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Prior to 2015, I had only been to Fenway Park twice in my life: once with my whole family in 1986 (the infamous year they made it to the series against the New York Mets, which we will not discuss at this juncture) and then again in 1993 on an orientation excursion night during my first days at Brandeis. During the latter, I left the game somewhere around the 7th inning, when the Red Sox were down by 11 runs and I needed some alone time on Newbury Street. I’ve always felt slightly guilty about that, being a Red Sox fan, thanks to my Dad, since birth basically.  Ever since ’93 I’d looked casually at a return trip, but nothing really got me excited until the more happily infamous 2004. From that year until 2015 I looked slightly more seriously at making a return to Fenway, if only out of curiosity because it had been so long. I put forth a few feelers to my brother, hoping he’d take the ball and run with it as a way of reconnecting since we did so little bonding of any sort.

By 2014, it was on my bucket list, and very few things make my bucket list unless they are a distinct and definite possibility. I tossed out the idea a few more times, but it was clear if a Red Sox game was going to happen, it was going to be entirely up to my own machinations. At around this time, Skip and I had established a regular movie routine, and since he had been a lifelong Red Sox fan we floated the idea of possibly taking in a game at some point. On one of our pre-movie hang-outs we fleshed out a plan, and after consulting with Sherri and Andy about the logistics, we set things into motion. In a way, it was fitting that as an adult I was going back to Fenway with a member of my chosen family. As kids, we have no choice or say in the matter ~ as adults, we get to choose and cultivate the people we want to be in our family circle. Skip was one of those people, and it didn’t take any nudging or pushing to get him to want to spend some time with me. Here’s a look back on my recollections on our adventures, along with Skip’s take on them, which is the real reason for reading on. (He is also the repository for the history of where our seats were, something that by this point blurs together for me.)

BroSox Adventure 2015

Our very first BroSox Adventure took place in 2015. It was a quick one-night trip to test the waters and bring me back to Fenway Park, where I hadn’t been in over two decades. I’d originally wanted my brother to take me, but he didn’t take the hint, and Skip was practically a brother by that point anyway. That first year I remember both of us getting accustomed to hanging out with some relaxing down-time, something we’re rarely afforded with movie start times, dinner reservations, and show tickets. I get to work with Skip’s wife Sherri, and we are able to find occasional jewels of time when we can take a breath and laugh. For Skip, the ride to Boston was our first extensive expanse of one-on-one time, and it did not disappoint.

On that Saturday, we arrived in the noon hour and headed for a casual lunch at the Rattlesnake Bar. From there, the fun continued with some pre-gaming at the condo and then the actual game – my first in over two decades. We walked back from the game, something that would become a tradition. I couldn’t handle a Red Sox subway crowd, we could never find an Uber, and it was a way to prolong the adventure as we made our way back into the city with the throngs of fellow jubilant Red Sox fans. The fun didn’t let up until we sped back into Loudonville and I almost got a speeding ticket to cap it all off, but we were saved by Officer Happy Ending.

SKIP’S TAKE ON 2015:
I remember the Rattlesnake Bar! I didn’t know what to expect of the weekend as it was our first trip and we were feeling our way around.  We were good friends to be sure, but I had no idea how a weekend-long hang was going to go. As it turns out, amazing enough to start a tradition, but I didn’t know that at the time. I remember walking down Boylston and just happening upon the place. This is probably where you learned that I can sometimes be obnoxious in my “inside baseball” knowledge of the inner-workings of a restaurant. The bartender totally fucked up your order and then blamed it on the kitchen. I spent a good 20 minutes explaining why that never happened, how she fucked up, and how she blamed it on the staff in the back when it was clearly her mistake. That was a really fun lunch and set the tone for that trip and basically the rest of our Boston weekends. Having not known what to expect it suddenly occurred to me how natural and casual the whole trip would play out.  
SEATS: Saturday afternoon game. This was our first time and we went with scalpers, ended up on the first-base line under the 2nd deck.
SIDENOTE: This game was only a few days after a woman sustained life threatening injuries from a broken bat at Fenway. This was the same day that a horse won the triple crown for the first time in decades. I watched the race on an old guy’s phone in the row behind me. Sox won.

ALAN’S FOLLOW-UP: I totally forgot about that baseball injury!! I do now remember telling you that you were responsible for protecting my precious face should a bat be thrown into the audience. I think you told me it wasn’t called an audience.

BroSox Adventures 2016

My only goal for our second Red Sox game was to avoid the sophomore curse. Ok that’s a lie. My only concrete goal for that second trip was to install a new air conditioning unit in the bedroom window. The weekend began in sunny form – I was cracking open a beer for Skip and pouring a G&T while Skip did most of the work of the installation. I took him out to Boston Chops, where we had a steak dinner on the sidewalk and watched the world walk by.

