Business As Usual at Fenway

The first sign was a red-faced MBIA official standing near the exit of the Kenmore stop.

"Buy your return tokens now," he shouted, "and avoid the long lines after the ball game."

The Ball Game, Red Sox, Yankees, Baseball 1985.

Immediately, our senses were assaulted by the sights and sounds of the new season. "Tickets, get your tickets here," shouted one scalper. "Only three dollars. Get your tickets."

As we neared the stadium, the calls changed.

"Get your peanuts here 25 cents or five for a dollar. Get your peanuts here It'll cost you twice as much in the ball park. Get your peanuts."

"Souvenirs here, All the caps and all the pennants of all the teams here. Cheaper than in the ball park. Get your Red Sox hats here. Only five bucks, Get'em while they last."

The park came into view as we crossed the pike, the graceful nets protecting the top of the Green Monster swaying in the April breeze.

We had bleacher tickets Front row bleacher tickets. We found the correct gate and walked in, but only after being lightly frisked. There was quite a pile of beer bottles at the feet of the friskers.

After buying programs and Red Sox pencils, we walked up the steps and were rewarded by the first panoramic ball park view of the year. Involuntary smiles danced across our mouths.

We found our seats, and after a few Bob Ueckerisms, settled down to wait for 2:05--game time.

Soon we discovered the disadvantages of the front row, as a parade of people streamed past in both directions. Some were looking for their seats, and asked us where Section 34 was. We shrugged and pointed in random directions.

Others were already on their second beer run. We prayed that they wouldn't spill on us and worried what they'd be like in the eighth inning.

Finally the stream slowed to a tickle, the national anthem was played, and the game began.

To out great dismay, we discovered that many Yankee fans were present in our bleachers. They went wild when New York managed to score a run in the top of the first, but Boston's two in the bottom half shut them up for a while.

The Sox exploded against Ed Whitson in the second, scoring seven times. Many fans were on their third (fourth?) beer run and missed all the fun.

"Jesus Christ," exclaimed one potbellied, beer-carrying man as he came up the stairway, "it's nine to one. I missed seven....ing runs."

A collective laugh went up from the crowd.

When the scoring slowed its frenzied pace, the bleacher creatures took to other devices to stay amused. The section on our left began cheering every time a good looking girl walked by. Somebody yelled "male chauvinists" at them, but they didn't stop.

The fans on the right-field line started yelling things at Dave Winfield, Several times he turned and glared at them, but they only yelled louder.

A group of fans behind the Yankee bullpen tried in vain for five innings to start a wave, but the section to the right refused to cooperate. Finally, one wave managed to ripple over to the center-field camera. The original section went wild.

A Boston policeman walked across in front of us. He was roundly booed. A Fenway guard followed, and was greeted by cheers. It was clear where the sympathy lay.

Spring Chill

As the sun began to sink, it got chilly. We zipped up our winter coats and sat on our hands. Some less-than-die hards, feeling confident with the 11-4 lead, began to leave.

By the final two innings, everyone still huddled in the cold, windswept stands just wanted the game to end. A few people staggered by to get one final beer.

The Yankee fans were much less noticeable than they had been three hours earlier.

The air was filled with optimistic murmurs of "1620" and "They don't need pitching. They'll score at least eight runs every game."

A woman with a Yankee hat stopped in front of us to watch Bob Oreda face the final batter. When the Sox hurler had gotten two strikes on the batter, someone yelled down, "Hey, lady, I have the Yankees and I hate you, too."

Ojeda pitched Strike three Baseball 1985 is here.