My Other Paul Shows
Wednesday, August 5, 2009. I’d only ever been inside Fenway Park one other time in my life. I won tickets to see Neil Diamond by singing Sweet Caroline in karaoke. I’ve never been to a Red Sox game, never taken a tour. It’s not that I wouldn’t mind going to a game, but it is way too expensive. I’d never be able to enjoy a game because I’d be worried about all the money I had to spend. It’s insane.
Now, a Paul McCartney concert is a different story. There was no way in Creation that I would’ve missed this—no matter how much it cost. Granted, most of Red Sox Nation feels this way about our team. So, I’m sure it’s easy to understand my devotion to Paul.
Paul is an admitted Yankees fan, though. I wondered what kind of reception he’d get at Fenway considering he cheers for the Evil Empire. Not that I hold this against him, because I don’t. I just chalk it up to one of those things that Paul does that I don’t agree with. We can agree to disagree; it’s been done before.
I didn’t write a story about my Fenway experiences immediately following the concerts. This is the first time I’ve written about the experiences; which in itself is very weird. I usually make a beeline for pen and paper the moment the concert is over.
Five days before the concert, I ran into a friend of mine also named Paul. He was planning on just showing up at the park and getting a ticket any way he could. I wished him luck because I figured that was the extremely expensive way to get a ticket. The next day, I received an email from one of the higher up people at work, Nancy. She’d been offered tickets from a season ticket holder, and couldn’t go. So, since she knew of my love for Paul, she offered the tickets to me. Oh my Lord.
“Do you want them?” she asked.
Does a duck swim in water? “Yes!” I replied almost immediately.
Then I called my friend Paul and asked him if he’d like to go. He jumped at the chance; and he jumped just as quickly as I did. The tickets were a little bit out of our price range, but considering the fact that they were excellent seats there was no way I was going to say no.
If I’d gone to see a Sox game, these seats would have been a prime location: front row on the first base line. I was absolutely astounded. There was a sign posted on the wall in front of us, “Be alert, bats and foul balls hurt.” I had to laugh.
Now, granted, there were still seats on the field in front of us, but we didn’t care. Paul met the nice Sox season ticket holder, gave him our money and got the tickets. He came in the following Tuesday, tickets in hand and a huge grin on his face. We were so excited that we could hardly contain ourselves. We agreed to meet up at Fenway Park.
August 5 was a work day for me, but I didn’t put in a time-off request. Instead, I asked to leave early. I got all decked out in my Macca-gear at work (which amused my boss to no end) and then set off to Fenway. Since this was only the second time in my life that I’d ever been there, I decided to take as many photographs as I could. I started snapping away the moment I got off the Green Line at Kenmore Square; which, of course, is the primary stop when one is going to Fenway.
I was way too excited to eat dinner before I went to the park. I just figured I’d grab something at the park and that would be alright. Bad, bad mistake because everything is twice as expensive in that entire area. Heck, the cheapest parking I saw for Red Sox games was $60. Can you imagine? Sixty dollars just to park your car; and the prices were pretty much the same for Paul. I was extremely grateful for the MBTA in that moment, in spite of the fact that they often make me crazy.
I stopped at the first merchandise booth I saw and bought a t-shirt. I’d seen this shirt at Citi Field, but I had to be a little frugal on that trip. This time around, I had extra money; which is always a good thing. I did poke my head into a few of the places around the park, but then I got in line at the entry gate.
I was a picture-taking fool while I stood in line. I suddenly had this uncontrollable rush of Red Sox fanaticism and I started snapping away at everything. I truly can’t explain it, but I did get some pretty good photos.
It was incredibly hot that day—not exactly a good idea to wear my black shirt from the Quebec show. By the time I got inside, the back of my shirt was soaked with sweat. However, I truly didn’t care. Since I didn’t have a purse or a backpack, I went to the express line, got my ticket scanned, and I was in. I stood in the middle of Yawkey Way in awe. I’d been there before, but this time it was different. I was about to see my hero in the oldest baseball park in the country (Wrigley Field in Chicago is two years younger). I was amazed with the history of my surroundings, and I developed a deep appreciation for the culture that is so engrained in Red Sox Nation, as well as New England.
