The Lush Green and other Sensory Delicacies

Without question, one of the primary reasons the Red Sox have such a deeply rooted place in the hearts of New Engalanders is Fenway Park.  Built in 1912, generations of New Englanders can share the exact same moment with their forebearers.  Aside from religious services and maybe family recipes, what else can make the same claim?  And in that context, one can better understand the near-religious fervor that the Red Sox have garnered.

Perhaps the most dramatic moment is the ascent up the ramp toward the seats and the playing field.  From the inner bowels of the stadium, the drab grays and pillars and posts conjure up the inner workings of any huge vessel, be it a factory or a ship or water works.  This only serves to make the transition all the more dramatic.  Ascending the ramp reveals fresh, open air, lush green grass, and the familiar Fenway Green on all the surrounding walls (fortunately my childhood visits through the 1970’s were free of the suffocating advertising that now plasters most of that green space).  The low-level hum of 30,000 people mingles with the smack of the ball hitting the leather gloves and the crack of the bat all mark the distinct sensory experiences of a game at Fenway.

Reaching back to my first visit in 1975, the air was also filled with delicious cigar and cigarette smoke and the sudsy remnants of spilled beer from the Good Times of the previous day.  The plumes of smoke as Italian Sausages, the hallmark of any festival in Boston, be it the Marathon, North End festivals, or St. Patricks Day parades waft through the park and the booming voices of vendors beckon thorughout the stands.  Indeed, the daily schedule of baseball also puts it right in rhythm with daily life.  It’s a scene that plays out in Little Leagues all across the region as well.  In my own corner of Boston in Oak Square, our little league would gather at the decrepit Tar Park on the last Sunday morning of April (this conicided with the end of April vacation, which would be an otherwise sad day) and all the teams would march up Washington St. to Rogers Park on the outskirts of Brighton Center for a day of games.  Kids from 6 to 18 would be in uniform and about half way to Rogers Park, the smell of food - yes, Italian Sausages - would begin to filter down the street.  It was an Opening Day that provided the same tradition and excitement that Opening Day at Fenway gave to the region.  It was not merely the first game, or the start of the new season, but also the transition to Spring that was being celebrated.  For New Englanders who have been hunkered down for the bite of winter for 5 months, it was a joyous coming out party.

So for me, that first visit in 1976 was a rain out.  It was a Saturday afternoon game against the Baltimore Orioles.  I recall seeing the Orioles in their dugout waiting out the rain.  Guys like Al Bumbry, Lee May, and Jim Palmer that I meticulously copied playing wiffle ball with my brother seemed larger than life, even from such a distance.  And despite the persistent rain, I still hoped I would get to see legendary manager Earl Weaver throw one of his legendary tirades at an umpire, complete with the dirt-kicking, hat-throwing dramatic flourish.  A soaking day and the game never even got started, but the impression was definitely made; not only the sights and scents, but the chance to ride the rickety 57 bus with my father and hold his huge hand as I raced across Comm. Ave. to make the walk up Bookline St. to the park.  Looking back, it was great the game was rained out because it meant another chance to visit the park and expereince all these things again just a few weeks later when the Detroit Tigers rolled into town.  I think it is this multitude of connections - family, food, fresh air, fun and games and Boston landmarks that has so woven baseball and the Red Sox into the fabric of New England.