Last Friday, we went to Fenway on a comfortably mild spring night. The Red Sox had a bad night, alas, but when the game is flagging, the distractions in the stands take precedence: the vendors hawking "spohts bahs" and Bud Light, the beach balls, the foul balls headed towards nearby seats, the amusing catcalls from fellow fans, the squirmy kids decked out in Sox gear -- and, in seats like ours two rows up from the walkway, an endless parade of people of all ages and walks of life to watch.
Our seats weren't far from where I used to get seats from a former colleague two or three times a year. I took my Red Sox-loving dad to many of those games over the years, having started it sometime in the '90s as a way to get to know him away from my mother, who was a conversation and attention hog to say the least. I remember worrying that my dad and I would have nothing to talk about and it would be uncomfortable, but I was wrong. He did have plenty to say when given the space. Plus, it was nice to sit and say nothing at all and just watch the game!
On Saturday, D and I decided on a leisurely walk over to and around the Northeastern University campus. Lorianne had told me there's a Cy Young statue somewhere on campus, and we found it, after some searching. Before the Red Sox began playing at Fenway almost 100 years ago, they played at the Huntington Avenue Grounds on what is now the university's campus. The statue stands where the pitcher's mound used to be, and there's a plaque which reads, "At this site in October 1903 baseball's winningest pitcher led Boston to victory in the first World Series." The Cy Young Award is now given annually to the best pitcher in each league of Major League Baseball.