Which Way? Fenway!

Watching a baseball game at Boston’s venerable Fenway Park has been a bucket list of mine for years. So we decided to tack on a visit to Boston at the end of our recent Maine adventure.

Boston is my kind of town. According to the unimpeachable reference, HelloFresh Ireland (I’m not making this up), Boston is the most Irish city in the world outside Ireland. One key factor is that Bean Town has more Irish pubs per capita than any other city outside the Emerald Isle. That’s good enough for me.

We stayed at the Park Plaza hotel, just steps away from Boston Common, the Public Garden, many historic sites, and, propitiously, M.J. O’Connor’s, a handsome and authentic-feeling Irish pub. We arrived from Kennebunkport early Friday afternoon and after checking in, had a pint and a sandwich at O’Connor’s, then went on a walkabout.

In the beautiful Public Garden we found the bronze ducklings that are a tribute to the beloved children’s book, “Make Way for Ducklings”, by Robert McCloskey. Side note: That book holds a special place in our family lore: Reading the book to our young children many years ago, I always referred to Policeman Mike as Officer McGillicutty, in a high-pitched, sing-songy voice. Years later, my daughter Eileen was reading the book to her kids and realized, to her horror, that there was no Officer McGillicutty. Faith and begorrah! It was as if she had just learned I lied about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny too. (Well, actually….)

The next morning I was filled with anticipation. It was a glorious, warm sunny day at the end of September so we walked to Fenway, about a half-hour away.

We made our way to Lansdowne Street, a pedestrian-only promenade that abuts Fenway. The street is lined with outside seating for bars and restaurants, souvenir shops, and baseball clothing stores. We found a sign for Bleacher Bar, the famous establishment tucked under Fenway’s left-centerfield bleachers (the bleachers have long since given way to seats) with a large window looking out onto the field.

After lunch in the cavernous bar in very close proximity to hundreds of Sox fans and a few brave souls sporting caps or jerseys of the visiting Detroit Tigers, we headed to the gate and entered the shrine.

Fenway opened in 1912 (the same year as the introduction of Oreo cookies and just five days after the Titanic disaster), and in the concourse it looks and smells its age. It’s dingy and dark and narrow and has the aroma of many people in close quarters for more than a century.

But boy is it cool. The ancient walls are lined with artifacts, plaques, and memorabilia. Vendors offer the same fare you would find at any ballpark; yet the workers seem genuinely happy to be there and to welcome you to a place they take pride in. It had the same vibe as at Spring Training – people understand and appreciate their good fortune, of being in such a sacred (to baseball fans) venue on the one hand or watching baseball in shirtsleeves in winter on the other.

We got to our seats, on the first-base line about a dozen rows behind the home-team dugout, then I went to do more exploring. I got to the famed Green Monster, the 37-foot-tall wall in left field within which an operator manually updates the scoreboard. People without tickets to that section can get onto the top of the wall to take pictures, which I did. It felt magical to be at such an iconic piece of baseball history.

The game itself was great fun. It was the penultimate day of the regular season. The Red Sox had already clinched one of the three American League wild cards, while the Tigers needed a win to make it into the postseason.

Detroit won 2-1 on a two-run single by former Oriole Jahmai Jones in the fifth inning.

If you are a baseball fan, don’t put off a trip to Fenway. It’s an experience I’ll treasure forever.