Save Fenway Park!

Dear Red Sox Owners,

I grew up on the Boston Red Sox. It was rare for one of my birthdays not to be spent piling into the station wagon, driving south for 3 hours, getting to the park in time to see BP and catching a game at Fenway. When my dad and some family friends sprung for front row seats behind the dugout for my 10th birthday, I felt like royalty. Mo Vaughn could hear me cheer! I still brag about getting those seats. 

Before I ever got interested in golf, girls and summer jobs, the summertime meant watching the Sox and playing home run derby in my friend's driveway. After my dad got home from work each night, the rest of the night would be dedicated to seeing how many singles Nomar could belt off the Green Monster.

Fall was a season of disappointment, but at least I wasn't a Yankees fan. Every morning before school through the winter I'd catch Sportsdesk so I'd be the first to know about a trade. By Opening Day, I was always convinced we were beginning The Year.

This year was different. I actually made a vow last off-season to refuse to spend money on the Sox before the All Star Break. I didn't just not buy tickets, I didn't meet friends at a bar for a few innings or freshen up my merchandise either. This wasn't even hard. I didn't find myself longing to check StubHub or consider heading over to get some standing room seats at game time. I just flat out didn't care. I spent my childhood dreaming of living just blocks from Fenway, so close that I could walk. Now I do, but I don't. And this has nothing to do with how awful this season was. My Red Sox hiatus helped me realize how tainted and forced my fandom has been for the last few seasons. 

Fenway is no longer a place where I get to enjoy the Fenway experience. Instead I see it as a place where a Fenway experience is for sale. Every nook and cranny of the park has been filled with as many seats as possible. Every inch of once majestic green walls has been filled with the ad of a corporate sponsor. Every moment from before first pitch through the top of the ninth seems like a calculated and cheap way to remind me, or someone around me, that "Yes, you are indeed at Fenway Park." 

For every Sully from Southie trying to start a "Let's go Red Sox" chant - there are a hundred Japanese businessmen taking a picture with their souvenir ice cream helmet. For every old man in the back row of the grandstands, with his radio headset to help him keep score in his program - there are a thousand college girls debating if they get to hear "Sweet Caroline" in the 7th or the 8th. 

When I was four, my parents brought my sister and I to our first Sox game. The usher taking tickets looked down at me, looked up at my dad, then back to me to ask "Is this your first time at Fenway?" He didn't tear my ticket just so I'd always have something to hold onto from that game. Today, I bet parents are presented with a brochure of overpriced ticket-stub-framing-options to help capture their experience. 

And these things make me bitter. And I hate that.

This season better have been rock bottom. You have been blessed by the Baseball Gods with a reset button. You dug a hole that seemed too deep to get out of and too miserable to live through. But now you are standing with a clean slate in your hands. Every parent in history has said "it isn't about falling down, it's how you stand back up..." Well it is time to stand up. It is time to decide how you want to define Red Sox Nation. It is time to decide if you want to win by outsmarting the rest, or by just trying to be the Yankees 2.0. It is time to decide if you want kids to dream about being so close that they can see each blade of grass at Fenway, or if they get to have their picture taken with Wally. It is time to decide if you want to get back to having the best diehard fan-base in sports, or just the easiest bandwagon to jump on. It is time to never be the 2011 or 2012 Sox ever again. 

To do this, here are a few tips to help you on your way:

1) Reduce ticket prices. If you want to make a splash, if you want to do the unprecedented, then do something for the fans. You just shed the salaries that required the current prices in the first place. You've made enough on this franchise to now own other cash cows. This shouldn't be about your ROI anymore. Standing room seats don't need to cost $35 above the Gulf sign. Make Fenway a place where working class parents can go to help their children fall in love with a game.

2) Be professional. Admit you made a mistake. Fire Bobby Valentine.  Check.

3) Its baseball. The NBA is an entertainment spectacle. The NFL is an epic spectacle. The NHL is was an exciting spectacle. Baseball is America's Pastime. This isn't a game about the song and dance. This isn't a game about getting pumped up. Baseball is the sport without a game-clock. It is timeless. Strip away some of the distractions. Embrace the sport.

