Further Feminine Musings from the East Coast

Back by popular demand to give the folks in flyover country a bit more east coast wisdom (and to give me an excuse to post another rap video)...ladies and gentlemen, the guest postess with the mostess...Crystal!




I’m back! Thanks for indulging me with a few (uh, a lot) more words in your corner of the internet, guys.

Let’s start with a miniature “picture pages” of my own, to set the scene appropriately.




Fenway Park:

I’m trying not to be too gushy here, but I’m really not sure there’s a better stadium around. It’s historic, it’s small, it’s green. It requires attention paid to the elements, it has the most kick-ass scoreboard in professional sports, and no crazy gourmet food stands selling nonsense like sushi and crepes. Speaking of…

The Food:

Now, let me be clear: my Fenway Frank looked nothing like this one. The thought of brown mustard and relish kind of makes me throw up in my mouth. But overall, it’s a solid dog. The bun is what really throws you off—imagine folded Wonder Bread cradling your wiener. (Ding!) It’s supposedly a “New England” thing…but I think they’re just too cheap to shell out for real buns. (For an excellent overview of famous stadium hot dogs in the major leagues, check this out. I might die immediately thereafter, but simply must try a Cincinnati Cheese Coney at some point in this life.)

The Drink:

I think I lost count. But they sure tasted good.


The Man Candy:

Unfortunately, he was fully clothed and sitting a few too many sections away from me. His loss, clearly.

With this context in mind, let’s turn our attention to the topic at hand.

Jonathan Papelbon described the game thusly: "You could just sense that Boston fever from the crowd. City of Champions. Right there [the bottom of the eighth], something special happened." While he’s batshit crazy, I totally agree with him. With the Sox down 3-2 going in the bottom of that inning, you just kind of knew the Texans were about to get screwed.

“Sweet Caroline” was sung with the usual 8th inning vigor and the scoreboard flashed the (now meaningless) victory of the Bruins over the Canadiens. Chants of “USA” erupted. (Really. I was a bit confused, but it beats the usual “Yankees Suck”…even when another team is visiting.)

(Ed. note...Montreal is in another country)

Witness: Wicked Craziness.

And the record-setting crowd (37,598, the most since WWII…which makes no sense to me—uh, World Series games?—but is still a fun useless fact) was just plain old fired up. I don’t know a better way to describe it, other than to say that—at least in the outfield—there was plenty of alcohol to fuel that fire.

Ortiz tied it up with a shot to the outfield that scored Pedroia (cute little fetus that he is!), and Manny stepped up to the plate. I don’t think there was a whole lot of doubt in the stands about what was going to happen next.

He just straight up demolished that ball.

It was gone, 37,598 people went fucking nuts, and I learned that there’s no better way to spend a spring night in Boston.