Our game this year happened to fall on the same weekend as Boston’s main Gay Pride festivities, lending a sparkle and excitement to the city, and our time there. There was also Skip’s new Oculus, from which I experienced my first brush with a virtual dinosaur. I also think this was the time we stopped at Club Cafe and Skip asked if some strange guy wanted to dance with me and he definitively gave an emphatic no. Being rejected without being interested was actually a first for me. Leave it to Skip to teach an old dog new tricks.

SKIP’S TAKE ON 2016:

So I remember a lot about this trip. The first being how scared I was of the air conditioner install. Not that I had any doubt in my abilities to properly install it but rather: it was about the air conditioner in the back of the mini-cooper on the ride there as it took over the entire back of the car. I was worried that I hadn’t properly packed enough tools in my tool bag as I was certain that if I hadn’t packed it, you wouldn’t have had it, and mostly I was worried about lugging that air-conditioner into the apartment as the first one and a half floors of stairs up to the condo door were very steep with no handrail. Other small memories include: Boston Chops Pomme Frites, getting rooster-kicked by you after that guy said he couldn’t dance with you because he had to work in the morning. I realized the sting of being shut down at a bar wasn’t solely relagated to hetero guys punching outside their weight class when hitting on attractive women.
SEATS/GAME:  Saturday afternoon game. Second year, went with scalpers again. Loge box way behind first base. Wasn’t until the bottom of the 7th that I realized we bought similar seats in two completely different sections. Thankfully we didn’t get moved. Sox won.
SIDENOTE:  I barely slept that last night worrying about us walking the old air conditioner down 3+ flights of stairs.

ALAN’S FOLLOW-UP: Much ado about an air conditioner! And rightfully so ~ I totally wouldn’t have had any tools or handy-man accoutrement,  and I would have been royally pissed if I had to spend a single night in a non-air-conditioned room. (This is why Skip’s such a good friend: he knows me better than I know myself sometimes.)

BroSox Adventures 2017

We did our best to tone down expectations after two banner years of Boston fun, but we needn’t have bothered. After barely touching upon the Pride festivities the year before, 2017 marked Skip’s first time at a Gay Pride Parade (and my first in a few years). Skip began a little under the weather the first night we arrived, and Sherri is so much better at handling that sort of thing than me, but he rallied the next morning and came back from the brink of chills and death to attend his first pride parade. We had dinner near Fenway, at Tiger Mama, forgoing fanciness for some delectable Asian street food. Then we were onto our first night game, which I loved oh-so-much better than day games. Maybe I enjoyed it a bit too much, because this is the game at which I laughed so hard I spit a mouthful of beer at the guys sitting right in front of us. They weren’t too thrilled. It remains a contender for most memorable moment thus far.

SKIP’S TAKE ON 2017:

Fun year. I mean they all are but this one stood out (fever chills first night aside.) The first pride parade was amazing. Butch lesbians on motorcycles. Elizabeth Warren and that one Ginger Kennedy offspring. Every company in Boston with floats broadcasting “Surprise! We’re totally LGBTQ friendly now!” I remember “The Karate Kid” being on a big screen at Hojoko. I thought the girl in the Uber was coming on to me. Realized later it was Pride weekend and she thought I was gay. And for as long as I live I will never forget the look of abject terror and disgust on those two guys’ faces when you totally did a gigantic spit-take on the back of both of their heads in the 3rd inning. I honestly thought I was going to have to fight two AARP golf grandpas because you couldn’t hold your beer after me making fun of you for forgetting where the fuck we were sitting.
SEATS/GAME: Our first night game. On a Saturday. Fuck the scalpers and bought online. Great seats on the 3rd base line. Sox won.
SIDENOTE: We saw the Sox play the Tigers that year. Starting pitcher was Verlander who you had a crush on. I explained how hot his wife is. Shortly after this game he got traded to the Astros and they won the World Series. Not before beating the Red Sox along the way. You lent your condo to Sher and I that fall so that we could both go see our first playoff game. There were snipers on top of the press box for that game because of the Vegas shootings. Sox beat the Astros. It was their only win that postseason.

ALAN’S FOLLOW-UP: Ahh, yes, so many colorful characters in this weekend – that Uber lady for one; she was so gay-friendly and you were so clueless. It almost made up for the guy I didn’t even want to dance with… and I too cannot forget those two guys I spit on. Literally the first and thus far only time I’ve done a genuine spit-take, and they were completely unamused, if not downright hostile. 

{More to come…}