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Great expectations

Over the last few days, I've been trying to put my finger on what was so disappointing about the Fenway Park experience.  It wasn't necessarily the expense.  

Hey, it's Boston.  What do you expect?  (The street vendors on Yawkey Way were selling Lobster rolls for 29-bucks.

The place was just a bit too clean.  Not Disneyland clean, but no grit.

However I give them props for no sonic assaults during the scoreboard taunts of "LET'S HEAR SOME  NOISE" or rhythmic electronic hand claps.  Just the natural buzz of the crowd.  And the scoresheet was a simple unadorned grid.  Nice.

And there was a bit of attitude here and there.  But I wore my Tiger cap spoiling for some verbal abuse, and got nothing but silent respect for the Olde English D. 

This was Friday night and the Yanks were in town, and I wanted serious heckling and maybe a fight or two.  What I got were these guys a few seats down the row.

The Bosox won the game win relative ease, and we slipped out at the stretch, before anyone could start singing Sweet Caroline.  The roar of what could be Derek Jeter's last Fenway HR followed us up the street on our way to the car.


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