Strange call at Fenway

By Brian McGrory, Globe Columnist, 9/2/2003

People don't usually cheer for Marty Martin as he grinds through the typical day. They don't applaud when he leaves home every morning, or when he drives the infirm to their medical appointments in the job he's held for nine years, or even when he gives one of his needier clients a little extra care.

In other words, his is an ordinary life, which is what left Martin unprepared to handle the thousands of people who rose in unison Saturday at Fenway Park, shouting at him to commit a simple act. And it's what made him so euphoric when they broke into loud applause when he was kind enough to oblige.

But it's how something so good could end so badly that still has Martin a bit confused.

He began the day in his Bristol, Conn., home, excited by events that lay ahead. A lifelong Red Sox fan, Martin, 36, made his first visit to Fenway last year, and still remembers what he termed the "yesterday feeling, the good ol' days, the antique stuff. It's a vibe. There's a community spirit."

He and his older brother paid $37 apiece for group tickets to Saturday's game against the Yankees, and boarded a bus chartered by the Knights of Columbus for the hours-long ride to Boston.

Once there, he bought and donned a Red Sox T-shirt and took his seat in the right-field grandstand.

And there he sat until the fourth inning, when New York catcher Jorge Posada slammed a pitch high against the ashen sky, in a flight that was heading exactly toward Marty Martin.

So he did what any self-respecting man would do. He put his hand up and caught the home run ball. OK, the pain was so bad that he dropped it, but the ball landed at his feet, so he picked it up just a little worse for the wear.

Immediately, the crowd began screaming. "I thought the fans wanted me to raise my arms, so that's what I did," Martin said.

But it wasn't enough. The disparate shouts formed into a coherent chant of "Throw it back, throw it back" -- thousands of people pleading for him to toss the ball back onto the field.

"The crowd practically lifted me off my feet it was so intense," Martin said.

So that's what he did, he threw it back, and as the ball rolled harmlessly across the grass people slammed their hands together, high-fived each other, yelped, and shouted. The applause was a contagion, rippling from right field all around the park, and Marty Martin was at the center of it all.

But not for long. The police and security guards appeared at the end of his row. They led him down the ramp, while a Boston cop told him that he'd be sent back to his seat to a hero's welcome.

A team security guard made a phone call. Seconds later, he told Martin that he'd have to leave. Just like that, the brothers were escorted out the gate by an apologetic police officer and left unceremoniously on the street.

They don't drink, so they didn't go to a bar. The bus driver was at the game, meaning their vehicle was locked. So Martin hung around the outskirts of Fenway for six innings, so close yet so far, fully realizing the fleeting nature of fame.

Is he angry? Not really. Rules are rules, he said.

Still, it seemed odd for the newly fan friendly Red Sox to treat a loyal follower that way, so I asked principal owner John Henry, via e-mail, about the policy. Henry, though reserved, quietly mingles with fans. He spends part of each game sitting among spectators along the field. He hands out tickets to standing room only customers and signs autographs. In short, he gets it.

In a reply e-mail, he said, "It is outrageous for a fan of ours to be thrown out of the game for tossing an opposing home run ball back onto the field. I will look into it and personally apologize to this man."

Perhaps Marty Martin may even get a baseball to call his own.

Brian McGrory is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at mcgrory@globe.com.