So many volumes have been written about this park that there's not much this first-time visitor could add. So let me sum up the experience with three observations:

   1. Getting tickets is a hassle and expensive.
   2. Sunshine + Metal seats = Burned ass.
   3. The park itself is a gem among gems.

First Impressions

	Sign across from the park (Source: LP, 2002)

Seeing this place for the first time led to an unusual set of mixed emotions. Like it's distant cousin Wrigley Field, Fenway Park is steeped in history and loved passionately by the locals. It's also highly revered throughout baseball for its purity, atmosphere, and neighborhood (though players often have a different opinion because of its dimensions).

Make no mistake, this park is a classic. You can feel the swirling ghosts of great baseball stirring up anticipation for the next game. In fact, the park seems at all times poised for the next pitch. And it is immediately as comfortable as old shoes — er, sox. A fixture on television and in books, you may feel like you've already seen a thousand games there. You will certainly feel Dan Shaughnessy's pain, and the pain of nearly a century worth of missed opportunity, as if you had been born a Red Sox fan. A part of me immediately wished I had.

Unlike Wrigley, however, baseball's biggest problems are also on vivid display at this park. A large section of the best seats have been enclosed and turned over to the richest of the rich. Even the worst seats are outrageously expensive. Advertising is everywhere, subsiding only in reverence to The Monster. Where Wrigley seems completely out of time, like a snapshot of what baseball once was, Fenway has made a great many concessions to the modern game. The facade and the shape of the playing field remain from the early years of the 20th century, but that's about all (well, maybe the restrooms). Here in the 21st, there is a palpable sense of Big Money around this park. This I did not like at all.

I should add that timing may have had something to do with this impression because when we visited (August 9-10, 2002), baseball was poised for what seemed like another inevitable work stoppage.

	Fenway's exterior remains largely unchanged since this photo was taken in 1914 (Source: LOC)

The boys were squabbling again over how to split up the Great Big Money Pie. And this came hot on the heels of the sale of the Red Sox during the offseason which can only be described as one of the fishiest transactions in MLB history (the highest bid, by a local group, was passed over in favor of a lower bid by a current MLB owner from another town). Even allowing for these biases, Fenway seemed a bit like it was selling its nostalgia, while Wrigley is simply the real thing.

Setting those reservations aside for a minute, this is an absolutely marvelous place to watch a game. It's fair to say that there's not a bad seat in the house, and all the seats are tight with the action. Even the standing room has an exceptional view — well worth the $10 tickets (if you can get them). What I noticed most was how loud the sound of a batted ball is — even all the way down the foul lines. Maybe it's a byproduct of all that glass behind the plate (reflecting the sound rather than absorbing it), but it adds immensely to the experience.

A lot of newer parks have tried to emulate Fenway by adopting a similar green color, but there's nothing quite like the real thing. The left field wall sets the tone, of course, but it's carried throughout the rest of the park. This is part of the attention to detail and loving care with which this park is obviously maintained (we encountered a team of people hand-polishing each individual seat before a game — and it turns out that they do it every single day!). It may be 90 years old, but this park looks like it was just finished last week. It would be a true crime to mothball this place, but more on that later.

If you go, be sure to take the tour. It's worth it just to see the field from the warning track. It's worth it just to sit in the Red Sox dugout. It's worth it just to tap Pesky's Pole and the Green Monster. It's worth it just to sit for a minute inside the .406 Club and wonder what it must be like to be able to spend $100,000 per seat for a three-year season ticket. Best of all, the tour is only $8 — by far the cheapest way to get into this park.

Brief History

The Boston Americans, founded in 1901 as an original member of the American League, spent most of their first decade without an official nickname, and playing in the hastily assembled Huntington Avenue Grounds. There they dealt with a small and cramped grandstand, gate-crashers galore, extensive smoke from the nearby train yard, and the occasional (make that frequent) fires. By 1911, it was clear that a new park was needed to add seating capacity, and solve the biggest of the other

	1930s map of the Fenway neighbor- hood (Source: Maps Over Time)

problems — fires — while nipping the rest in the process. It also would sweeten the deal for potential new owners James McAleer and Robert McRoy, even though the new park would remain the property of the previous owner, John I. Taylor.

