Johnny+Krantz

**America’s //Real//** **Field of Dreams** By Johnny Krantz
 * Fenway Park:**

“If you build it, they will come” -The “Voice,” //Field of Dreams//

As Iowa farmer Ray Kisella (played by a younger, pre-//Waterworld// Kevin Costner) learned in the classic movie, //Field of Dreams//, the baseball park can be a magical, enduring place where goals are realized, passions are fulfilled, history is made, and dreams, ultimately, come true- for both the players and the fans of the game of baseball. I must’ve watched that movie more than a dozen times as little kid, as I dreamt that one day, I too, could sink my cleats into the soft, outfield grass of Fenway Park, the same way legendary hitter Ted Williams did more than sixty years ago. Well, more than fifteen years have passed since my first viewing of that movie, and, needless to say, I am not a professional baseball player. But on Thursday, June 11th, 2009, I was able to fulfill a //different// lifelong dream of mine by watching my very first game at Fenway Park- baseball’s real-life “Field of Dreams.”

The moment I hopped onto the Green Line en route to Kenmore Square, I knew it was going to be a special day. Not only was I going to Fenway Park, Major League Baseball’s oldest, and most-storied current-standing ballpark, but I was in for an even //more// special treat. I was also going to have the opportunity to witness Major League Baseball’s oldest and most- storied //rivalry// ; that’s right, the villainous New York Yankees were in town. I stood in the corner of the subway car, straightening the rim of my old, beaten down Red Sox little league cap, as I peered apprehensively at a rather unsettling sea of black and white pinstripes-clad loud and obnoxious Yankees fans that seemed to invade my section of the T. Maybe I was too excited to care, or maybe I just wanted to get out of the filthy, cramped Subway, but for whatever reason, I was focused; I had a mission that I was not about to let a slew of unruly Yankees fans ruin. I was going to “experience” Fenway Park for the first time. This was //my// big league dream. For non-baseball fans, it may be difficult to truly understand my enthusiasm and passion for “just a baseball park” without first knowing why Fenway Park happens to be so significant. Perhaps the stage must be set first.

On April 20th, 1912, just five days after the sinking of the Titanic, Fenway Park opened its doors to the city of Boston. The 35,000-seat ballpark was constructed in the Fenway district of Boston, known for it’s thick, wet marshes or “Fens” that frequented the area. Because the block chosen for construction was small (by today’s ballpark standards) and asymmetrical, the completed park itself was, as a result, small and asymmetrical too, giving Fenway an awkward, cramped, and “old-school” look and feel to it- characteristic that has come to be a trademark for Fenway Park, setting it apart from other more “modern” parks and stadiums to this very day.

In Fenway’s first few years of existence, the Boston Red Sox proved to be a dominant force in the American League, winning the World Series in four of its first seven season’s in their new ballpark. During this time, so it seemed, the Red Sox, and subsequently, the city of Boston, experienced a monumental success that few other cities have had the opportunity to experience, thanks in part to their young and talented left-handed pitching ace and slugger, George Herman “Babe” Ruth, also known as “The Great Bambino.” Unfortunately, this success quickly faded after the 1919 season, when the Red Sox sold Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees for an all-cash sum of $100,000. For the next 86 years, The Red Sox experienced one of the longest championship droughts in all of professional sports, losing the World Series (often in dramatic and heart-breaking fashion) four times during that span. The Yankees, on the other hand, led by their newly purchased superstar slugger, went on to be the most successful sports franchise in history, winning the World Series an unprecedented twenty-two times during that same span. This turn of events, as the legend has it, became known as “The Curse of the Bambino” by both Red Sox fans and non-Sox fans alike.

After 86 long years of inadequacy, failure, and disappointment, the Red Sox, and the city of Boston, were finally liberated from their suffering as they overcame seemingly insurmountable odds by rallying to beat the Yankees in an unbelievable seven game American League Championship Series, catapulting the Red Sox into the World Series once again. This time, the Red Sox took care of business, sweeping the St. Louis Cardinals in four straight games, and subsequently breaking the “curse.” And with that, Red Sox Nation was born. And Fenway Park became its capital.



As I exited the Subway, I slowly marched my way up Brookline Ave. towards the ballpark with my good friend and fellow Sox fan, Erich White. He smirked at me sarcastically as we waited impatiently behind a running of the bulls-esque horde of ticket holders of all age, race and gender- a melting pot of baseball fans waiting to take their seats. I peered around eagerly, snapping pictures left and right at various landmarks that I had only seen in pictures before. Fenway’s old, towering, arc lights constructed in 1946, the backsides of a half-dozen or so wooden billboards, as well the large, illuminating “Citgo” sign that I had seen many times before on TV, were now in full, glorious view, flashing brightly like an out-of-place Las Vegas gas station marquee. It was wondrous- and we hadn’t even entered the ballpark yet.