 

 

On my desk there is a "Save Fenway Park" bumper sticker. I lived through the years that the owners talked about tearing down my Mecca. Then you all came along. You gave Red Sox fans something most had spent their lifetime without. You did something for us for which we have to be eternally grateful. Your team broke the curse. The players you bet on became legends. The strategy you embraced changed the sport. And you did it all while waking up Red Sox Nation and restoring Fenway Park.

Now it is time to create your legacy. It is time to do it the right way. It is time to rebuild this club. It is time to inspire this fan-base. It is time to Save Fenway Park.

Sincerely,

A Lifelong Fan, hoping to be a Fan for a Lifetime

If Andy Rooney had a Jesus Project

My church celebrated the Lenten season in a fun way this year, it was (and still is) called the Jesus Project. I won't try to describe it because you can read and learn about it here.


Andy Rooney passed away last fall. If you are unfamiliar, here is an example of the monologues he used to give. He didn't get the chance to participate in the Jesus Project. I know he wasn't a Christian, but I want to take a stab at what a monologue of his would have been like for this project. If this sort of postmortem experiment into the purely hypothetical offends you, I'll remind you that you are probably making an active and conscious decision to read this right now.

It is tough to have faith in people anymore. Just the other day I was riding the bus to work. I do this every morning. It is generally uneventful, but on this day we had a treat.

A man gets up as we are approaching one of the busy stops. He startles the relatively silent bus with a sudden and profound exclamation:

"Oooh, K!" He pauses. He stumbles. "Imma tell you aaaall you need to know for the day." He waits. Any space that had not already been filled with silence on the bus is now still. "The only thing I know is that God is real. YUP!" ... "It don't get no better than God Almighty."

A part of me wanted to cheer "Amen!" What faith this man has!? A feeling of anxiety was palpable so I held my tongue. Only the squeaking of the bus brakes could cut that silence.

And let me tell you, I was glad I stayed quiet. The man proceeded to get off the bus. With the same crass and jostling style that he had just preached to us, he greeted the waiting bus patrons with a series of expletives. Boy, did he really get the best of me.

I like talking to people. It is probably why I do it for a living. I used to board the bus each day, say good morning and tip my hat to folks as I walked to my seat. At some point I stopped. I don't know if other people stopped saying hi back or if others suddenly seemed unappealing. But I stopped. I probably talk to less people now than I used to, so let me tell you another story.

Riding along one day I saw a tire on the side of the road. I don't know where it came from and I don't know where it was going. It could've been anything. It could have been abandoned by a NASCAR fleet. It could have been a blowout on an SUV that should have been recalled. It could be the next tire swing down at a playground.

Some might assume that there are two ways to think about this tire. Some people might think about where the tire has been and how it got there. Some people might think about all of the ways that this tire could be reused or that it should be disposed of. I sit and wonder whether or not anybody else has ever noticed the tire.

I am constantly aware of people who are around me. To varying degrees, I assume that they are very aware of me. My awareness in other folks should make it easier for me to trust people. It should make it easier for me to guess what they might do next. But it doesn't, it only affirms that people act randomly when given the chance.

There is an old man who rides my bus. I can call him old because I happen to be a subject matter expert. He sits near the front of the bus and politely asks people around him to make sure he gets off at the right stop, to help him up from his seat and to tell him how to find the bus door. He is blind but he doesn't have the red tipped cane to show for it. I find myself sitting in amazement as he relies solely on the kindness of strangers to go about his day. His needs are basic, but their kindness must exceed his expectations for how he'd expect them to help.

For all I know this man is a liar. He can see. He can find the door. He can see his stop coming. He has every ability to get by day to day on his own power. But he doesn't do these things. He hopes for kindness. He receives abundantly. He is gracious and he is always back the next day for more. What faith this man has.

