A trip to Boston from New Jersey is pretty much barely inside of the comfort zone - it isn't necessarily far, but is also definitely not a hop-skip-and-jump. Our driver (the boyfriend mentioned above) - actually drove both there and back without needing anyone else to step in. As a side note, my sister would never want me to step in - as she considers me one of the worst drivers to ever get behind the wheel of a car. I am not sure where she gets this from - I am incompetent in many areas, but driving a car on top of everything else? I don't know if my ego, or lack thereof, can really take that.
So, as my sister gabbed away and unintentionally (?) made some crude jokes (I still don't get where one goes from swallowing food to something completely off the rails), Troy & Heather were watching videos on their iPhone, and I was just sitting there wondering what exactly I would do to make this trip into a blog post. When you blog, you try to make everything into a blog post - you see an acorn fall off of a tree, and you want to make that interesting somehow. It isn't like an overnight trip to Boston is the most interesting thing in the world - eight of those hours are spent driving, many of them are spent sleeping, and three of them (or so) are spent at a ballpark. I could type that up in five minutes, and pretty much summarize the entire trip. Or I can observe (which I am told I am good at) and try to find these little things that can keep one's interest for a little while. Whether it is riding in a car and getting stuck at the George Washington Bridge, or trying to find a place to eat after you check in to the hotel (Note to the hotel: You may want to make this a bit easier to figure out for future guests), or even trying to figure out how one gets home from the ballpark once the game is over. Anything you can find that makes the trip unique, or interesting, or something a person or two will actually want to read about.
As Mike and Linny went in to the hotel to check-in, there were some interesting characters hanging out outside the hotel that Troy, Heather, and myself observed. While watching them, I was comforted in the fact that I had Heather with us - surely, she would protect us if these characters decided to hop into the truck and steal us. (For what it is worth, the truck is likely worth a whole lot more than I am - but we certainly wouldn't want anything to happen to Troy or Heather, and as I said - Heather surely would have made sure we would have survived the ordeal) We won't even talk about what actually made these likely nice people suspicious - vivid imaginations do go a long way.
After we essentially walked into the first place that even resembled a restaurant to have lunch (the place was deserted - it was mid-afternoon, so not surprising. But you know you are not venturing in during a busy time of the day when the guy behind the counter essentially shouts out "Yeah, you can sit there" from hundreds of feet away (Does this necessarily mean the food is not good? Of course not - to be exact, we all enjoyed what we had to eat. The portions were a bit on the bigger side, but that is better than going to one of those high-end restaurants, where they put a little blob of food on a big plate for $50, and expect it to fulfill your appetite.)
After a quick trip back to the hotel, it was time to get ready for the game. Well, "get ready" pretty much consists of nothing more than sitting around and wondering when you should actually go to the ballpark. "Should we go now? 5 minutes from now? 15 minutes from now? Tomorrow? Next year?" We decide to take a shuttle to the ballpark, and arrived probably a few hours or so before game time. We spent some time trying to figure out which gate we were supposed to be at, while my sister was attempting to get rid of a ticket she had that we weren't going to use. She handed it to a random guy on the street, and we walked off . We came to find out later that he sold that ticket to a fan on the street for higher than face value (By the way, there really isn't anyone around to stop this practice - perhaps it is technically illegal to do so, but if anybody cares, it isn't apparent). The guy was a Cubs fan who came to Boston for reasons that he either didn't tell us or that I conveniently ignored. (I am probably the last person a random person wants to sit next to in a ballpark, on a plane, or anywhere in general. I am not a talker - my sister has that gene and perhaps should have been the one talking to this gentleman...which, of course, she ended up doing anyway). He eventually left his seat and sat elsewhere, either due to my lack of conversation or because I had some sort of repulsive odor - either way, I was just glad he went elsewhere and don't care why.
Before the game, we walked around, and there is nothing quite like walking around Fenway Park. There is even an area where you essentially are outside the park, even though you really aren't. It is just an incredible experience. Fenway is not modern, and doesn't really attempt to be - except for the random charging stations that are located in a few scattered spots. After all, you could lose fans if they can't charge their cell phones in between innings. It was actually a bit reassuring to see that nobody was standing at any of these stations.
