Fenway fuss rubs some wrong way
My name is Wrigley Field. And I’ll try not to be resentful and jealous this week.
You realize what Friday is, right? Yeah, the 100th birthday for that insufferable cousin of mine in the Northeast, Fenway Park.
They’ll be going all gaga the next few days over the little twerp. He thinks he’s so cute, there with his Green Monster. I hope he has a power outage. Do I sound bitter? Don’t I have a right? The stadium-building craze has wiped out so many of our friends. Even Yankee Stadium was replaced by a pretty young face. The owners all want glitzy homes like teenagers want the latest smartphones. There’s even a new park in downtown Miami. You remember, the team managed by Fidel Castro’s (former) admirer.
That leaves me and Fenway alone among the old guard. The last of the beams-in-your-way generation. Nobody has forced us into retirement yet. These kid ballparks have luxury suites bigger than our clubhouses, but they don’t even know what a Sunday doubleheader is. I blame society.
So you might assume that we’d be thicker than shuffleboard partners at a senior citizens home, but we’re not. It’s his attitude.
He’s only two years older than I am, but you’d think he invented the fresh roasted salted peanut. I hope he has a pigeon invasion. He gets in better movies. He was in Moneyball, and the film ended up nominated for several Oscars. He’s forever reciting the reviews, like he’s the Brad Pitt of ballparks.
He was in Field of Dreams. I was in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
I admit, I’m envious of his recent World Series. He’s so smug. Always wanting to bore everybody with pictures of Mariano Rivera’s blown saves. Always wanting to show off his championship pennants.
I’d like to tell him what he can do with his championship pennants. Stick them in his field boxes.
I can’t even remember my last World Series. It was so long ago, my restroom fixtures weren’t even leaking. I hope he gets crabgrass in his infield. He’s such a front-runner. When the Boston Red Sox are doing well, he takes the credit.
The Fenway advantage. When they blow a big lead like last fall, he blames the pizza.
Now he’s going to be the guest of honor at his own party, hearing everybody say how beloved he is. And the Yankees are in town for the big event Friday. I might gag on my nachos.
That’s why I almost cracked a bleacher rail laughing last week when Tampa Bay Rays designated hitter Luke Scott called Fenway a dump. We ballparks all roared at that. Even Tropicana Field, who has no sense of humor.
Fenway thinks he’s interesting, just because he has a turnpike going past his left-field wall. And he thinks his big scoreboard makes him look younger. What am I supposed to do, get a toupee for the bald spots in my ivy? I hope he gets re-cursed. Now my own mayor has come up with the bright idea of giving me a jumbo screen and a street fair outside to make me more profitable. He calls it the Fenway Plan. I know when I’ve been insulted. What next, clam chowder?
Fenway will be intolerable when he hears that one. But I see — tee-hee — where his birthday bash might be obscured by his new manager’s penchant for being a verbal blowtorch.
Bobby Valentine went public in questioning Kevin Youkilis’ commitment, and all of New England is in a tizzy, though Valentine apologized Monday. Being surprised at commotion from Bobby V is like being surprised at thunder after you see lightning.
Fenway gets no sympathy from me for a little controversy. I had to endure Milton Bradley.
By the way, my buddy, Dodger Stadium, gets irritated by him too.
Still, we should get along. We’re both survivors. Besides, it’s a good week to wonder: Which of us will be the last one standing?