Energy Level In Fenway Is Embarrassing

As much as I hate to write this, Dan Shaughnessy was right on the mark with his column today. The atmosphere in Fenway Park -- once charged with optimistic energy and guarded enthusiasm -- is about as exciting as listening to the Curly Haired Boyfriend talk about his fitness routine when he is on the road. Shaughnessy reasons that the park is so lifeless because after waiting 86-years for the Sox to finally win the World Series, the fans of Red Sox Nation lack that "This is the year!/How will they break my heart?" emotion that used to charge "America's Most Beloved Ballpark." I partially agree with that sentiment but in all fairness to the (ahem!) esteemed columnist from the Boston Globe, that theory is more than a month past due. (It would be nice if Shaughnessy came to Fenway more than once a homestand to see what goes on day-to-day at the Park.) In my opinion -- and I am there for almost every single game -- the majority of the Nation that trek to the Fens to fork over a small fortune to see the Sox got past that nostalgia as soon as Jason Giambi hit that long home run off of Schilling in No. 38's first start against the Yankees. The real fans enjoy the countless DVD's and books (Leigh Montville's Why Not Us? is a must read, especially Chapter 7) but when the games count for real, last season became last season. My some what educated guess is that the World Series phenomenon was so powerful -- in and out of New England -- that the Sox have attracted a whole new group of fans. Fans that thought Manny and David were teddy bears, itching to be hugged. Fans that thought Schilling should run for president. Fans that thought Orlando Cabrera, Kevin Millar and Pokey Reese should go on the winter vaudeville circuit because their antics were just so humorous. Fans that buy DVD's, books, shirts, hats and posters (all helping out the bottom line for the franchise) but fans that have no clue at all about how to behave at a Red Sox game. Never in my life have I seen Fenway so dead. These new fans who are "making the pilgrammage" (yeah, I've heard that more than once) are killing the old intensity that the stands used to have. Case in point. My brother Ben took me to Tuesday's game against the Reds as an early birthday present. Instead of going up on the Green Monster as we usually do, we decided to sit in our assigned seats, Section 29 in the grandstands. It was a nice view of a master piece that David Wells was putting on display -- a no-hitter through five innings. We were glued to our seats, no one in the section was moving. Then, in the top of the sixth inning, seven guys in suits came in to sit in their seats, disrupted all of us who had taken advantage of the extra seats to get comfortable and then took their sweet ass time to get seated. Wouldn't you know it, Wells let up his hit that inning. My brother and I stormed out as the suits were still fumbling around in their row. The whole section gave them hell for breaking up the no-hitter (which, of course, was their fault) as we stalked out of there. These are the new fans of Fenway Park. Arrogant businessmen who write off the pricey tickets on expense reports for three innings of baseball and the annoying, new-to-baseball, what's-the-score Fenway rookies who just love the Fenway Frankfurters. But it's not there fault. The tickets are available to them and they are eating them up faster than Dr. Charles Steinberg wipes out a buffet table. The solution to all of this is for the real fans of Fenway to stop selling their seats and come back to the Park. Edgar Renteria needs to hear a standing ovation from 35,000 people who know that although he grounded out to second base in his last at-bat, the out did score Johnny Damon from third after fouling off eleven pitches. Matt Clement needs to get a similar ovation after getting out of a bases loaded, one out jam against the Yankees. Yes, these are fictional scenarios but it is necessary that the Red Sox need the true, die-hard fans to get back to Fenway as soon as possible.