The last time the Red Sox were in Miami was
the summer of 2006. The closest they have been since then is when they played
the Orioles, whose facility was in Fort Lauderdale, in Spring Training last
year. Then they decided to make my life difficult by moving to Sarasota. Otherwise, the closest the Red Sox have been is Fort Myers, which is about
two-and-a-half hours from where I am. And those games don’t even count. So if I
want to see a Red Sox game in Florida that actually counts, I have to drive to
Tampa unless the gods of Interleague play decide to work in my favor.
Those of you familiar with the Florida terrain
know that any drive across or up the state is absolutely boring. There are no
hills or mountains, no really big cities that you can see from the highway:
nothing. You might see a group of cattle every now and then. And no, driving
through the Everglades is not cool. You will not see a panther, nor will you
see an alligator. You will only see trees.
A four hour drive through this kind of terrain
doesn’t sound fun, but the ends clearly justify the means. A normal person
would have spent the night in Tampa, and maybe driven back the next day. It’s not that I’m not normal, it’s just that I didn’t have that option. You see, this series came at probably the most
inconvenient time for me: finals week. I decided that my best option was to go
to the last game of the series, on Wednesday night, because I only had my
French final the next day.
So after my Pre-Calculus final, my dad and I
hopped in the car and we were off. Google maps says that the drive is about
four-and-a-half hours. Somehow, we made it in about three-and-a-half. We
arrived before the gates opened, so we waited in line for a bit. When they were
checking my bag, they almost didn’t let me bring my Dustin Pedroia salsa
inside, but it ended being alright.
Those who work at Tropicana Field are very
clever. They open the inside of the stadium itself at 5:10 pm, but they don’t
let you in to the seating sections until 5:40. Basically, they want you to buy
stuff. Honestly, I do not feel like I’m in a baseball stadium when I am at the
Trop; I feel like I’m at some stupid carnival. It’s air-conditioned, and
it just doesn’t feel like a real baseball stadium. My father and I didn’t
weight our options quite well enough for food. We basically stopped at the
first place we saw, and we got these sausages with peppers and onions on top.
They were fairly decent, but nothing like the sausages at City of Palms
We were finally let in to the seating bowl, I
went straight to the dugout. I’m pretty sure that the security guard decided I
was mildly insane as soon as I put my Dustin Pedroia salsa (which expired in
February) on the dugout. Well, Dustin Pedroia did not sign my Dustin Pedroia
salsa. But I was able to get Darnell McDonald’s signature (he was the only guy
that signed). His signature looks a little bit different now than it did during
the Spring, but not by much.
We had great seats: twelve rows behind the Red
Sox dugout. I found it a bit weird that we were row ‘W’ though, yet we were 12
rows back. The Rays clearly do not know their alphabet. Luckily our row was
filled entirely with Red Sox fans, and they were absolutely great to converse
with. Even the two Rays fans in front of us–season ticket holders since
1999–were very kind. The cowbells weren’t even that obnoxious. I’d be willing
to bet that opposing teams, and especially opposing pitchers, hate playing at the Trop.
I really just do not like Tropicana Field. I understand the necessity of retractable roofs for stadiums located in areas where it always rains. But a dome? Baseball was not meant to be played indoors. Billy Crystal says, “There’s a very peaceful thing: it was created and played in pastures and
meadows. There’s grass, there’s outdoors, there’s everything that people though
was American and feel about America.” The Trop just does not make me feel like I’m at a baseball stadium. I wonder what the players think of it; I’ll have to ask one of them. They even give you a weather update, and I’m just sitting there asking myself, ‘How is this at all relevant?”
I was really hoping that the Red Sox would win
the game because driving back four hours after seeing a loss would not have been fun.
I was hoping that Lackey would continue in the streak of stellar outings from
our starters (at that time). He didn’t pitch a gem like Matsuzaka’s one-hitter, or Lester’s
gem, but he pitched well enough for the Red Sox to win, and that’s what counts.
Lackey’s main problem was that he was inefficient with his pitches. Nevertheless, his balls to strikes ratio was significantly better than Matt Garza’s that night.
Adrian Beltre was absolutely on fire this
game. He hit two home runs (the first of which is pictured above), and he was a
double shy of the cycle. He may make errors sometimes, but his bat has been such a valuable part of the lineup. He is among the league leaders in batting average, and has generally been great with runners in scoring position.
David Ortiz hit an opposite field home run, which was great to see. He really turned it around in May, but I still think mild skepticism during April was appropriate (maybe not during the first week, but after that). He simply was not seeing pitches well in April, and he was always getting behind in the count. Ortiz has struggled during June though. He was something like 1-for-24 on this road trip. Some people (like Jon Lester and Mark Teixeira) just aren’t April guys, and maybe Ortiz is just one of those guys now.
Being at that game was such a great birthday present. The Red Sox offense was just so in sync. By the time the game ended, everyone around me was wishing me luck on my French final. I’m pretty sure that the vast majority thought that I was a bit nuts for being in Tampa when I had a final four hours South the next day.
On our way back, my dad and I picked up some 5-hour energy. My dad drank it to keep him alert on the long drive home, and I saved it for the next morning. Believe me, that stuff works, and it actually doesn’t taste too bad. I don’t blame you if you think I’m a little bit crazy for doing this, but I don’t regret it for a second. When my response to “Why do you look like a zombie today?” was “Oh, I was in Tampa last night”, I got some strange looks. If I can’t bring the Red Sox to myself, I’ll bring myself to the Red Sox.
I’m kind of upset that my school wouldn’t let me rearrange my finals though. They let other people do that if they were leaving on vacation, or going to their brother’s graduation… but they wouldn’t let me rearrange my finals for this? This is my life. It disappoints me that some people just cannot accept that this is more than just a game for me. Who are they to decide what has more merit? Going to a baseball game or going to a graduation? It’s completely subjective! Passion is relative.
This is beyond dedication; this is beyond baseball.