Saturday, September 22, 2007

Fenway fun

Went to Boston last weekend to visit Fenway Park. The evil Yankees were in town, so it felt like the full meal deal--historic ballpark, historic rivalry, and so on. It was quite fun, actually, or as much fun as going to a new city by yourself can be. (Yes, flew solo on this one.)

Got in quite late Friday, so just checked into my hotel and called it a (very long) day. The next morning, rode the subway (or the "T," I guess they call it) to Government Station, a stop on the Freedom Trail. I didn't walk the entire Trail, simply visited Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market. It was raining and I was a bit tired, so I didn't do anything more ambitious than that. (It also seemed quite touristy and so not as intriguing as I'd supposed.)

I was starting to worry that the game would be rained out or delayed at this point. I got a to-go order of some kind of Greek phyllo/spinach/feta pie thing for lunch and caught the T back to Fenway. The ballpark opened two hours before game time, and skies were still cloudy by then but no rain was falling. The road that runs along the third base side of the park, Yawkey Way, is fenced off as one giant party on game day, with food, beverages, entertainment, etc. Feasting on a Fenway Frank and a Sam Adams Octoberfest draft, I wandered around for awhile, taking pictures, before finally heading to my seat about 20 minutes before first pitch.

Sitting there for a while, I watched all the various vendor guys--selling cotton candy, cokes and water, peanuts, pretzels, hotdogs, hot chocolate, and even clam chowder--before it slowly dawned on me.

There were no beer guys.

That's when I finally realized that all beer sold at Fenway is draft. This is obviously a good thing, since draft is often better, but at the same time it represented a wee problem.

Like I would have to walk all the way back down to the main level to get another beer.

I did make the trek once, but found myself too lazy to go again. So, Fenway, my liver thanks you.

The Red Sox ended up kicking the Yankees' butts that day, 10-1. Perhaps because of that, all in attendance seemed to be well-behaved, no shouting matches, fights, etc. The weather cleared off and was simply beautiful, and in fact almost a bit chilly for someone used to temps in the 90's. Took the T to the airport the next day, settled in on my plane with a good Michael Crichton novel, and drove home after an uneventful flight into Houston, tired but with lots of great pictures and memories.


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