A Midwestern Defense of the Red Sox Fan

Boston is an elite sports town. And yet the successes the city has enjoyed have been somewhat undermined by its reputation for having less than humble fans.

I grew up a diehard baseball fan in Milwaukee, where the people are generally nice and the on field performance of our lesser-paid teams often took a back seat to tailgating. So having lived in Massachusetts for the past 20 years has provided me with perhaps a unique perspective of the stereotypical Sox fan.

It began about 8 years ago, as I was embarking on a new career: stay-at-home-Dad. The problem was, like the toddlers at the Mommies and Me groups, I had trouble sitting still. So, I did what I thought was rational; take our 10 month old son to a day game at Fenway. My wife didn’t share my enthusiasm, but I was determined.

As we entered the hallowed grounds, I was struck by how right my wife might have been. Throngs of people, loudspeakers blaring, and general chaos, at least from the perspective of a new Dad with a baby strapped onto his chest. But then the sea, or rather concourse, parted. These often maligned fans were shepherding us though the stadium and literally bending over to pick up items we dropped. The ushers made sure we were seated comfortably and we proceeded to enjoy several innings of baseball.

Fast forward to 2019, and Lincoln and I are at a Friday night game with the Hoover PTO. Our bleacher view was fine, but I wanted him to get a closer look, so we darted off to see if we could poach seats for a few batters. A block of box seats were empty and we had arrived.

J.D. Martinez then stepped up and fouled one directly above our heads. Before we knew it, a gentleman one box over caught it and raised his hand in joy. Immediately, a chant broke out: “Give it to the kid, Give it to the kid!” The whole section was shaming this poor guy into handing the ball to my son, which he magnanimously did. Lincoln was elated. After letting him inspect the ball, I gently prodded Lincoln to make the right decision. When his (somewhat) genuine offer to return the ball was rejected, I knew I had stuck gold in terms of living among the classiest of fan bases.

The cherry on the mini-helmet ice cream cup came the last weekend of the season when Lincoln and I went to the game in celebration of his 9th birthday. I assumed that since the Sox were out of it, the stands would be empty and tickets a breeze to get. As we transferred to the Green Line I saw hordes of Sox fans, and realized how wrong I was, standings be damned (36,414 attended).

After seeing ticket prices that offended my Midwestern sensibilities, I made one last attempt. As I did, a gentleman approached and asked if we wanted his tickets. I fumbled with my wallet in some (disingenuous) protest and he told us his son didn’t want to go and he’d been to plenty of games. I looked at Lincoln, who was sporting a Brewer jersey, and said our ship had arrived. And yet we didn’t know it was going to be a full service yacht.

Our new friend Peter said he’d take us to the seats. After bypassing security, I handed Lincoln a $20 bill and asked him to give it to Peter. Peter kindly acknowledged the measly gesture and delivered us to front row seats in the State Street Pavilion, where the service is delightful, bathrooms are clean, and ice cream flows. As we thanked Peter, he handed Lincoln the $20 back and suggested he get a souvenir.

So the next time someone disparages Sox fans, just chuckle and remember that perception is not always reality at Fenway Park.