I grew up in a family of Detroit Tigers fans. Every opening day, we would go down to the stadium, I'd get a bag of popcorn and a hot dog, and we'd all watch the game.
I used to collected Kirk "Gibby" Gibson cards, and the first newspaper I made on my parents' computer had writing by me about the Tigers. At least once we went to Lakeland, Fla., to see spring training. Sparky Anderson was the ultimate celebrity in my family.
This was a few years after the Tigers won the 1984 World Series, back when the team wasn't that great, but weren't the joke they became a few years later.
I was a Tigers fan, despite not really liking the game, but because I really loved the experience the game brought.
When I went to Fenway Park for the first time a few days ago, I couldn't help compare that experience to one in my head in downtown Detroit.
Fenway was gorgeous, and I love dthe vibe of the crowd. Right off the bat (pun intended), I was hit by how small the park seemed to be. I understand how old the park is, but it wasn't until I was in there that I really understood the history.
I loved the cheering, and the open-backed seats.
Most of all, I loved how much Boston loved its team. The game was packed, but I'm not sure if that was because the game was against the Yankees, or because all the games are packed. All around the park there was a feeling of excitement, and I'm sure the people there felt the way my family felt back at the old Tiger stadium.
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About the authorJoe Allen-Black left the flat landscape and temperate climes of Florida, where he was a reporter and web producer, for the peaks, valleys, and mercurial weather of New England. Joe, More »
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