It was a cool September day three years ago and I was visiting my family in Massachusetts like we had done many years before, but this year was different. This year my dad found us tickets to the one true love of my life The Boston Red Sox. This meant that I was finally going to see legendary Fenway Park for the first time. I had already know pretty much every thing there is know about Fenway park; like it is the oldest stadium in baseball opening in April of 1912 (ironically the same week that the titanic sunk), its famous left field wall nicknamed the “green monster” stands 37 feet tall, the first home run hit in this park was by Hugh Bradley, and many more pointless but priceless facts.
It all started as I got off the train and began to approach the stadium. I was amazed by the sheer size and beauty of this work of art. Outside the whole street is shut down to just ticket holders, and everywhere you look is a sea of red. We then made our way though the entrance past the giant green gates, with the words “Welcome to Fenway Park” writing on them in an old English style font. There were people everywhere and it was hard to move, I could hear vendors yelling “beer here” or “hot dogs” at the top of their lungs, and the overwhelming aroma of Fenway franks filled my nose. To the right of us was the field which I had still never scene in person, but we went to the left to view the gift shops which were packed like a market on the streets of China. As we finally made our way out of the shops I insisted that we find our way to our seats. When we found our gate and walked outside into the seating area, at that moment all I could do is gasp at what seemed like the bluest skies and the greenest grass that I could ever imagine.
We found our seats right behind home plate and I was speechless, just trying to take everything in. To the left of me was the Cleveland Indians dugout, players were running in and out of it and were...