In the spring of 1970, when my Dad decided we would be moving from Washington DC to Jackson, (ug) Mississippi he drove his white 1963 VW Beetle down south. (We had two Beetles at the time, the other was a red convertible.) A fuse burned out just before he left - the fuse in the circuit that controlled all the dashboard functions. He decided that it didn't really matter if he didn't know how fast he was going.
Around about Birmingham, Alabama he discovered that the dead fuse also shut down the oil pressure gauge. He discovered this because he was out of oil and burned the engine up. Because he didn't have a temperature gauge either, he didn't discover the problem until the engine had fused itself into one big
lump of rapidly cooling metal.
His college roommate lived in Birmingham, so he had the tow truck tow it to the roommate's house where it sat for a year. When the roommate in question finally screamed loudly enough about moving it, Dad went over there and towed it with a pickup truck to a junkyard where he had it weighed.
He sold the transmission and roof rack, the only remaining usable parts; Once he knew the exact weight he walked over to the crane operator at the metal crushing pit and asked how much it would cost to smush 1000 lbs (or what ever it was) of scrap. The guy quoted him a figure and my Dad pointed at the
little white VW. When the guy finally stopped laughing he told my Dad that he would do it for free, because it was so funny.
Dad put the key in the ignition and then the giant electromagnet attached to the roof. Dad was taking photos while the crane picked up the car and swung it towards the pit, where the crane dropped the VW into the the eight sided crushing machine. The car was made into a cube.
The crane picked the 32 inch cube up again with the magnet, dropped it into the pickup truck and hauled it to Jackson where it took almost a dozen people a whole day to move it in to the backyard (art party!) where Dad eventually built a rock garden around it (that thing ain't EVER moving!). He even had a sign made, which he put at the corner of the fence, which read:
Volkswagen I
1963 VW 357 sedan
Bob & Beth Canizaro 1970
02 December 1994
24 March 1994
The Church of Baseball
The General Manager of the Boston Red Sox has proposed moving the team from Fenway Park, nestled cozily in downtown Boston, to a car-centric nightmare-dome far out in the suburbs. I don't think the idea will fly at all with people in Boston, but i wanted to put in my two cents. I do realize the real, and imagined, economics of this 'necessity' but i think there are some other, equally important issues to consider.
I lived in New England 5 different times before my 30th birthday. Despite living away from New England for longer than i actually lived there, i have been a rabid Red Sox fan for two thirds of my life, since late one October night in 1975. It's not the players, or the won/loss record or even, to a lesser degree, the city. I am a fan of the team.
Since at the moment there aren't any players who i am devoted to, i was given to wondering, just what ties me to this team, outside of my happy memories of New England and painful memories of several post-seasons? Often it was indeed players: Marty Barrett, Dewey, The Spaceman, Fisk, Oil Can, Yaz, to name only the most significant. With each of these players, i wondered if i would continue to be so passionate in my devotion to The Townies when he retired, was traded (or discarded). In each case, sad as i was to see them go, my loyalty remained fully intact.
The conclusion i have come to is that, currently, as well as the entire two decades i have been a fan, my favorite player on the Red Sox is the ballpark. I cannot imagine following, or even caring about a team, that played in the 'Gorman Dome' out in Newton or whatever -- or even a wonderful Camden Yards style ballpark in the city.
Fenway Park is the Red Sox. It is a deeply moving experience to just walk through a tunnel into the magnificent green ballpark. I still remember when my prep school English teacher (in Maine) asked us to tell him what was beautiful to us. I immediately shouted out "Fenway Park". All the other guys giggled, but i was too proud to even be embarrassed.
I now only get the opportunity to attend a ballgame in at the church of baseball in Boston every couple of years; i don't have to go to a 80 year old ballpark daily, or not go, due to availability of tickets. And while i don't have the intimate knowledge of how nice, perhaps, a new stadium might be, i cannot see any legitimate reason for moving from Fenway; it would be worse than... trading Clemens. Or Ruth.
The Red Sox without Fenway -- just wouldn't be an interesting, enjoyable team. I suspect i would just lose interest. I don't think it would be betraying my beloved, i think they just wouldn't exist anymore.
I lived in New England 5 different times before my 30th birthday. Despite living away from New England for longer than i actually lived there, i have been a rabid Red Sox fan for two thirds of my life, since late one October night in 1975. It's not the players, or the won/loss record or even, to a lesser degree, the city. I am a fan of the team.
Since at the moment there aren't any players who i am devoted to, i was given to wondering, just what ties me to this team, outside of my happy memories of New England and painful memories of several post-seasons? Often it was indeed players: Marty Barrett, Dewey, The Spaceman, Fisk, Oil Can, Yaz, to name only the most significant. With each of these players, i wondered if i would continue to be so passionate in my devotion to The Townies when he retired, was traded (or discarded). In each case, sad as i was to see them go, my loyalty remained fully intact.
The conclusion i have come to is that, currently, as well as the entire two decades i have been a fan, my favorite player on the Red Sox is the ballpark. I cannot imagine following, or even caring about a team, that played in the 'Gorman Dome' out in Newton or whatever -- or even a wonderful Camden Yards style ballpark in the city.
Fenway Park is the Red Sox. It is a deeply moving experience to just walk through a tunnel into the magnificent green ballpark. I still remember when my prep school English teacher (in Maine) asked us to tell him what was beautiful to us. I immediately shouted out "Fenway Park". All the other guys giggled, but i was too proud to even be embarrassed.
I now only get the opportunity to attend a ballgame in at the church of baseball in Boston every couple of years; i don't have to go to a 80 year old ballpark daily, or not go, due to availability of tickets. And while i don't have the intimate knowledge of how nice, perhaps, a new stadium might be, i cannot see any legitimate reason for moving from Fenway; it would be worse than... trading Clemens. Or Ruth.
The Red Sox without Fenway -- just wouldn't be an interesting, enjoyable team. I suspect i would just lose interest. I don't think it would be betraying my beloved, i think they just wouldn't exist anymore.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wed, 30 Mar 94 02:18 EST Jeffrey Scott Kreisler
Well put. I never really thought of how
much the park makes this team. I'll be honest, I've always, always, always
loved and cherished Fenway, but I think I've taken it for granted as being the
one true constant in Red Sox baseball. As much as I'm love following Mo and
Clemens etc..., I think you're right when you say its the park that makes it
special. I cant get as into a televised game on the road as I do all games at
Fenway. Is it the mystique? the chance that something very strange will happen?
the history? Who knows.
Once again, well put Mark. You gave us
something to think about and reminded us how lucky we are to be Red Sox fans.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wed, 30 Mar 94 11:19 PST Jad DeFanti
Power to you both; I'd like to third the
motion. If anyone else out there isn't convinced, try going to games regularly
at other parks, and you'll find that Fenway is one of the last "Field of
Dreams".
Since Mark has already stated so eloquently
what's special about Fenway, I won't bother to restate it here. Thank God
baseball started on the East Coast.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)