Troy didn't want any merchandise as something to show off for being at the park (Good kid who has his priorities straight - no Red Sox gear, ma!) But he eventually caved in (or perhaps Linny forced him?) and accepted a Fenway Park shirt. Of course, once again, my "gift to gab" sister had to actually strike up a conversation with the man selling the shirts. She gets this from my father, who also had this unique ability to turn everyone he met into a friend. There is nothing wrong with that - personally, I have this unique ability to turn everyone I meet into Houdini, as they certainly disappear from view very quickly.
By the way, if you are going to an evening game in Fenway, one thing to consider is to bring sunglasses if you decide to sit in the right field stands. The sun pretty much glares at you for the first several innings of the game, making it tough to see the action - and even tougher to prevent complete blindness from looking at the sun. (Well, at least that is what I was told growing up - "don't look at the sun, you will go blind!" Others get told not to do other things because they lead to blindness - me? I got the sun.) The stadium is absolutely stunning, in that it just reminds you of old-school baseball. There are a few electronic scoreboards, but everyone focuses on the manual one sitting on the Green Monster. The atmosphere is all about baseball - these fans aren't there to chat about billion dollar deals or where they are going to go to dinner after the 5th inning. They are there to WATCH A BASEBALL GAME. And that is exactly what they do - most of the fans don't even seem to get up out of their seats once during the game - you may miss something, after all - and are very much into every pitch. (Just as a side note, some of the people who do leave their seats really shouldn't - listen, I try not to judge anyone. But when you go out in a public place, maybe dress a tad more appropriately - there are certain things that nobody wants to see). All of this for a team that was ten games under .500. As a Yankees fan, I can admit that this would never happen in New York - the Mets have proven that recently. You either win or fans stay away. Watch any Don Mattingly home run highlights from the 1980s, and you will witness a lot of home run balls landing in completely empty right-field seats. Most "newer" Yankees fans likely can't understand that concept, but it is true: Your favorite team was once nothing more than a punchline.
The loudness of the park is also something that gets lost in some of the newer parks - when these fans cheer, it can be a deafening experience, which is something that simply no longer happens since the Yankees moved to their new park. Don't get me wrong - I love what the new stadium offers. You can watch the game literally from anywhere in the park as you walk around - the food and drink options are endless, the seats comfortable. And it is still the Yankees. But some of the old-school charm can and does get lost.
Both myself and Troy had one of the famed "Fenway Franks", which was admittedly a damn good hot dog - and their fresh squeezed lemonade certainly hit the spot, though I am not sure if I saw the supply truck that delivered the lemons. But I don't care - even if it was poured from a Newman's Best bottle, it sure as heck tasted fresh squeezed.
The game itself wasn't really memorable - all six runs were scored in one inning, and there weren't too many threats that made the home crowd sweat. Nothing was hit overall the monster, and nothing was even hit OFF of the monster. But there was one interesting experience that you have to actually witness to get the full effect of: The fans of Fenway Park have this very interesting love affair with the song "Sweet Caroline". You have probably heard about this - but what you hear is nothing like what you experience. The song, which I believe plays before the bottom of the 8th, sends the crowd into a frenzy - as they sing along, and pretty much in complete harmony. While many attempts at a stupid wave ultimately failed, Sweet Caroline was a home run. Does it really make sense in a baseball universe? Of course not - but it doesn't seem to really matter. It is a part of the fabric of the park - and an ultimate thrill ride. That said, I have no real intention to want to hear the song again or run out and buy a Red Sox jersey inspired by it.
We were told that after the game was over, there would be "plenty of cabs" outside waiting to take people home, or to their hotels. Well, that was obviously incorrect advice - as there wasn't one cab to be found. We were told where we could find them, so we began to walk. And walk. And walk. We walked down a street that started nice, but slowly but surely turned into a scene from the Twilight Zone, where literally within two steps, you feel as if you have walked into a new universe. You go from businesses and buildings where nothing is askew to complexes with bars on their windows and probably shotguns on the other side. I thought for sure I would hear my first live gunshot that night (while hoping it wouldn't actually hit me or anyone I was with), but alas, nothing happened out of the ordinary. At the very least, we had a fireman with me, so if someone threw a match on me, I would probably still be somewhat safe. But we did keep walking until....well, we were back at the hotel of course. Who needs a cab when you can walk a mile or 50 to get back to the hotel instead? Who needs a cab in the middle of the night in a strange city you have never visited before? Not us! We are either a bunch of brave or stupid Jerseyans, but either way, we got to where we needed to be.