A site was selected from reclaimed swamp land in the Fenway neighborhood, about a mile from the old park. The streets which constricted this new site would end up determining the park's shape and size, and over the course of about six months during the winter of 1911-1912 a new steel and concrete grandstand took shape. It was immediately augmented with wooden stands down the foul lines, distant wooden bleachers in center field, and a little section of seats on an incline in front of an unusually tall left field wall covered with advertisements.

The oddly-shaped parcel of land had been an immediate complication for the park's designers, and would require a major change from the spacious playing field back on Huntington Avenue. To get the proper orientation for the field, home plate would have to be located at the farthest point southwest on the property. But the presence of a street (and railroad tracks just beyond) to the north meant that the left field fence could be no more than about 300 feet from the plate. So the park's designers simply did something which was actually quite common in ballpark design of the day: they built up since they

	Detail of the original 1912 wall and embankment seating (Source: LOC)

couldn't build out. From the owners' standpoint, this was really only a minor problem since the large wall could immediately double as a source of income from advertisements.

It would be many years before the wall was painted green and dubbed the Green Monster, but it immediately affected the way the game was played, making every fly ball to left an adventure. The little incline (which was actually in play even though spectators were frequently sitting there) proved especially difficult to navigate, but would remain for 22 years.

Touted originally as "fire-proof," that didn't exactly mean no fires, just less. Sure enough, the wooden stands along the left field line were destroyed in 1926 and not replaced. Some said it was arson, but who knows. Dry wood. Hot dog wrappers. Cigars. You figure it out.

From that point the place began to decay. It took a new owner, Thomas A. Yawkey, to pay attention to this curious little ballpark and give it a major face-lift.

The 1934 renovation was not without incident — a large portion of the new park was engulfed in flames during construction — but once completed, everything was finally made from concrete and steel. Thus was "New Fenway Park" born (the photo menu at left contains scans from the opening day program for the renovated park). Later renovations would add lights, move the bullpens (for the benefit of Ted Williams), and increase seating with a quasi-second deck built on the roof. The most recent changes, in 1989, added luxury suites and the gigantic glass windows behind home plate. These may have fundamentally changed the air flow into the stadium, but they allow the wealthiest patrons to avoid extremes of temperature while also conveniently avoiding contact with any of the sweaty lower classes. (OK, I'm a little bitter about this.)

For details about the park's construction and early renovations, read the online excerpt from Red Sox Century. For a detailed look at the Green Monster itself, check out this excellent article by Dan Shaughnessy and Stan Grossfeld.

Tickets

I'm sure that in its early days, Fenway Park was a common man's place. Both park and neighborhood really have that feel: working class. But I don't think it's true anymore. This is, after all, a playground for millionaires and billionaires. They don't want to be surrounded by just any rabble. They prefer the clean rabble: those with a thick wallet. So it takes a lot of work, and a king's ransom to get in to a game — and I'm not just talking about the .406 Club.

The face value of tickets is by far the highest in all of baseball. I suppose this is a function of some sort of "Fenway mystique" and the fact that it is also the smallest park in the majors. Its size alone means that almost every game sells out. A lesson in economics: low supply + high demand = high prices.