Upon entering the souvenir and merchandise-infested alley of Yawkey Way, I walked into a thick, smoky, aromatic cloud of Polish sausages, hot dogs and flame-broiled burgers- it smelled delicious, but we decided that we should proceed quickly inside the park in order to catch the first pitch.

Our “seats” were in the first-base side grandstands in the “standing room only” section behind home plate, about 40 or so feet from the Red Sox dugout. Admittedly, the view was partially obstructed by a large, metal support beam, but these were the best seats available to poor college students like ourselves. Erich, being the team player that he is, went immediately on the first (of many) beer runs for us, as I waited anxiously for the game to start. Oladunni Olapido, an adorable 10-year-old Kenyan girl, sang the national anthem beautifully, hitting notes higher than I previously thought possible. For the first and only time during the game, there was a collective silence in between her breaths for air as the more than 38,000 once-screaming Red Sox and Yankees fans quietly honored their country. As the young Kenyan belted the final chorus, (“O’er the land of the free, and the home…of the…braaaaaaave!”) The stadium erupted in a thundering and enthusiastic applause of excitement that greatly surpassed any of my previous National Anthem experiences at my hometown field of Angel Stadium in Anaheim, California. The game hadn’t even started yet and the ballpark was already revved up more than the entire city of Anaheim was when the Angels won the World Series in 2002. I’m not sure if it was more embarrassing as an Angels fan, or more exhilarating as a Red Sox fan, but the excitement in the air, didn’t die down for the ENTIRE GAME. Seriously, I still think I need to get my ears checked for damage after sitting through nine innings of screaming rowdy, boisterous, and intoxicated baseball fans.

The game itself was a thriller, as the Red Sox came from behind to win the game in dramatic fashion, with almost every player on the team contributing the win. After nine innings, seven ice cold $6 Bud Lights, a couple slices of greasy, wet, delicious pizza, and three hours and thirty-nine minutes of thrilling, heart-pounding, baseball, I was spent…and drunk.

Later that night, I sat up in my bed with a big smile on my face as I thought about my night’s adventures. I had just been to the most magical sporting event of my life- a game that, quite honestly, was meaningless in terms of standings- but priceless in terms of importance. We had just beaten the New York Yankees- for the 8th time in a row this season, and it was if we had just won the World Series again.

Recently, Fenway Park celebrated its 500th consecutive sellout game, a major league record that they hold by a considerable margin. As I marveled at this statistic- which is especially impressive considering the fact that our country is going through one of the most devastating depressions in our history- I asked myself, “Why?” //Why// do I care? Why does anybody care? Just why is Fenway Park so magical for millions of baseball fans around the country? Could it be the Green Monster? Fenway’s giant, hulking 37-foot left field wall that is arguably the most recognizable landmark in all of sports. Maybe it’s Pesky’s pole that fills seats. A left-handed hitters dream, the pole was named for Johnny Pesky, a scrappy former Red Sox player who hit a game-winning home run over the pole in 1947. It stands a mere 302 feet away from home plate, beckoning sluggers such as David Ortiz to swing away.

Or perhaps it’s the lore surrounding the “Curse of the Bambino” that appeals to Red Sox nation. Red Sox fans were tormented by this curse for so many years before it was broken in 2004. Or could it be the players themselves? Maybe. Some of the most talented and prolific players in all of baseball history have called Fenway Park their home. Surely, Ted Williams, “the Greatest Hitter Who Ever Lived,” as well as Hall of Famers (and future hall of famers), Carl Yastermski, Jim Rice, Manny Ramirez, Wade Boggs, Tom Seaver, Carlton Fisk, and Roger Clemens have given Red Sox fans something to cheer about, even during the “cursed” years.

The more I thought about it, the easier it became to see why Fenway Park is so magical, so cherished in the hearts of America. It’s not //just// the history, not //just// the players, or some “curse” or even all the memorable landmarks that make up Fenway Park that make it so special. It is //all of this// ! No other park in the world can claim to have so many things going for it that are capable of eliciting such feelings and emotions of pride, appreciation and admiration the way Fenway does. Quite simply, Fenway Park is one of a kind, a place where magic happens; a real-life //Field of Dreams//.