The Day I Took the Field at Fenway Park

The Day I Took the Field at Fenway Park Mike Takeuchi (The second part of this short story was under consideration for the NPR program All Things Considered. Although NPR showed interest and would let me know when they wanted to run it, they have yet to call me back. It's been three years now and counting. So if they want me to take this down so I can relate it on NPR, I will. But in the meantime, it will remain up.)  I've been to Fenway Park four times in my life, three for games. The first time was in 1988 where I flew across the country on my own just to see the Green Monster and the mystique that surrounds it. I recall buying a Dwight Evans jersey number 24, which I sill have. It has since been taken over my Manny and a few others. Other than seeing my first rain delay and that it was against the Mariners, I don't remember a thing. The next time was in 1997, shortly after Princess Diana died. I don't remember much about that one other than it was Nomar's rookie year and they honored the 1967 Impossible Dream Team before that game. The third time was two days before I ran the Boston Marathon in 2005. That was a memorable game because Manny hit a granny and a two-run home run. Yet despite this feat, it was only the second most memorable time at the Fens for me. The top memory occurred around that 1997 visit and it was a day I'll never forget. It was the day I took the field at Fenway Park.     In a time honored tradition of the New England specific Patriot’s Day, the prestigious Boston Marathon is the epitome of all celebrations that include a day baseball game  of the region’s beloved Red Sox.  For this Californian, Patriot’s Day reminds me of the time the Red Sox called his number.     In September of 1997, with my mom scheduled for major brain surgery at  Brigham and Women’s Hospital, our family traveled from California to be with her. Mom, was the glue of our sometimes fractured family. Like many families, we loved each other dearly.  We just couldn’t handle being in the same room together for a period longer than a Thanksgiving dinner.          So, with the only alternative huddling together in a small room for eight hours, I run the City streets. Throughout the sojourn into one of America’s most beautiful cities, I hardly noticed the historical landmarks as my mom dominated all thought process.             Being the youngest, and the show-off of the family- “no trespassing” signs were treated like engraved invitations.  Sky diving trips or crashing Hollywood parties alternately and sometimes simultaneously horrified and amused our glue.     Thinking of this as I ran by the venerable stadium with the famed Green Monster, a light bulb went off in my head.  I trotted up to an open gate and encountered a man who bore a striking resemblance to the late former Speaker of the House Tip O’Neill.  I stopped staring enough and collected myself to formulate a spiel about lost love and finding self amid a leper colony to get me into the stadium. To my disappointment, Tip cut me off. He obviously had heard them all.  “Top o’ the staips, ye gawt faive minutes”, Tip said sounding more like JFK than JFK himself. 56 As I walked into the nearly empty cathedral, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the sounds of a ballgame in progress   replaced the background sounds of the City.  Making my way down to the home team dugout, I stopped at the field gate. After seemingly hours of calculating risk vs. reward, trespassing charge vs. misdemeanor first time offender status, I opened the gate that hadn’t been oiled since 1918 and stopped.  I had to get on the field. With that Elvis song (“It’s now or never”) playing in my head, I took a deep breath and went out to my position.    “Now playing second base for the Red Sox, Mike Ta-ke-u-chiiiiiiiiii!”   Like the real players, I put my head down in false modesty, and took the field towards my position.   I heard the crunch of the dirt and then the swish of the grass as I absorbed the magical feeling of each step.      As I reached the baseline, my romantic bubbly thoughts were burst by the threatening voice from God above.   Only it was not a deity, but something much scarier.   “Get the Hell of my field!” boomed a very large groundskeeper.    Realizing that the guy had the look of serious intent, I turned around and ran back the way I came…fast. As I trotted out of the stadium, I thanked Tip for his kindness.  Just as he grunted a reply, his phone rang.  Not wanting to hang around to see if it was about me, I picked up the pace and sprinted back to the hospital with a smile as big as the Green monster.       I couldn’t wait to tell my mom that I took the field at Fenway Park.