Congratulations to the cities of Boston, Foxboro, Springfield, and all the other localities of the fine state of Massachusetts for the Super Bowl victory (and tremendous comeback) of their New England Patriots.
So, as Boston, et.al., celebrates, I remember the first of two times I visited the state capital of Massachusetts.
My initial foray into Boston was May of 1992 when a good friend (and we’ll call him “Bill”, because that is his name and what he answers to) and myself were embarking on a nation-spanning trek to see a baseball game in every Major League Baseball stadium. This was a trip that had been previously planned for the summer of 1988 when we attended college. However, as things usually go, things did not go as planned for our adventure (things like “lack of money”) and so it would take another quarter of years before this dream of ours could be realized.
After watching a game in historic Fenway Park, one of the tourist-y thing Bill and I was to go to Bunker Hill. Honoring this fabled battleground of the American Revolution is an obelisk.
One can actually climb up this obelisk, but it is not advised. The trip to the top requires traversing 296 steps in an extremely tight spiral. By about step 200, my legs were screaming at the effort I was asking of them. Upon reaching the top, I had been hoping for a glorious view of Boston Harbor, but the small windows were so dingy and dirty (and did I mention small) that little could be seen. Or maybe there was a grand view and my shortness of breath had clouded my vision.
Climbing down was actually tougher. Since I was exhausted by the trek up, I found myself constantly balancing myself against the curving stone wall. It probably would have been quicker (and easier) to have simply thrown myself out of the window from the top.
The only other item I’ll remark about my first stay in Boston was that I was impressed that the pretzels served up at Fenway Park emulate the “B” logo of the home team Boston Red Sox. Case in point, see below…
…then I realized that all pretzels, when turned sideways, look like a “B”.
That’s my story.
P.S. If you want to see how the whole story unfolds from Boston to the All-Star Game in San Diego, jump on over to this website and buy our book (oh, good Heavens, what a shameless plug), The Smell of Astroturf in the Afternoon: The Lost Last Masterpiece of B.T. I-70. The “B.T. I-70” mentioned in the title was the narrator of the book created by Bill and me. We dubbed him “America’s Road Poet Laureate” and he documented his travels around the U.S. and Canada watching baseball games…and he wrote poetry about it
As to why and how Bill and I created a fictional poet laureate to be the reader’s guide on this once-in-a-lifetime journey, well…that’s a story for another time.