My Trip To NYC and Beantown: Felix Pie, A-Rod's Ego and the Fenway Faithful

Felix Pie, who was this close to my seat at Yankees Stadium and who has recently become one of my favorite players.

The Flight and the Manhattan stroll

I stepped off the plane at JFK, stepped outside the airport, and soaked it all in. I was in New York. I hailed a cab for the first time in my life, got in, listened to “Where you goin’, kid?” from the driver in the stereotypical thick accent, and told him my destination. Off I was on the biggest adventure of my life.

I arrived at my hotel very early in the morning and my cousin wouldn’t be meeting me until around eleven, so I decided to drop off my bags and walk around the streets of Manhattan. My cousin and I were stationed in the heart of Chinatown, two big blocks away from Little Italy, one of the city’s many boroughs. Everywhere I walked something new engrossed me. The biggest city I had previously been in was Seattle, and that turned out to be chopped liver in comparison.

Horns honked constantly, J-walking was the norm, an array of languages were spoken, and hundreds of varieties of food was eaten. The city was breathtaking, but the trip was supposed to be built around baseball, and it certainly turned out to be.

The ‘I had to be a Yankees fan for two-plus hours’ Game

My cousin bought two tickets for Monday’s game against the Baltimore Orioles, and as a regretful pre-arranged agreement, I would wear a Brett Gardner jersey shirt to Yankees Stadium if he donned a Dustin Pedroia shirt to Fenway Park the following night when we went there to see Boston play the Tampa Bay Rays. Our seats were two rows off the field on the third-base side, an extraordinary spot to not only watch a game but focus on Felix Pie, the Orioles left-fielder, and the mannerisms of Alex Rodriguez.

Pie, who has had a pretty solid year for an Orioles team that has been reborn under manager Buck Showalter, took the verbal abuse Yankee fans dished out, remaining as focused as he possibly could on the game. That is, until he came off the field after the fifth inning. Everyone in our section was silent except my cousin, who heckled him a bit. Pie was no more than 20 feet from us, and after my cousin had his say Pie looked over in our vicinity.

What happened next? Pie led off their half of the sixth and laced a first-pitch fastball from the surprisingly effective A.J. Burnett into right field for a single. Those around me continued to verbally harass him, but some of the enthusiasm was certainly drained from their voices. When Pie took the field and was in close for the light-hitting Gardner, at our level and not fifteen feet away, I could see a wry smile form on his face. The Yankees fans hadn’t damaged his psyche; if nothing else, they motivated him, a player looking for a solid home in Baltimore.

The Orioles won, which made me happy, though I wouldn’t dare shown emotion while wearing a Yankees shirt. But just as I secretly pumped my fist in jubilation at Brian Roberts clutch hits and Brian Matusz’s superb pitching, I silently took joy in watching Alex Rodriguez throughout the game.

I knew he was egotistical, but I didn’t know it had reached this level. It all started during the National Anthem. He was shown on the big screen beyond the center field wall during the singing, and I could have sworn I saw his eyes shift to the screen. It surprised me a little, even though he has been a bit of a premadonna throughout his career. And it didn’t stop there.

He hit a long homer to left in the fourth, then, keeping a keen eye on him as he rounded the bases, I caught him, once more, look at himself on the big screen. He did so, hopefully in the way nobody would notice, in between first and second base. I’m not making this up, though it may be easy to jump to that conclusion considering I am a Red Sox fan and bitterly despise Rodriguez. I saw what I saw.

Then came the cherry on top. On television, commercials are shown in between innings. That means those watching at home or wherever they may be missed out on an impressive display of ego-feeding by Rodriguez. Usually, infielders field grounders from their natural position; not A-Rod. What does he do? On one occasion, he set up camp 20 feet or so into left-field, took grounders from first baseman Mark Teixeira, and attempted to show off his strong arm. Most of the throws bounced six feet or thereabouts in front of Teixeira, but is was Rodriguez’s intention that matter during this particular scene. And considering his intention was to presumably to fire bullets to Teixeira, his failings made what transpired all the more the hilarious.

But, sadly, I couldn’t speak up. When the Yankees did something positive, the guy in front of me offered his hand for a high-five and I couldn’t refuse. How would it look if I didn’t oblige? Clearly, wearing a Yankees shirt and forced to feign enthusiasm for New York was terribly painful.

Loyalty and a good ole time at the Fens

On the other hand, wearing a Red Sox shirt to Fenway turned my frown upside down. I walked the 20 or so blocks from my hotel, had my ticket checked outside, and was permitted to walk through Yawkey Way before heading to my seat inside the stadium. It was a lively place, and I bought a fair share of merchandise and took plenty of pictures, but it was even more happening inside once the game begun.

All started well for Boston, but it went south from there. Two runs were scored by the Red Sox in the first inning and my cousin and I cheered, though he did so forcefully as a Yankee fan, while the Park shook with jubilation. The seats were fantastic, with a clear look on the third base side of the Green Monster as well as the entire diamond. The scenery, the atmosphere, and the discussions with those sitting around me was all that was positive for the next six-plus innings, however, as the Rays teed off on Daisuke Matsuzaka.

Most of the crowd had left by the sixth inning, but those who stayed sung Sweet Caroline in the seventh, then cheered on their Sox in a very eventful eighth inning. I was right in the thick of it, as the third base side was relatively full and amazingly raucous.

Boston was down 14-2 to begin the inning, but going by the Fenway Faithful’s cheers you would have thought they had taken a 15-14 lead. The fans have accepted the fact that reaching the playoffs is no more than a fools hope. So when the replacements made some noise the 15,000 strong did too. Darnell McDonald led off the frame with a solo-shot, then after Lars Anderson, who was one of their few September call-ups, drew a walk, seldom-used and previously injured Jared Saltalamacchia ripped a double to left-field to bring Boston within ten.

Jed Lowrie, whose jersey-shirt I intended to buy following the game but didn’t, proceeded to knock reliever Jeremy Hellickson out of the game, stroking a ground-rule double over the short-porch in right to score Saltalamacchia. That’s all Boston had in the tank, as they went on to lose by nine, but the atmosphere during the eighth in that small, historic park made the blowout worthwhile

The stadium was near empty as the Rays celebrated at games end, and as they filed out I got up from my seat and looked directly towards the famed Pesky Pole. It wasn’t that far away, and since I knew marshals would be out to usher fans out of the park, I nearly broke into a full-sprint over to the pole that around 20 people already surrounded. Pictures were taken by all, and some signed the pole. I followed suit, borrowing a permanent marker and signing the left side of the pole near the bottom.

After signing the pole and take pictures of the Monster and the rest of the stadium from that prime spot, I saw a marshal come our way. The area cleared fairly fast, but as one man turned his back to me and headed towards the tunnel, I fervently asked him to take my picture next to the pole. Seeing as my cousin had left after the Rays 14-2 lead was taken in the sixth, I was relying on fellow Red Sox fans to help produce some lasting memories. I had my picture taken leaning next to the pole, then next to the plaque underneath honoring Johnny Pesky. My trip to Boston was complete.

I didn’t get to go to Rucker Park in New York as I wanted. I didn’t climb to the top of the Empire State Building, nor did I get a good look at the Statue of Liberty. But I did have a grand time watching baseball and taking it what sites I did see in two cities I had never been on a coast I had only heard about. My trip featured a collection of whole new worlds, and though I am back home in, comparatively, boring Eugene, the scenery, the history, the atmosphere, the people, and the games themselves made the 3,000 mile trek the most eye-opening and thrilling experience of my life.