1060 W. Addison

by Victoria Welch

November 19, 2009

At Fenway, there’s a look. The eyes widen a certain way. As the smile
spreads, the jaw drops just the slightest bit. There’s a quick intake of breath that
is followed shortly thereafter by a sigh. In the best instances, a person speaks
without even realizing it.

“Oh wow.”

That’s when the Fenway first-timer has seen the green on green for the very first
time. It’s an absolutely amazing thing to witness – given my weekend job as a Fenway
tour guide, I’ve been able to see it often.

I sometimes wonder about what my outward reaction was like when I saw the park for
the first time. I remember that day – the flood of people moving up Brookline, the
way the sun shone that day, the way the net looked above the Green Monster and how I
thought it would be fun to sit in it like a hammock.

But my memory of seeing Fenway for the first time is from the perspective of a
five-year-old. I’ve been getting to know Fenway over the course of 24 seasons – a
game here, a handful of games there. I know the place well – all the better these
last couple of seasons, of course – and I know that I’m lucky to be able to say that
I only have a couple of memories of baseball before my memories of Fenway Park
begin.

That’s all my way of trying to explain what I felt when I saw the white light
fixtures against the sky as Nicole and I approached Wrigley on an early Saturday
October afternoon.

When it comes to ballparks, you have Fenway, you have Wrigley, then you have
everything else. I’ve loved the first since childhood, but my introduction to the
second was coming when I was old enough to appreciate the wonder of what it all
meant.

Thank goodness for Nicole, who let me bask in it all. And by bask, I mean dork out.

We took a long lap around the outside of the park, continuing our pre-Wrigley
conversation but peppering it with questions and answers about our surroundings. I
took more pictures than even my photographically-minded self would care to admit. I
made a point of running my hand along the brick walls and imagining the number of
Cubs fans who had done the same thing year after year, each thinking that that year
was going to be The Year.

I’d done the same thing back home as a youngster – the only difference was that my
hopes were finally answered, while my Chicago contemporaries continue to keep the
faith.

It was quiet at the park – chairs stacked and ready for another season – and there
were only a few people making their own park pilgrimages. I was noting the
differences in the way Wrigley and Fenway were built, the surrounding buildings, the
street names, Gate Q–

And that was when I saw Wrigley’s field.

Oh. Wow. The park was empty and I could have been content just looking through that
gate all day.

—
Victoria Welch
:: Either an introvert with extroverted tendancies or the other way around. The jury’s still out on that one. ::
writes here.

Twitter: @vickievictoria