Hanging With ... Hazel Mae
Everyone recognizes Hazel Mae. Except for the people who mistake her for someone who looks like Hazel Mae. Around Fenway Park, the NESN anchor is as conspicuous as Julia Roberts at a county fair.
On Monday, a day off, Mae and her friend Brianna Mitchell (who is also her hairstylist) came out to the Red Sox-Phillies game to see if the home team could extend their eight-game winning streak.
If Mae were chatting with, say, David Ortiz, it's easy to wonder who would attract more attention. She can hardly walk four paces without encountering groupies -- die-hards whose Sox devotion goes back generations, kids with gap-toothed grins, bachelors who beseech her to pose with them for a picture that just may become the background on their mobile phone. She signs every ticket stub, baseball cap, mitt, and ball -- even the occasional bare arm -- within reach of her Sharpie marker. Her down-to-earth rapport brings out the chivalrous -- almost timid -- gentleman in every alpha male, and women interact with her as if they're old friends.
``Oh my gosh! I'm so excited for you!" she squeals to Sadie Mullen, 5, from Methuen, who is attending her first Sox game. A few dads dispatch young sons to shake Mae's hand. Mae guesses some of them believe she's Lucy Liu from ``Charlie's Angels," even though the parents snapping photos say their kids watch her every morning.
Sashaying through the crowd in black shorts, a bright pink T-shirt, and gorgeously manicured nails, she sets the record straight for the nervous Hazel worshippers who ask about the rumor that she's abdicating her NESN throne for a seat at ESPN. ``Are you kidding? I'm not leaving Boston!" she says repeatedly.
Mae is self-effacing about how she spends her days off, making an ``L" with her fingers and planting it on her forehead, the universal sign for ``loser" (as if attending daily batting practice and every Bruins' morning skate doesn't already make her a sports geek).
But, she says, ``it's nice to have the whole experience, and talk to people, too. Besides, I never take [my job] for granted. Tickets are so hard to come by. And so much can happen in just one game -- it could be a no-hitter or someone could get injured," she says.
We get to the seats, which have a killer view of left field. The section seems to be occupied by an ad hoc glee club. Cries of ``Hazel!" ``Hi, Hazel!" ``Nice job, Hazel!" are bellowed and chirped from every direction -- even from the balcony above. Mae responds with ``Hey fellas" and a round of beauty queen waves, then notices the seats are in line-drive territory. Her professional eye kicks in.
``Right-handed batters pull the ball and it'll come this way, so keep your eyes open." she warns. Mitchell disappears, returning with beers and hot dogs.
``People think that because of my work, I go to all these fancy-schmantzy places, but usually I just want a cheeseburger or a steak," she says, liberally applying mustard and ketchup to her hot dog .
Mae supplies Mitchell with some basic baseball rules and is also a resource for Sox buffs around us, offering assessments on the lineup's depth and commenting on the value of a bunt when the bases are loaded. In the fifth inning, she declares it's tank top time and peels off a layer.
``Don't you take a day off?" asks Glenn Geiger, of Concord, N.H., who's sitting in the next row down.
``This is my day off," she retorts. And it certainly doesn't take much work for her to entertain Steve Brogan, a Cambridge firefighter, whom she poses with for the monthly bulletin.
``You know you've hit it big when you make the Cambridge firehouse newsletter. I'm a big TV star," she says with mock swagger. He laughs.
In the ninth inning, her concentration intensifies when the Phillies tie it up. She stays focused through the next three white-knuckle innings, snapping out of it only when 12-year-olds request her signature or women come over to confide what a good sport they think she is. After Big Papi's game- winning hit, the crowd thins and she leads the way to Jae's for sushi, a cuisine she says is new to her. Sipping a Captain Morgan and Coke, she scans the menu, but she already knows she wants fried dumplings and eel and salmon nigiri. She's a creature of habit, she says, and always orders the number one combo with cheese and a root beer at Wendy's and the sirloin and lobster salad at Abe and Louie's.
As she and Mitchell talk hair, they notice a NESN promo on TV. Mae's mug is on the screen.
``It's kind of an out-of-body experience when I see that," she says, shrinking into the banquette. ``I'm on in bars all across New England. I get fan mail from mom-and-pop diners. But I forget because I'm always in the studio. Then I see the promo. It's kinda creepy." 