This is a picture of a ticket stub from the 1975 World Series. Though I wasn’t fortunate enough to attend that Sixth Game, I was in Fenway (at the age of 7) at an afternoon affair, the second of the series, won by the Reds, who scored two runs in the ninth inning to stun the Sox 3-2. I remember very little about the actual game other than the bunting (as such whenever I see the stuff a reflex tells me that any game with such decor is of great magnitude, true or not) and a lone figure sitting atop a billboard far past the netting on top of the Green Monster — apparently those four dollar tickets weren’t easy to come by. Yesterday I was called by my Mom, who informed me that my Dad could not make tomorrow’s opener, asked me if I could make it up for the game. Alas, a late-afternoon business presentation (absolutely un-reschedulable) interfered. Out of curiosity, I inquired about Thursday’s tickets, normally Symphony night for my folks. Being diehard Sox fans, I assumed that a once-in-a-decade (on average) occurrence would trump the BSO. Nope. Lifelong habits die hard, and Bruckner takes it over reliving images of Buckner. Which meant one thing: two tickets available for yours truly. Unbelievable. Thirty-two years later I’d finally get back to Fenway for a playoff game, no lousy Division Series contest either, this was an actual World Series game. The Delta website was consulted. $325 for a one way ticket back from Boston on Friday, a necessary evil because I would be traveling for work on Thursday morning outside New York and the only way to get back from Boston was via plane, a speedy flight necessary because of a school tour for my son (entering pre-school and with no guarantee of getting into our local public school, how ironic is that?!) bright and early on Friday morning. Checked the weather, checked the logistics one last time and realized…I couldn”t go. I couldn’t risk missing this tour, under any circumstance (the Sox being in the World Series doesn’t qualify as "any circumstance", either). I couldn’t risk a logjam on the BQE at 8am on Friday morning after getting on the earliest flight possible following what would likely be three hours of sleep to show up bleary-eyed or, worse, late to this tour.
So, I am not going. I expect to hear it from those who frequent this site. "How can you not make the trip? How can you turn down a World Series ticket?" Easy. I have to take care of my son, his future far more important than any silly ballgame. And I have to make it to this prospective school on Friday morning, if only to see the look on YF’s face when I get there, smiling, my "AL Champions" hat perched proudly atop my bald pate, the Sox having just (hopefully!) taken a 2-0 lead and on their way out to Denver. As it turns out, he’s on the tour as well.