Over the summer I have attended a dozen baseball games at Boston’s historic Fenway Park. In my experiences there I have encountered an amazingly diverse group of loyal Red Sox fans. Here’s a small sampling of the members of Red Sox Nation.
Lisa and Diane are married women in their mid-forties. As they watch the game, they pass between them a small plastic flask and a pair of binoculars. Occasionally they giggle like schoolgirls as they exchange these essential items. I overhear, “You can see Jason’s jockstrap from here with these.” Diane notices that I had overheard, and apologizes in stammer. “No problem, we are all adults here,” I respond. She offers her flask adding, “They can’t find this with the metal detectors.” I decline the offer politely, gesturing toward my beer. Lisa’s husband is a native New Yorker and a Yankee fan; Diane’s husband hates baseball, but acts like a Yankee fan simply to agitate his wife. For Lisa and Diane, Fenway Park is sanctuary from whining children and unsympathetic husbands.
Doug and his wife Karen have decided to have a birthday party at Fenway Park in the right field bleachers. Their group consists of the two of them, their ten-year-old birthday-boy, eight-year-old daughter, and a half dozen of their children’s friends. Every half inning one of them gets up to take one or more of the children to get a soda, some popcorn, a souvenir baseball, a pretzel, some peanuts and multiple trips to the bathroom. Finally, during the sixth inning, Doug treats himself to a Fenway Frank and a nice cold six dollar beer, which is promptly spilled by his son’s careless friend. Why go through such aggravation? “I remember my father taking me to Fenway when I was his age, and his father took him before that. I couldn’t break the family tradition.” For Doug, Karen and their family, Fenway Park is a long-standing family tradition.
Eric and Trevor are frat boys from nearby Boston College. They are dressed in their finest Polo shirts and jeans, and seemingly brand new Red Sox baseball caps. They chug beers as if they are expecting the keg to run out any second. They sing along with the songs between innings, and try to get the attention of any young girl wearing Boston garb. During the fifth inning, Eric’s cell phone rings; “Honey, I’m at the game I’ll call you when it’s over.” Girlfriend? Why didn’t you take her to the game? Eric and Trevor glance at one another and then share a hearty laugh, “Brother, you don’t take sand to the beach!!” For Eric and Trevor, Fenway Park is Boston’s biggest singles bar.
As you can see by these accounts, Fenway Park is many different things to many different people. Their reasons for attending games are as diverse as they are. Despite the differences, there is one common bond: the hope that this will finally be the year that the Red Sox win a World Series.