Last Sunday, September 2, we attended our first Red Sox game at Fenway Park in Boston, MA. Besides fulfilling one of Jen’s sports-related dreams, the experience flipped a switch in my brain. I like baseball now, and I follow the Red Sox now. Who knew?

Sunday morning, we hopped on the train from Braintree to Boston, intending to take a “Duck Boat Tour” of the city. The car filled up with people in Red Sox gear. Dads and sons and daughters and babysitters and large groups and seniors … there was red everywhere.

“Let’s just stop by Fenway Park, just to see it,” I said. “We can even stop by the ticket window and see if there are any cheap seats!” (ha.)

Game day around Fenway is a festival, a feast for the senses. The street performers and food vendors alone made the trip memorable. Scalpers, or excuse me, men who “needed tickets,” were everywhere, and we soon found out that they were looking for $150 - $200 bucks for their tickets. Bullocks! We’ll just go up to the ticket window and see what they have, thought I.

No, I don’t know much about Red Sox baseball. I didn’t know, for example, that all the games are sold out and have been for a few years now. We started to head back to the train.

We rounded a corner and saw a long line of people outside Gate E. Really long line - like, new ride at Cedar Point or bathroom at Cedar Point -long. Finding the end of it, almost a city block away from the gate, Jen asked the nice folks there, “what’s this line for?”

Two of the friendliest Bostonians, (because they’re actually from New Hampshire,) told Jen and I all about Gate E. At each game, people line up here to try to buy tickets that season ticket holders give up. It’s really the only way to get tickets to the games anymore. You can only buy tickets for people who are physically present, in line, and you have to enter the park immediately. Keeps the scalpers, jerk-faces, from turning around and selling them at crazy prices.

“What the heck,” reasoned we, and we waited. Talked to our new friends about the Sox, about Boston. Jen wins people over easily, you know. Must be that Appalachian accent.

Two hours later, twenty minutes before the game started, we got to the very front of the line. Our friends were next. We were giddy …

… Until the guy came over and said with genuine sadness, “no more tickets, folks.”

Our hearts sank, but he said there might be more tickets trickling in. We would have to wait awhile, another hour perhaps. Well, what else were we going to do? The Duck Boats had certainly all waddled away by now. (Truth is, we would never have made it there, either. You have to get reservations pretty far in advance.) Beautiful day. Friendly people. So we waited.

We didn’t wait for long! Not ten minutes later, six tickets opened up! $45 dollar face value! (Street value of lots more than that!) Right field box! In the shade! We were in! We even got to sit right next to our Bostonian New Hampshirian friends.

We bought a shirt and a cap from Yawkey Way, a street inside the park with shops and vendors and performers and crowds. We walked around and got caught up in it: the tradition and the fever.

The game was exciting. Boston beat the Orioles 3 runs to 2. The crowd drew us in, made us members of the Red Sox Nation, (probationary members, I think. I asked a lot of dumb questions, like “what’s the Green Monster?” and “Who is Bill Buckner?” Jen begged, “keep your voice down, honey,” a lot.)

We sang and cheered and showed our support. I imagine it was a lot like being at a Premiere League game for one of the top four, only we sang songs like “Sweet Caroline” and “Dirty Water,” instead of chants like, “Who the F is Man United?”

Can’t wait for the next game, though it would be the Yankees series when I’m in Boston again, and it would be a little trickier to get tickets. Probably won’t happen.

If you ever want to visit, bring your standing shoes and we’ll spend a day at Fenway.