Souvenir
“ S O U V E N I R ”
From sunny, Box-Seat Section 77, Row A, Marc and I got a player’s eye view of the grassy short left field. Sometimes, the third base coach even blocked our sight line to the batter. We could see the infielders scramble to rotate when the batter bunted with runners on first and second. We could also see peeling layer upon layer of dusty brick colored paint, right down to the concrete barrier. No doubt this concrete was poured while workers whistled that new song, “Alexander’s Ragtime Band”. This new concrete overheard fans speak in disbelief about the Titanic sinking. And later that year, peanuts shells were crushed under the feet of jubilant Bostonians as they were on their way to defeating a New York (N.L.) team for the 1912 World Championship. It’s strange that this seat caused me to forget about the Red Sox annual runner – up status. Even though the Sox were in first place longer than the Yankees this year, they never seemed to be comfortable with the Yankees poised to overtake them at any moment. It’s strange that this big front row seat doesn’t have enough room for skepticism. Yes, this box-seat made me forget about the eight game losing streak. And by the time the big September moon hung over my right field counterparts, it would be nine.
Boston’s Tim Wakefield throws a knuckle-ball that barely tops 70 miles per hour. However, this is the as hard to hit as catching a fly, bare – handed. Cleveland’s Juan Gonzalez has smashed nearly 400 career home runs. He looks tall, lean and muscular. From this seat, he looks like the older brother playing with kids in a lower grade. In the seventh inning, Wakefield floated a cotton ball up to Gonzalez. He lashed the ball right at us. Within one second, the happiness of “Here comes a ball”, changed to the emergency status of “Save yourself. . . duck”. This laser beam hit the padded wall with a thud and ricocheted into left field. Foul ball. Veteran out-fielder, Dante Bichette loped over to the still smoking projectile and tossed it gently into the stands. However, as fans clamored to snag the prize like hungry goldfish at feeding time in the F.W. Woolworth’s fish tank, the ball was batted back onto the field. Now, we were all disappointed.
But here comes my new best buddy, the ball boy. Like lightning bolt off his little stool, he broke for the ball so play could continue. With an oversized glove, not his, my pal scooped up the once-rejected sphere and looked my way. Then, I thought I heard “Petrocelli to Scott”, as he heaved the ball to me but it flew way over my head.
Hey, E – 10 ! I stood and turned to see who caught this throwing error. Then, in a scene that looked like a volleyball game with no net, the hot potato skipped back toward the brick-colored wall, back to me. The ball hopped around at my feet. Then it hopped right into my beer cup. True, ask Marc. ( Coincidentally , it was already filled with hops.) Standing, I raised this frothy trophy over my head, like [A*] Ray Bourque did, in a toast to my box seat comrades. But, I couldn’t get the ball out, it was wedged in the plastic cup. I thought, does anyone know that there is a ball in there. Luckily, there were no charades players around to yell “Statue Of Liberty”, or I would have had to touch my nose.
Dump the beer. . . get the ball. If there was any other way . . . but there wasn’t. And so with a splash on the ground, I turned to my stone – fingered brethren and held up the dripping, stitched cowhide in one hand and empty plastic cup in the other, so they may applaud me in my good fortune.
Maybe in Fenway, the foul line is the mystical dividing line of good fortune and bad. Maybe it’s part of “The Curse”? So be it. I always thought that I’ve been close to it since I tried to chew those dusty sticks of hard gum included in Topps baseball cards. But now, I know I am part of it, because today I have a part of it, in a plastic cup. Thanks to my friend Steve Kelly for these tickets. Final score, Indians 8, Red Sox 5. Pedro goes tomorrow.
Ed Mullen, West Roxbury, MA Tuesday, September 4, 2001 – Fenway Park
{A*} Ray Bourque wins Stanley Cup as a member of the Colorado Avalanche June 9, 2001. The long-time Bruin was traded to Colorado March 6, 2000 (20 yrs BOS, 1.5 yrs COL) . Famous ironic picture of Bourque holding the Cup over his head with Colorado uniform on.
[B*} At this time, the drought was 83 years and counting…. Red Sox will win World Series title, three years, after this is written on Oct 27, 2004. “The Curse of the Bambino” was still active.
[C*} The events of September 11, 2001 were one week ahead.
