Everybody knows that attending a Red Sox game – sitting in the stadium bleachers, ordering a few too many Fenway Franks, and rooting for the players you know and love – is the quintessential Boston experience. Having lived in Brookline, a town directly adjacent to Boston, for the majority of my life, I’ve certainly been to my fair share of games. But why is Fenway Park so widely regarded as the most legendary baseball stadium? There are 29 other teams in Major League Baseball, but none of them boast a viewing experience that compares to that of a Red Sox game. My answer might seem a little contradictory: I don’t think it’s the stadium, but rather the stadium’s surroundings—Fenway itself.
I have what some might call a “pre-game routine” for Fenway games. Every outing begins the same way: a short walk to my nearest Green Line stop, where I am immediately joined by a crowd of fans donning the iconic red and blue, buzzing in anticipation for both the game and the nearest train. Normally, seeing a train full of eager and, often, boisterous fans is a sore sight—however, if you’re one of such aforementioned fans, it’s incredible. Maybe it’s the knowledge that you’re all headed to the same place to cheer on the same players, but something about these packed train cars makes you want to speak to strangers. Or, maybe it doesn’t have to do with the game at all and is rather the simple reminder that we Bostonians can be united under one common goal. One thing’s for certain: would the experience be even as close to as memorable driving to the game? Absolutely not.
Getting off the train reveals Fenway’s tight walkways and dense buildings, making for an electric atmosphere. I am always impressed by the massive crowd of red that envelopes the streets, collectively storming towards the stadium. Directions are never necessary. Along the path to the stadium are countless individuals with kiosks and flyers hurling shouts to sell their overpriced jerseys, sausage rolls, and illegally resold tickets. Adding to this overpowering symphony are a few people playing makeshift drums on overturned plastic buckets. Sometimes, I might stop and listen, tossing them a dollar bill as I leave. If you’re a Red Sox fan, this experience reminds you of just how much passion and identity Boston has. If you’re a fan of the away team, you might feel just a bit nervous about the upcoming competition.
The climax of this journey exists at Jersey Street, formerly known as Yawkey Way, where fans stand in line to be checked by security and eventually let into Fenway Park. Hanging across the road are banners that boast the Red Sox’s past victories, reminding me of the memories I’ve made while watching these games – why I love and support my team. The street is a gauntlet of sorts. The lines are messy, and a bit too crowded for comfort, making for a difficult but ultimately rewarding entrance into the stadium
I always equate being inside Fenway Park to being inside a whole new city. For one, the stadium holds almost 38,000 people, so it’s anything but empty. It has its own “streets:” walkways on the ground floor that encircle the field, as well as various shops that sell classic ball-park snacks, and even a quasi-economy (prices being three times the normal). Fans in their seats react to the events of a game like citizens do the events in their city, expressing joy with “the wave” and singing “Sweet Caroline” or “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” or disappointment by throwing trash or leaving. I’ll admit, the game itself can be hit or miss, depending on how it goes. Part of why the Red Sox have such a dedicated fanbase is because, well, we’re not the Yankees: we’re not the richest team, and we’re not good every year. But, even if things don’t go our way, one can always tune out the game and revel in the sunset painted upon the Boston skyline, just visible over the iconic Green Monster.
In my eyes, tradition is the secret ingredient in this sacred ritual, manifesting itself in both the social and physical aspects of the experience. For one, Red Sox fans define the sensational feel of games. This is self-explanatory. However, more importantly, tradition means that Bostonians have been going to games at Fenway Park for decades, long before automobiles dominated American transportation. There’s a reason that Fenway is ever-connected by walkable streets, train lines, and dense structures rather than by parking lots and freeways. The Fenway Park experience has been shaped and molded over countless years, resulting in the utterly unique and magical time that it is today—win or lose. I’ve never been to a baseball game at another stadium, and I don’t plan to: why would I, when the best of them all is right in my backyard?
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