game, a perfect game.
As we walked down Beacon Street (and I mean ON Beacon. We were walking in the left lane of traffic), I looked at the buildings--all brick and brownstone--and the lights from Fenway and it's so God-damned NICE out in June and the Sox just won their sixth straight and I tried to think of a reason not to quit the fucking TV business and move here forever. But in the end I realize that it's just a night, and it's not always this nice out and the Sox will drop 15 of 20 in August and this feeling will probably pass.
But what a great night.
My uncle H takes a share in a set of season tickets that are so ludicrously good that they actually ruin your idea of what good seats are. You know how when you tell someone you're going to a game, they always ask, "You get good seats?" Well, the seats that you said "Yes" about before...not after these tickets.
They can alter your memories of other sporting events. You think, "Dude--(I don't say dude. This is an example.)--Dude, can you imagine seeing that game from The Seats?" Or, "Yeah, that game was pretty good, but we were like fifteen rows back." They're that close.
The last game I saw from The Seats was a twelve-strikeout classic from Pedro Martinez against the Mariners about five years ago, or 3 B.C. (Before Championship). Needless to say, when H called and offered to take me to another game, it was not something that required a great deal of consideration.
We parked in Brookline--which is almost an oxymoron--and took the T in. You would want to do this for a few reasons. One, it's a gorgeous late afternoon and you feel a natural high just by being outside and going to the ballpark. Two, it's more convenient in that you don't have to spend a half-hour looking for a space. Three, parking can run you $35.
You did not read that wrong--$35. Here, I'll put in check form: Thirty-five Dollars and xx/100 cents. To park your car for three hours. The average ticket price in the major leagues last year was 21 dollars. It is literally more expensive for your car to get to a game than you.
(My uncle and I were at the T stop when my brother called to tell us that the Sox have finally been cought up in the steroid/HGH scandal. Paxton Crawford, who once claimed the most laughable excuse for injury in memory (he "fell out of bed and cut his abdomen on a broken glass"), admitted to using steroids and HGH and is threatening to take down the entire clubhouse. We know the Sox are no purer than any other team. We know the scandal was coming home eventually. But this chucklehead? This guy with 6 decisions in his entire career? Come on.)
Fenway is a lot nicer than I remember it. They close down a section of the street around the park and set up beer gardens, food stands, and souvenir tables for people to mill around at before the game. And man, is it cleaner than it used to be. The whole place, as old as it is, just felt refreshed.
Then you go out to The Seats and the field is right there. It's seventy-five degrees out with a light breeze and there's a moment where you realize that if The Seats were an apartment, the rent would be higher than you're paying right now. But it would be worth it, because The Seats are clearly the place from which all Good flows.
As for the game itself...well, wow. I was convinced that the Sox, 8-0 in interleague play and winners of five in a row, were due to drop one and it was naturally going to be the game I attended. That turned out not to be the case.
Jon Lester is for real. He pitched six innings of three hit ball, walked two, and struck out ten. His pitch count got up there early because the Nationals were working him pretty well, but he never felt like he was losing control. His last two starts have been high-quality and this is something to feel very good about as the season goes on.
And then there was David Ortiz. Ortiz, who has been Ruthian since he got out of Minnesota last week, clubbed a grand slam in a second inning where every runner got on base with two down. It was out to centerfield--not the deepest part of the park, but deep enough to be be really impressive. As it left the field, I looked at my uncle because I couldn't believe it had happened. He, who attends 14 games a season, couldn't believe it either.
We got to see Manny and Varitek knock in RBI hits, the team racked up 16 hits, and the game was never in doubt. It was, if not a Perfect Game, a perfect game.
As we walked down Beacon Street (and I mean ON Beacon. We were walking in the left lane of traffic), I looked at the buildings--all brick and brownstone--and the lights from Fenway and it's so God-damned NICE out in June and the Sox just won their sixth straight and I tried to think of a reason not to quit the fucking TV business and move here forever. But in the end I realize that it's just a night, and it's not always this nice out and the Sox will drop 15 of 20 in August and this feeling will probably pass.
But what a great night.
posted by Matthew at 10:01 AM
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