After getting back to the hotel after our long day, we decided that it was time for junk food. For those of you who don't know, my sister is a workout junkie who typically doesn't indulge too much into the junk food spectrum. I really don't do it much myself. Strings of sugar (aka Twizzlers), crackers filled with stuff you can't pronounce like Cheez-Its, Doritos, etc. A complete assortment of things that end up on the "What Not to Eat" list in every nutritionist's office. But hey - it was late, we were hungry, and I guess we went back into college day munchie mode. Or perhaps we were, in that moment, living vicariously through our high school companion (Troy), who was in the room with us. Two rooms for five people - my sister, Troy, and myself in one; Heather and Mike in the other. In many ways, my sister is truly the "cool" mom, while also being the "good" mom. It is very telling when a 17-year old boy and a 24-year old young woman want to go on road trips with their mother - I have to assume that isn't entirely common, but it is refreshing - in those moments, she is both a mom and a best friend going on an adventure. They literally talk about everything with each other. That is a part of the experience that can go beyond just going to see Fenway Park.
The next morning, my sister and I went to get breakfast in the hotel while everyone else slept. I am not going to pretend this is normal for me; I do not wake up at 7:30 in the morning. I would rather do what the younger generation did and just stay in bed. But for some reason, it felt normal for me to get up and go to the breakfast buffet. (As my wife likes to kid about, I used to love going to the breakfast buffet every morning when we were on our honeymoon. When I went to St. Louis for business, I always looked forward to the breakfast buffet. And here we are in Boston, where once again, the breakfast buffet takes over my life - all it is is a bunch of breakfast things all concentrated in one area - some of which may have been cooked a week ago, for all I know. Pouring oatmeal all over a plate that already has a danish on it may not sound appealing - but it is a BREAKFAST BUFFET, darn it! I am going to eat my oatmeal flavored biscuit! I did pass right by the waffle station. That's probably all for the best - because the likely outcome was me burning myself on the waffle iron. ) We sat and ate, and of course my sister found a way to talk to yet another random stranger sitting on the other side of the table.
After everyone woke up (and my niece having this interesting thing about not wanting to wake up her man) and took care of what they needed to take care of, it was time to hit the road and head back to New Jersey. Mike decided to avoid the George Washington Bridge this time around (Google Maps is YOUR FRIEND - always remember that, people! When in doubt, use Google Maps!), we made a few pitstops, got stuck in traffic due to a car fire...but I think mostly we all dozed off. Well, except for Mike. I hope. He could have dozed off and we likely wouldn't have known about it.
That was the end of the trip - a few other things happened that day, including both my mother and my sister asking me to do yard chores. I don't mind doing yard chores, but there are a few likely outcomes: Either I will get hurt or I will find a way to set your yard on fire. Luckily, neither happened, though my sister was compelled to at least redo a little bit of my lawn mowing work. This doesn't offend me, by the way - because nothing offends me (as my sister pointed out in Boston) - heck, I would have been more surprised if she didn't take over for me after the fact.
The bottom line is that adventures like this are not just about going to see another baseball stadium, or to visit a new city. It is about more than that - obviously, one day, I hope that Colleen is healthy enough to go on a similar trip, because that will make it feel "complete" for me. I fill her in on the details of every trip I make - hopefully the day will come when she is a part of the details.
I hadn't been on a "family" like trip since back in the early 1990s, when my family would take yearly trips to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Things always change of course - siblings often start their own families, and may even move away to a place that makes it more difficult to see them consistently. You don't necessarily drift apart - you simply don't live with each other 24/7 anymore. You begin to carve out your own legacy, and begin to make new memories with your significant others, your children, your dogs. But when you get together with your family and/or best friends, it is like time has stood still - it is like a soap opera that you can stop watching for two months and still not lose your place in the story.
Yes, in the end, this is a long-winded blog entry about a trip. A trip that was no more than 20 or so hours long. A trip that was spent mostly driving and sleeping. But also a trip that will likely forever be remembered.
