It has been many years now since I have set foot in Fenway Park to watch a game, mainly because the cost of actually sitting in the stands for me is dramatically out-of-proportion to the value of the experience, not to mention that the size of the seats is uncomfortably out-of-proportion to the space required by my posterior.
You often hear people say that there is “Nothing like being there” to watch a baseball game live at Fenway Park. But, with a zero out of six record, why would I want to endure the cost and inconvenience of trying to get my XXL butt into one of those size M seats just to watch the Yankees pummel the crap out of our guys?
Who are all these new guys anyhow? What happened to the old days when a player would stay with a team for most of his career? How do you suddenly love the shortstop who you hated last season when he was in another uniform? This constant, incestuous marketing of bodies to the highest bidder does not inspire loyalty to a player or a team; It's a reminder that these guys are not "playing" they are actually working. Ho-hum.
Then there is the concession food at Fenway Park. Besides costing an arm and a leg, it is probably hazardous to your health. Junk food raised to an art form. (I've often thought that "Red Sox Fever" was a real malady that you get from eating undercooked sausages.) I hear you arguing that they have not failed any inspections since 2008, but I have my suspicions.
I heard that they are serving sushi this year and hard liquor, too. Ka-ching @ $15 a pop. And, now the affluent drunks in the stands can get even more obnoxious after pounding-down double mai tais, further adding to the being there experience. If you needed another reason to watch the games from your safe, sanitary, suburban couch, this may be it.
Considering the risk of almost certain death by salmonella or some flesh-eating virus, plus the other inconveniences, I have so many reasons to stay home and watch the games in Hi Def Digital on my big flat screen TV – where I can languish in air-conditioned privacy in my comfortable leather armchair, refreshed by a reasonably priced, frosty beer to wash down my fresh, home-cooked sausage, that has NOT been prepared on filthy counter tops in the presence of insects and rodents. If I need to pause for the cause, I do not need to stand in a line of grumpy beer drinkers with distended bladders. When the game is over, I do not have to compete with 39,000 other fans to get a ride back to my house in the suburbs. Parking in my driveway is free.
So, I ask you true blue ticket buying fans, what am I missing, besides the chills and fever?
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