Although I have long held the position of official family weirdo, there are some genes one cannot escape. My mother gave me defined eye brows, long slender fingers and a love for the New York Mets. This dominant trait, passed to her from her own mother, an avid baseball fan, was also passed to my sister and two brothers.
Within Mets-love is Yankees-less than love. It is reassuring to know during the Subway Series this past Saturday, my mother, father, sister, brothers and sister-in-law were all staring at the same pixels of telecommunication in their respective households, cheering and jeering/hooting and hollering. Hometown team affinity is sociologically interesting, like Trekkies or Star Wars fan sub-cultures. I enjoy being a part of their rituals and pilgrimages.
This curiosity packed me in a rental car with 3 native Wisconsin-ers to Boston’s Fenway Park to see the Red Sox take on the Milwaukee Brewers this past Sunday by way of a spontaneous roadtrip. The stadium oozed with history and, although packed with Sox fans, offered much more opportunity for quiet reflection while pretzel-dipping than New York’s obnoxious stadiums.
Vegan offerings are slim at Fenway but the big soft pretzels are always a viable tide-over. As is the bread soda…