Scott's View - Boston, Massachusetts
Fenway Park was the very first Park we visited on our very first baseball trip -- and we quickly learned a lesson about planning ahead. It was September of 1989, and the Red Sox were playing the Blue Jays in a late-season battle for first place. We were there to see two consecutive night games, on Monday and Tuesday. We showed up for Monday's game without tickets, and had to settle for SRO admission. Not that that was such a bad thing; Fenway is not very big, so the view from anywhere was passable. Plus, we moved around for most of the game and it was neat to get all the different perspectives.
On Tuesday, though, we felt like having an actual seat. This led to our first and last encounter with a ticket scalper. Kenmore Square, a few blocks from Fenway, was buzzing with activity an hour before game time. Among the crowd, naturally, were quite a few folks hawking tickets to the evening's contest. So we overpaid a little fat guy for two seats "In the third row behind the Red Sox dugout." Well, the tickets read "Row 3" all right, but unfortunately, we were unfamiliar with Fenway's seat-numbering system. It turns out that each level begins its row numbers anew, in an entirely different-numbered section. So we ended up in the third row of the third section, well up into the stands and behind a pedestrian concourse. Now, these still weren't bad seats, and we vowed then and there to be more discriminating in the future. But it wasn't over yet. Our seats were the third and fourth from the aisle, and two other guys were seated in the first and second seats. Not long after the first pitch, an usher made his way down to our row, followed by a man with his young son. The usher addressed all four of us: "Did you guys buy your tickets from a scalper?" We all sheepishly nodded our heads. "Well, you bought stolen season tickets. We're going to let you stay in the Park, which we don't have to, but you've now got standing-room-only tickets, understand?" Of course we understood. The poor guys from seats one and two slinked up the aisle, but as Ron and I stood to do the same, the rightful ticket holder said to us, "We only need two seats tonight -- you guys can stay here." Sweet! We bought them hot dogs. And we've never gotten tickets from a scalper again.
As for Fenway, well, what can I say except that the place is an absolute shrine. Yeah, the seats are hard, there's not much leg room, and there are some obstructed views. But none of that seems to matter when you walk down to the left-field corner and can actually reach out and touch the Green Monster. Looking around, you can really feel the history, and you can almost picture Ted Williams stroking one of his perfect line drives into right field.
Fenway Park is what baseball is all about.
Fenway Park was the very first Park we visited on our very first baseball trip -- and we quickly learned a lesson about planning ahead. It was September of 1989, and the Red Sox were playing the Blue Jays in a late-season battle for first place. We were there to see two consecutive night games, on Monday and Tuesday. We showed up for Monday's game without tickets, and had to settle for SRO admission. Not that that was such a bad thing; Fenway is not very big, so the view from anywhere was passable. Plus, we moved around for most of the game and it was neat to get all the different perspectives.
On Tuesday, though, we felt like having an actual seat. This led to our first and last encounter with a ticket scalper. Kenmore Square, a few blocks from Fenway, was buzzing with activity an hour before game time. Among the crowd, naturally, were quite a few folks hawking tickets to the evening's contest. So we overpaid a little fat guy for two seats "In the third row behind the Red Sox dugout." Well, the tickets read "Row 3" all right, but unfortunately, we were unfamiliar with Fenway's seat-numbering system. It turns out that each level begins its row numbers anew, in an entirely different-numbered section. So we ended up in the third row of the third section, well up into the stands and behind a pedestrian concourse. Now, these still weren't bad seats, and we vowed then and there to be more discriminating in the future. But it wasn't over yet. Our seats were the third and fourth from the aisle, and two other guys were seated in the first and second seats. Not long after the first pitch, an usher made his way down to our row, followed by a man with his young son. The usher addressed all four of us: "Did you guys buy your tickets from a scalper?" We all sheepishly nodded our heads. "Well, you bought stolen season tickets. We're going to let you stay in the Park, which we don't have to, but you've now got standing-room-only tickets, understand?" Of course we understood. The poor guys from seats one and two slinked up the aisle, but as Ron and I stood to do the same, the rightful ticket holder said to us, "We only need two seats tonight -- you guys can stay here." Sweet! We bought them hot dogs. And we've never gotten tickets from a scalper again.
As for Fenway, well, what can I say except that the place is an absolute shrine. Yeah, the seats are hard, there's not much leg room, and there are some obstructed views. But none of that seems to matter when you walk down to the left-field corner and can actually reach out and touch the Green Monster. Looking around, you can really feel the history, and you can almost picture Ted Williams stroking one of his perfect line drives into right field.
Fenway Park is what baseball is all about.
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