I was also in fanatic appreciation of how many Paul and Beatles fans were there. Almost all of them also wore Sox baseball caps. I think it’s like an unspoken rule that you can’t enter into Fenway without something with the Sox logo on it. Lucky for me, I had a small Red Sox keychain in my pocket; otherwise I don’t think they would have let me in.
I took a few moments to walk through the sports store directly across from the park. Truly, if it’s to be had, this store would have it. I was impressed. I stopped in for a quick visit last year before the Neil Diamond show, but I didn’t stay long enough to walk around. I was a bit late to that show. Statement: I am never, ever late for a Paul McCartney show. True, we missed the opening acts at Citi Field, but I have never missed that first moment when Paul steps on stage.
I stopped to buy a gift for Nancy, and then I headed inside. The people there were very nice and helped me find the right entrance to the section I needed. The moment I stepped out of the long hallway and saw the field, I was awe-struck. I also said out loud, “It looks so much bigger on TV.” Folks around me laughed, but it’s true. Compared to others I’ve visited, Fenway Park is not a very large stadium. It would fit inside Citi Field with plenty of room to spare. Still, for someone who loves and has a deep respect for history and historic places, I was pretty excited to be inside Fenway again.
I found a nice older gentleman who helped me to my seat. He stepped in, put the bottom half down (the seats fold up), wiped it off and smiled. “Here you go, miss.”
“Holy crap!” I said to him. “My seat is right next to the Red Sox dugout!”
He smiled a bit; obviously he had seen this reaction before. Then he made his way back up to help others. I had to get a photo. So I left my freshly wiped seat and went up a little to get a nice photo of the field. Another gentleman offered to take a photo of me with the field behind me. Cool, I said, and handed him my camera.
I had no sooner made it back to my seat than my friend Paul showed up. We hugged hello, and then both of us said, “Can you believe this? Oh my gosh!”
I took several photos of the field, and I managed to take a photo of the inside of the Sox dugout with my cell phone. I immediately sent a copy to my best friend; who is a much bigger, more dedicated Sox fan than I’ll ever be. I wanted to try and sit on the bench in the dugout, but security was pretty tight. I did catch a glimpse of Paul’s band mates watching the opening act from the dugout, though.
I got up to just look around and take everything in. I grabbed a quick bite to eat and just started to walk. There was a display set up with the brand new, not yet released Beatles RockBand. Now, I’m not a gamer. The last video game I even bothered to learn how to play was Super Mario Brothers. I just don’t grasp the concept of video games in general.
Having said this I want to own this game. I want to play Beatles RockBand and strum that fake Hofner bass until my fingers bleed. I want to sing along with every song and ascend to the highest level imaginable. I stood in line for a chance to play the bass, but decided against it when I noticed that I was the only adult in the whole line. The rest were all children. Ouch. So, I watched others play a couple of songs instead and then I returned to my seat. I’m sure there was more to see, but that was enough for me.
Paul and I chatted while we waited for Macca. We both knew that the show would be shorter than usual, due to the city ordinances and neighborhood restrictions; so I wondered which songs would be dropped out of the set list.
To be honest, I barely noticed. Once Macca hit that stage, Paul and I just went nuts. We sang; we laughed; we danced. It was such an incredible experience for me because I think, for the first time ever, I was able to let loose. I didn’t worry about what anyone else thought, I just had a blast. It was good to see my friend cut loose and have fun, too.
The actual show is a blur; though I could tell Paul what song was coming up next when I was in the moment. It was obvious by either the way the songs were introduced; the stories that were told in between songs (which I’ve heard a million times, and they just keep getting better); or the plain and simple fact that I have the set list pretty much memorized because it rarely changes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. With the exception of a couple of new songs from the third Fireman album, the set list was pretty much the same as it was in Quebec and New York. Though, most notably absent from Fenway: I’ll Follow the Sun. I love that song.
Paul and I got out of the park in fairly short order. I think it was because we were so close to the field and the exits. We rode the train—which was as sardine-packed full as it usually is during home games—to Park Street together and then I switched to the Red line. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone else who had more fun than Paul did. It was a beautiful thing.