Recently, a friend and colleague informed me that her husband’s company had received a contract to perform work on the sod at Fenway Park… and that her husband was going to be assigned to the project. I thought it was pretty cool that he would get to go onto the playing field and walk around… touch the Green Monster… maybe even sneak a run around the bases.
Yesterday I learned that her son, Tyler, had made the trip to Boston with her husband… and that he had the opportunity to walk around on the outfield grass. Now THAT is VERY cool.
When I was a young lad, few things held so much mystery for me as Fenway Park. I always wished for the opportunity to walk on the field. My heart always skipped a beat just running up the walkways and into the ballpark on game days—first, the sight of the Green Monster… then the green outfield grass… and then the infield “dirt”… the blue and red seats… the players on the field in their crisp white uniforms… the crack of the bat and the thwack of the ball hitting the glove. I always went down to beg autographs from the players (confession: I STILL do that) and would spend lots of time being envious of anyone and everyone who was lucky enough to be down on the field.
And so yesterday I found myself transported back to a day in my youth… to a time when it would have been such a thrill to be able to walk on the grass at Fenway Park—game day or not. And I thought about the thrill a young man must have experienced this past weekend in Boston… with his dad… on the field at Fenway Park.