But even getting seats at face value is difficult because somehow it must be incredibly easy for scalpers to acquire large amounts of tickets. Right before a Friday night game, we encountered at least a dozen guys selling, each with a large fist full of prime seats. The first guy I talked to had a stack about

	Miracle Tix I just wanted to buy tickets to see my team play at Fenway. Miracle Tix (Source: LP, 2002) The web site showed that all three games were sold out long in advance, but also contained a note which said that sometimes tickets become available for sold-out games. A glimmer! So I decided to keep checking back every once in a while. One night while listening to the Twins on the radio, I hit refresh on the browser and — boom! — there were two $44 seats out behind home plate. I scrambled for my credit card and entered the order, but by the time I got to the end of the process, I got a message saying the seats were no longer available. But now I had real hope! So every night for the next week, while listening to games, I kept checking the site, hitting Refresh on my browser about a million times. I was about to give up one night as a game ended when — boom! — there were two seats out in the no-alcohol "Family Section". I decided I could live without beer (which turned out to be an unnecessary sacrifice since lots of alcohol was consumed here due to poor monitoring of the policy). My credit card was already set to go and I filled out the form as fast as I could, yelping when I got final confirmation of the sale. The tickets came in the mail a few days later. My guess is that returned tickets were being entered into their computer, and it was only my persistence (fueled by the prices I saw on various scalper sites) which made the difference. These were $25 seats, and we were just happy to get into the park.

half an inch thick. I'm not exaggerating. All this for a game which had been completely sold out on the web and by phone for most of the season (even before the opponent, our boys the Twins, became one of the hottest teams in the game).

Backing up for a moment, Vic and I were coming to Boston to visit relatives and timed it with the Twins road trip. We had been miraculously successful in purchasing tickets on the web for the Saturday game (see sidebar). So, since we had tickets to Saturday's game, we didn't need to see Friday's game. But since it was the Twins, and we had taken the tour of the park earlier in the day, and it was such a beautiful evening, we decided to head back out to the park and take our chances.

Of course, we started at the box office, happy to settle for left-over bleacher seats or standing room, which I thought were a sure thing. It was a no-go because they only sell standing room when all of the regular seats have been sold. Regular seats kept trickling into their system (probably player comps or promo seats, but all with face values at $44) and they had to sell those first. At certain moments they would start selling standing room, but each time I got to the window (I think it was 6 times in total) there was nothing available. So much for that idea.

In between passes through the box office line I walked up the street to see who was selling. It turned out that just about every section was available, but at a minimum price of $50 per seat for upper bleacher seats with a face value of $18! And I overheard transactions of up to $150 per ticket for better seats. We had set a limit for ourselves of $50 for two seats, and I was confident

	Scalping Control I'll admit that I think scalping should remain legal (or illegal but unpunished, whatever). But baseball clubs have a responsibility to the fans to make sure affordable tickets are available for every game. Without this, the game will become a TV-only game for most (like the NFL), with only the richest members of society sitting in the stands. This wouldn't be good for the game, to say the least. To this end, here are a few things which should be part of every team's ticketing procedure to help minimize scalping. In the old manual ticket office, these rules would have been impossible to manage. But clubs now all use elaborate computer sytems, so they could be implemented rather easily. 1. Legal, official and convenient ticket brokering at face value for season ticket holders who are unable to use their seats. Some pro sports teams have started doing this, allowing season ticket holders to sell tickets they can't use at face value to people who want to go to the game. Do it on the web site, make it all above board, and make it unprofitable and even more risky for scalpers. Let the teams charge a small service charge, paid by the seller -- hey, an additional revenue source! 2. Limits on the number of tickets purchased per order are good, but should be expanded to limits on tickets per credit card, per name, per mailing address, etc. And these limits should extend beyond one day. If someone buys their limit every day for 10 days, something is fishy. 3. Limits should be placed on the number of available tickets for a given game which can be sold on any one day. Say, no more than 3% of a game's tickets can be sold in a day, and no more than 15% in any one week. This guarantees that some tickets will be available for longer periods of time. 4. A certain number of tickets, spread across prices, should be saved for sale only on game day. 5. Revenue sharing between clubs should have incentives designed to keep ticket prices low. The lower the average price, the bigger the cut of the revenue-sharing pie. Clubs are making most of their money from other sources (advertising, media deals, etc.) anyway. 6. Actively police scalping near the park. Make sure scalpers are not allowed within half a mile of the place, and kept off of main traffic routes. 7. Seek out and shut down organized web and mail-order scalping services. 8. Group sales should be monitored closely and scrutinized before being granted. Scalpers will still find ways around any rules, but the idea is to throw in a few speed bumps. This is in the best interest of the majority of fans.

