My heart felt like it was about to pound out of my chest as my wife and I trudged along the Charles River, dodging roller bladers and over-zealous bike riders who were either training for the Tour de France or were way too enamored with the whole concept of physical fitness.
Don't ask me why we decided to pick the hottest day of the year to take a three-mile stroll down Boston's Esplanade. I kept telling myself it was because I wanted to give my wife the true "Boston experience"—the T ride in, lunch at Cheers, a Swan Boat ride at the Boston Public Garden, and now a leisurely stroll down the river toward the ultimate Beantown experience: a late afternoon Red Sox game.
I've spoken at length before about my love for Fenway, but this was going to be truly special because it was the first time I had been back since the Sox won their second World Series title in four years. And even though I wasn't thrilled with the opponent for the day (the Seattle Mariners), it was still great to be back in the throes of what some have called the only pure baseball experience left in America.
As we settled in for batting practice while I worked to recover from my inadvertent collision with actual exercise, I noticed a different feel in the park. Everything looked the same, and maybe it was the heat or the endorphins or the shock of having to pay $3.75 for a 16-ounce bottle of Poland Spring, but it seemed that there was an air of confidence among the crowd, a sense that this was a fan base aware that it was watching a franchise most definitely on its way up.
This attitude was confirmed for me a while later in the concession line, where I struck up a conversation with a season ticket holder who seemed to be as big a fan of the general manager as he was of the team on the field.
"That (Theo) Epstein has done one great job with this team," the guy said. "Just look at some of the young guys he's got in this system, like Lester and Ellsbury and Pedroia. This team wouldn't be anywhere without those guys."
I found myself agreeing with my fellow Fenway Frank connoisseur, even though I had been one of the people less than thrilled when they hired Theo. I thought he looked like he should be selling popcorn at Fenway rather than sitting in the GM's box, but it goes to show how deceiving first impressions can be.
Not only has he built the best farm system in baseball, but Epstein has broken the dysfunctional cycle of his predecessors, who seemed obsessed with whatever overpriced prima donna happened to be on the market the previous winter.
Anybody remember Matt Young or Jose Canseco? Those guys wouldn't even be allowed in the clubhouse now with a visitor's pass, much less in uniform, and the results on the field are obvious.
I eventually made my way back to the seats and struck up a conversation with another season ticket holder, an older woman who wanted to know what part of Western Mass. I was from. Apparently there have been a number of locals sitting in that section in recent weeks, and once I told her where I was from, the topic turned to sportsmanship. This was only a few days after the now-infamous Coco Crisp/Tampa Bay Rays melee, and I couldn't help but wonder what it must have been like in the park that night—especially given how jacked up these fans get over strikeouts and long foul balls.
"It was crazy for sure, but I didn't like it," the woman said. "I was here the night Varitek punched out A-Rod and I didn't like that either, even though it seemed to turn their season around."
But isn't a good beef every now and then part of the game?
"Not as far as I'm concerned," she said. "This is one of the best teams in the league. They don't have to play like thugs to win."
That's true, but great teams do have a swagger, and a belief that they are going to win every time they walk onto the field. That's the attitude of the Boston Red Sox of today, and it's permeated this city and a legion of fans, many of whom have waited their whole lives to experience the thrill of being something other than second best.
