The Ballpark

There's a place that I've always loved, but only set foot on once, but it is a place I will never forget. The baseball field has constantly been somewhere I could be happy since I was five years old playing tee-ball, but this was different. This was Fenway Park. I have been to Oriole Park at Camden Yards and the PNC Park in Pittsburg, and they are phenomenal fields, but those parks do not even compare to the atmosphere of where the Red Sox get to play.

As soon as my ticket was scanned, I knew this was an experience I would remember forever. There was a huge crowd walking around the outer parts of the stadium, dressed brightly in red to represent their team. Very few individuals were dressed in the dark, murky green of the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, and the aggravated Sox fans let them know how they felt. As soon as I walked in to take my seat, I could not help but look at all the amazing things around me. Sitting high on the left field foul line, I could see everything from the exceptional cut of the greenest grass I have ever seen to the top of the monster wall itself.

This field may not be the fanciest, seeing how it has been around for such a long time, but that also made it a spectacular experience. I have seen the fancy fields with scoreboards and "jumbotrons" to light up my eyes, but I have not seen the old fashioned scoreboard that is part of the green monster in left, or the dark green paint that runs through this stadium. This was something different.

The green monster in left field was an exceptional sight. It is bigger than it seems watching it on television. The vast wall extended all the way out to center field, with the small, white marks of baseballs spread all over it from the crushing hits. It looks like it has taken a dreadful beating over the season. But this giant wall is one of the highlights of this field that makes it so unique and distinctive from all the rest of the parks. Fenway is not symmetrical in any way. The walls cut in and out from left to right field, which must be hard to play as an outfielder, but if Manny Ramirez can play left, then I bet almost anyone could. As I scaled the outfield walls, I noticed the short pole in right field, about 300 feet, tall and yellow. It is probably the only pole in the Major Leagues that you can hit it farther than without it being a homerun.

It was a full crowd in Fenway, from the cheap seats in center to the old-fashioned press boxes behind home plate. As soon as the game started, the whole atmosphere changed. I loved the sweet smell of the Fenway Franks, I could feel the tension in every fan, the anxiety in the air from every base hit or strikeout made. This place was heavenly. The Red Sox took the field in their bright uniforms, and it was an amazing sight. They were glowing in the bright sun as the fans cheered with enthusiasm. It was a hot day, and I could feel the burn of the sun beating on my neck. I was sure everyone would be turning red by the end of the game.

The fans were also a different sight. I have never seen so many die-hard fans of this sport in my life. They were decked out in jerseys, or even body paint. I could see the old, weathered hats worn by the older men, who must have had them since they were kids, stained