that as game time got closer, the prices would come down, though I was fully aware at this point that most people shopping out there had more cash in their pockets than I did. Needless to say, no one came anywhere near our price, and we were later "advised" by one nervous fellow that we could get our price — but probably not until the 4th inning.

Of course, I was not exactly surprised at the prices since I'd checked out Red Sox scalp sites on the web. There were about a million of them, all seemingly connected to a central database. Scalping is, after all, a very big business. But it's not really baseball.

Baseball is a kid's game, and these prices are not for kids. It's a free market, of course, but we've seen what free markets can do to a competitive game — they can kill it. If I had a couple of kids and was faced with paying $600 to take them to a game (the going rate for 4 seats anywhere behind home plate), I'd get cable pretty fast. Then occasionally we'd hop on a train to Lowell and catch the Class A Spinners ($30 for 4 of the best seats in the house).

I don't want to say that this situation spoiled the experience for me, because it didn't. But my opinion of the park and the club was reduced, to say the least.

So instead of going to Friday night's game, we went out for a nice dinner at Dick's Last Resort (near the green-line E-train Prudential stop). We sat outside. The swordfish was exceptional. We got score updates from our waitress and then watched part of the game in the bar. The Twins won. Our meal was about $45. Everything worked out beautifully.

Transportation

Boston public transportation had me drooling. There's simply nothing like it in Minneapolis, although we're starting to put a toe into that water. I have become more and more convinced that a city cannot be considered "world class" without vibrant and easy-to-navigate public transportation system. Boston is, of course, a poster-child for aggravating freeways. But trains let us skip all that.

We stayed at a hotel in Lowell (near family) and were able to catch a train into the city for $4.25 one-way. This took us right to the

	Parking ramp about 2 miles from the park (Source: LP, 2002)

North Station (Fleet Center), where we were within walking distance of a green-line subway stop. That's the train which, for $1, took us to within a couple blocks of the park. Cost to get to the park: $5.25 per person. Nothing could be easier.

Being sensitive to such things, I kept track of parking opportunities, and there were very few. Street parking was completely out, and parking lots or ramps anywhere near the park were charging $25 per car! I also saw ramps located miles from the park charging $10. Yikes. Yet another case in which the middle-class fan is left out of Boston baseball.

Seats

Now back to my scalding-hot metal seat.

I can only speak about section 33, since this is the only place from which I've seen a whole game. In case you don't know, this is the section which sits right next to the Green Monster. In fact, the wall was almost directly against our backs — at least in the seats listed on the tickets we bought.

It's one of those sections that is almost impossible to get to once the park is full of people. There are no horizontal aisles to speak of in the park, which means that crossing into section 33 requires excusing yourself past all of the people sitting in section 32. Alternately, you can ascend to the very top of the park, walk along the back aisle, and descend into the section. An exceptional aerobic excercise, if you're up for it. Most sections are like this. It's actually part of Fenway's charm.

Another part of the charm is the vast array of seating types. From the cushy and extra-wide theater seats in the .406 Club, to the fancy new red and blue plastic behind home plate, to the wooden slats with metal seat dividers in the upper sections, to the plain

	Samples of the various types of seating (Source: LP, 2002)

metal out in section 33. These seats are a throw-back to another era (possible 1934) and have the magical ability to soak up the sunshine and generate excessive amounts of heat — as I was about to find out.

We got there about 10 minutes before game time and made our way into the section. We had checked the previous day and determined that we would not be in the shade until about an hour into the game, but I went on to our assigned seats anyway. The game was, after all, a total sell-out. I figured that we had no choice.