Confessions Part II

On August 25th, I wrote my first blog post. I was trying to be experimental. It was lame. But a very funny thing happened after throwing some of my thoughts on the internet: people noticed.

The night after I started a blog I went bar hopping with some of my cousins. We walked into a bar after midnight and saw a crew of my friends. For the first time in my life I heard these words from not one, but three of my friends "Hey Grant! I read your blog." Wait, what? In the next week I gained "followers." Almost a month later, I read this in a friend's email "I'm real pissed you haven't made a 2nd post yet" and this in one this week "your lack of blog posts is sad." All of this drew me to one conclusion, I had gained an audience.

So here is the question, what do people normally do with an audience? For that, I turn to my favorite US President of the late 90's, William Jefferson Clinton. They could perform. They could inspire. They could influence your opinion. They could flat out lie. Or they could confess.

Today, I choose the latter.

I like country music. I dig it.

To some of you, this might not be a surprise or even a real statement. To some of you, this could be absolute blasphemy. For either of you, here is a little story:

I was walking across campus the other day. Lookin fresh. Had that Eastman Swagger. Headphones in. Doin' my thang, ya know. I was listening to my Zac Brown Band Pandora Station and this little number came on. ("Letter to Me" by Brad Paisley, for those of you who haven't been opening these killer YouTube links) The song is about Brad Paisley talking to his 17 year old self. Basically, he tells himself to not make a few dumb mistakes and to get a little bit of perspective.

This got me thinking. I am like 12 years out of high school now, what would I say to myself back then?

Let's remove the obvious, cause there are certain things I would just have to say to my 2005 self:
- Buy stock of Google's IPO, Apple whenever you can, and Ford and GE in the Spring of 2009
- If there are Vegas odd's on Bin Ladin ever getting killed by American soldiers, take them when you turn 18
- Don't bother creating a MySpace account
- When you hear some guy named Barack Obama speak next summer, don't get up to go pee
- Take the green pill

That last one is more to freak myself out.

I'm not sure if I would tell myself the story about walking across campus and listening to country music. (Explaining Pandora and the fact I didn't get into an Ivy League school might be unrecoverable tangents) But I would tell myself this, stop judging things and people so hard. Judgement isn't getting you anywhere.

Sometime in late elementary school I decided I hated country music. Period. I'm talking "DAD! CHANGE the radio NOW!" hate for country. I made it a point to make fun of people any time they mentioned Rascal Flatts. I would groan at the top of my lungs to drown out the sound. I would cover my ears to make my point. I would claim certain music fit the country genre, just so I could take the opportunity to hate country.

When rebutted with a simple "What do you hate about it?" I would probably list some pretty absurd complaints. Most of them probably weren't really what I felt. Only one remains true: certain "twang" I just can't stand.

That sentiment is fine. I'm not here to say I love country music. I'm definitely not here to make you like it any more than you might now. Country music is not king. There is some I like and a lot I don't care for. But back in high school my hate for the idea of country music, stopped me from appreciating something I do like: the idea of country music.

I don't expect to ever write "You know, that LMFAO lyric got me thinking." I can't relate to "running through these hoes" or "be the first girl to make me throw this cash." When have those two activities ever been applicable to my life? But country music, I find completely relatable.

Behind a thick curtain of overt (sometimes blind) patriotism, an affinity for whiskey and saddling up horses, country music is plain and simply good. Some of the men who write these songs try too hard to seem simple. This hides the fact that there is a certain type of genius in their song writing.

If I put on country radio, I might hear about a coal miners daughter. But sometimes a mix of real human American emotion and clear imagery comes through the car stereo. When I hear this, I totally dig it. Makes me wonder what else I am missing.

So thanks Brad, Kenny, Jimmy, Toby, Willie, Tim, Darius, Jason and Zac. You get me thinking. You give me a little bit of perspective. You've surprised me a bit. Now if you could only teach me to feel a little less stupid wearing this cowboy hat...

Why Right.

