Field of Dreams

If you happen to call the Boston area home, you know that celebrations have been in the works for weeks. Despite a not-so-solid start to the 2012 season there have been cheers, parties, jubilation's, and memories. For Fenway Park turns 100 today and my, oh my, she looks pretty damn fantastic for her century turn.

I won’t be in the ballpark this afternoon, I won’t get to watch my beloved Red Sox strut onto the field in their vintage uniforms, nor will I get to raise my glass of Welch’s grape juice in a record-breaking toast. I won’t cross my fingers (and my toes) while sitting in the grandstand hoping for a win against the Yankees, I won’t partake in the seventh inning stretch, nor will I stand to sing along to Sweet Caroline at the end of the 8th. There will be no afternoon beer, no pricey peanuts or Fenway Franks purchased this afternoon. Unfortunately, I’ll live vicariously through those lucky people that can be at Fenway today, who are enjoying all the delights that glorious old ballpark offers – particularly on a day as sunny and as mild as this one.

I will of course, dig up my own personal memories of Fenway Park. Sure, I’ve seen the old photos – Babe Ruth, Ted Williams, Carl Yastrzemski on the field. I’ve watched clips of games before my time; I’ve admired the evolution of the ballpark through countless photos and information gleaned on the web. Fenway Park is a beloved place for many, a spot deeply rooted in Bostonian history. Today is a day to honor all of that, to remember all those – players and spectators alike – that have come before us, to think of the ghosts that wander the fields, to imagine all who have yet to walk through the hollowed entry ways - young fans and undiscovered players both - to anticipate what the next 100 years could possibly hold for each generation in Red Sox Nation.

Of course, I didn’t grow up a Red Sox fan, and it was only after a few years of living here in Boston that I began to understand exactly what all the fuss was about. For there is something in this dirty water up here, and barring you don’t have a thing for blue and white pinstripes, you too will find yourself a part of Red Sox Nation. ‘Tis only a matter of time.

Fenway Park is my favorite spot in the city. I’ve had some of the greatest, most exhilarating and fun nights of my life in those old rickety seats and on those cool metal benches. I’ve gone on amazing dates there; I’ve sat through truly horrible, never again ones. I have made it to Opening Day, have attended a soul-crushing play-off game. One year I had a personal best of attending fourteen home games during a single season. There have been nights and afternoons spent in the ballpark where the heavens opened and there was no end in sight to the rain delays; just as there have, of course, been brilliantly sunny and gorgeous days – the kind of afternoons where you catch your breath and think, it truly cannot get much better than this very moment.

When I first moved to Boston in 1997, there was talk of demolishing Fenway Park. A movement began – Save Fenway Park – with groups lobbying to save the ballpark, to keep it from being leveled. I would notice the bumper stickers on cars; I’d see the signs in shopkeepers’ windows but having never been inside I couldn’t quite grasp the absolute need to keep this ballpark from being destroyed. It was in the spring of 1999 - when I attended my very first game at Fenway with some friends from college – that I began to understand the hallowed ground in which I found myself. As we passed a bag of salted peanuts between the four of us and watched the players take the mound that chilly night in April I believe my own personal investment in the Red Sox and the place in which they make their home, truly began right then and there. It’s been a wild, crazy, and perfectly wonderful love affair ever since. Happy Birthday, dear Fenway Park. Here’s to the next century.

And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.