As I sat down, I noticed that the seat was warm to the touch. No big deal, I sat down anyway. After a few moments I noticed that it was not just warm, it was hot. And in less than a minute I was standing again because the backs of my legs had been fried against the griddle-seat.

Thankfully, Vic had somehow found two empty seats over in the shade — the only two seats in the park which had not been sold, I think. So we occupied those for most of the game.

In the late innings I took a stroll along the standing room aisle at the back, just to see who was there and what it was like. There's no question that these were some of the most die-hard fans I saw during our visit. Even standing, I saw people effectively juggling scorecards, beer, and other treats, while paying extremely close attention to the game. It was also not difficult to find a place to stand with a clear view of the game. Apparently they know how to sell just the right amount of standing room tickets.

As I walked around the perimeter, I was struck again by how much the park focuses on the game. The advertisements (and there are plenty) are located in such a way that they are rarely in your line of view while watching the game. And everywhere I went, the natural focus of attention seemed to be the infield, with the big wall a close second.

In modern park design, great lengths are always taken to make sure there are no support beams located in the seating areas. The trade-off is an upper deck which sits (in some cases) ridiculously far from the action. Fenway should be a case study for ballpark

	Windows behind the seating on the first base side (Source: LP, 2002)

architects. The beams are never intrusive, and really add to the charm of the place. And a roof over head is an absolute blessing. Sure a hit occasionally sails high enough to go out of view. And while it can be frustrating to lose sight of the ball, watching the fielders can be more interesting and important anyway.

The park is also open to the breeze at the back, with large openings behind parts of the seating area. This connects the activity inside to the activity outside, avoiding the sense of claustrophobia found in some newer parks.

It's a regret that I didn't get to see the bleachers in the outfield. That will have to remain for another trip. I also got only brief glimpses of the councourses because our game was so tight (Twins losing 2-0). Just passing through on our way out of the tour, it seemed like the concourses and vending stands were very appropriate to the era of the park, though it was clear that they were exceptionally small by modern standards.

I also enjoyed a Fenway Frank. It was good, but nothing special. And the bun was a very odd shape. Fenway is nothing if not quirky.

Save Fenway Park?

Of course, this is a no-brainer, and appears right now to be a done deal. Nobody is talking anymore about tearing it down (well, maybe a few people). But it's probably due for one of those massive renovations like the one Yankee Stadium got in the 70s. That's the kind where the team finds a temporary home, then everything but the superstructure is stripped away and replaced. When all is said and done it's still the same park, quirks and all, but with modern amenities.

	A cross-section from the current renovation plans (Source: SaveFenwayPark.com)

This is preferable to any of the options which have been floated — most of which have now been shelved. To abandon Fenway park would be to abandon its history. There are times when a fresh start makes sense (some would argue that the Red Sox might benefit from that), but more often it's preferred to retain the history while upgrading the experience. A new park — even if it was a carbon copy of the old — could not do this.

And right there is the lesson: Sure, you could create a look-alike just up the road, and you could even install a red seat out in right field, but it would never be the field where Ted Williams hit that homerun. It could never be the dugout where Babe Ruth sat. You could call it "Pesky's Pole" but Johnny Pesky would never have hit a home run that wrapped around it.

And duplicating the dimensions would be a monstrous mistake. The park was designed to suit its site. This is as it should be. A new park should be designed to suit its site. Imposing the old dimensions on a new site would be at best artificial, and at worst, ludicrous. The wall is there because of the road. If there's no road, there should be no wall. It's that simple.

The discussion says something about the game. It's wrong to be sentimental for its own sake. Practicality must (and will) intervene. But when practicality and history can collaborate, that's always the preferred solution. It was practicality which created the quirks at Fenway Park, and these quirks created much of the history. It would be a shame to lose this beautiful baseball place.