I am starting a blog. Well I guess it makes more sense to say that I started a blog. At the same time, it doesn't make much sense to say this at all. By the act of you reading this, you must have gathered enough evidence to deduce that I have, in fact, started a blog. Me projecting this internal monologue is going nowhere fast, so starting a fresh paragraph might be my best option here.

Hello Internet. I'm not sure if we have formally met. Sure, I use you for email, I have captured and shared pieces of myself on Facebook, I have laughed at the funny pictures you have shown me, I've cried listening to sappy YouTube compilations, I have embarked on deep and intellectual experiences thanks to you, I have seen evidence of extreme shallowness through you, I have been informed because of you, I have been misinformed because of you, I've probably lost brain cells because of you and I have wasted a lot of time with you. But blogging through you (with you? at you? to you? for you?) I expect to be an entirely new animal.

I've been told that I "should" write a blog. This advice has been given under varying degrees of circumstance, so I don't expect that there is one overarching reason that this is true. There is no black and white set of standards which separates the bloggers from the non bloggers. What I have decided to do is first answer the question: why? If I can answer that question, then I think writing a blog might be something that I should do. So three paragraphs later, this is an explanation of why I am here:

I do not write to be perfect. There is a grammatical error in this post's title. I figure that if the first thing I ever do on a blog was a mistake, then expectations thenceforth would be set at the approximate standard I hope to exceed. Roll with it.

I do not write to educate. I am not sure I would begin to know how.

I do not write to be popular.

I do not write with the promise of being original. There are a lot of opinions out there. Some I probably share. Some are probably pretty close to mine. My content is my own. I like to think of myself as a creative person. This is a positive perception to carry. I'd prefer not to hear evidence otherwise.

I do not write for you. I think doing so would be extremely vain. I also don't think that I would enjoy it.

I do not write to be funny. Well, I do not write strictly to be funny. I hope that I can at least encompass a minimal amount of content in whatever I choose to write. On that note,

I do not write with a specific agenda. Do you want to know the first thought that kept me from writing a blog? (This is the moment I realized every question I ask in a blog post is rhetorical) The fact that this is permanent. What if I run for political office one day? Do you know how detrimental it could be to be called out for some jackass remark my 23 year old self made online 30 years prior? I suppose this is me conceding that when Mr. Wiggin told my 9th grade Civics class "You know, one of you could be President one day." this was in the broadest possible sense of the word could. I do not suspect to be in the fraction of a percentage of American's who run for office. On the off chance I do though, I am still boycotting Twitter.

I do not write for a specific purpose. I don't expect this to be a sports blog, a travel blog, a political blog, a comedic blog, a blog about current events, a blog about history, a blog about specific hobbies or a blog about culture. This is going to be a blog about whatever occurs to me to put in writing.

So I think I write to think more. Writing helps me digest. It helps me hash out internal debates. There is a certain amount of clarity that writing enables a person to feel. This is why I find joy in writing. It is a form of expression that I am not sure I can otherwise experience. I like it.

You caught me. I haven't been answering why I might be in the category of people who "should" blog. To that, I present this tangent: I was walking through Cambridge today thinking about my potential blog. It occurred to me that blogs have titles. This seems important in a blog. A title can help attract an audience. It can describe the intended personality of the contents. It can probably also be nothing more than a title. Seconds after this scrolled through my head, Pandora gave me a gift. The Beatles' song Twist and Shout started playing. First of all, I am a firm believer that The Beatles are the best thing to happen to music since God invented sound. Secondly, I am a firm believer that Ferris Bueller's Day Off is one of the best films of the last 200 years. (For anybody who doesn't understand what this has to do with Twist and Shout and is expecting a YouTube clip of one of the most iconic movie scenes of all time, I'm not sure that we share enough common interests for this or any subsequent blog I write to be relevant to you).

Thirdly, twist and shout is exactly what I am here to do. I'm here to try something new. I am here to experiment with a little bit of fun. I am here to be a little different. I am here to project what is going on in this over-sized dome of mine. I'm here to shake it up baby.