Defensive Indifference

If the screenshot below looks familiar, then you’re probably a Red Sox fan who knows the plight of trying to score tickets to see the Olde Towne Team at home all too well. In the wake of a second title in four years, 2008 might just be the worst year yet.

Seeing a game at Fenway Park is a special experience — one every baseball fan should get at least once in their lifetime. The atmosphere around the stadium is unrivaled, it’s a true neighborhood park and probably the only one in MLB. Emerging from the dark, seedy concourse and seeing players stretching, hearing the crack of the bat and seeing the Green Monster, well it’s one of the few things in the world that’s made me truly giddy — just happy to be alive — in my adult life.

I haven’t been to Fenway since 2002. (I was at this game — the beginning of the end for the Red Sox’s wild-card hopes that year). I haven’t been able to return because I went far away to school, even when I was home I was poor, and over the last couple years, a rigorous work schedule has not allowed me to get away. This year, flush with a bit of cash and the ability to actually get to Boston for a game, I tried, like many Red Sox fans, to get tickets this morning. Mission Not Accomplished.

A big part of me is disappointed. Hey, I wanted to go. There’s another part of me that is almost relieved. Let’s face it the Fenway Experience that I so loved growing up is gone for good. The franchise’s best run of success in nearly a century has helped to destroy part of what made catching a game on Yawkey Way so great.

The Green Monster seats, the right field roof, renovations to the .406 club, the team’s burgeoning popularity and success, escalating ticket prices and relentless commercialization of the club have made Fenway Park a destination for wealthy families and wealthier Boston-area businessman.

Sure, Fenway has its history, seats that are right on top of the field and defining quirky characteristics that make it so unique, but what really set it apart for me was that in the face of the Camden Yards-ization of the Major League venue in the 1990s — turning a day at the park into an “experience the whole family can enjoy” — the fans at Fenway Park were always there to, you know, watch the game. A serious baseball fan wouldn’t have it any other way. (Incidentally, I don’t think the Camden Yards phenomenon is bad for baseball.)

I can’t say for sure as I haven’t been to game at Fenway in six years, but by every indication that characteristic is gone. Over the last five years, the Red Sox have gradually wedged the average fan out of the park, only to replace them with pink-hatted Damon-oglers, businessmen trying to hammer out a deal and people who are more interested in being seen on NESN than actually seeing a baseball game.

I’m not sure whether to complain or sigh. By virtue of their do-or-die rivalry with the Yankees, the Red Sox have to squeeze every bit of money out of the smallest park in the majors just so that they can compete. Who am I to argue with success? On the other hand, the over-exposure of my favorite team has turned me into a self-loathing fan. I can’t stand the Red Sox Nation stuff. I have very little faith in the knowledge of people I meet wearing a Red Sox cap or jersey. I really miss what being a Red Sox fan was to the point where, especially after a few drinks, I’d almost trade this most recent title for things to go back to the way they were. Almost. I mean I can almost (there’s that word again) subsist on one title if it means ditching the bandwagon fans that now infest Yawkey Way.

What I’m getting at here, is that if the Red Sox aren’t careful, a backlash could be coming. If they’re successful, they’ll never have trouble filling Fenway Park, but at what price? Alienating the average fan may be an unfortunate byproduct of becoming a cash cow, but how much is the character of the best fanbase in the majors worth? Can you even put a price on that? I mean, just read this thread on Sons of Sam Horn — the most popular Red Sox message board on the Web.

The avid fans there are saying things like this:

Are we approaching the point where Red Sox tickets are too costly and too difficult to obtain that it in some way diminishes or fundamentally alters the fan experience? - Trautwein’s Degree

The Thrill is Gone…It is all about the money…unless you have a connection…you have to watch t.v…..Maybe it is all over now. - biollante

Time to face reality, the Fenway experience that most of us remember fondly is pretty much gone forever. And the Fenway experience at all is likely out of reach for most. Blame the team’s success, blame the Dentist, blame greedy people in and out of the organization, blame ticket brokers and Stubhub and Ebay, blame Saddam Hussein, whatever, it sucks, but it is what it is. - The_Powa_of_Seiji_Ozawa

I am a season ticket holder. Have been for many years, and by now my seats are pretty good. So last year, for the first time, I am told not only will I not get my usual seats for the playoffs, but the seats that I am offered are in Cambridge someplace. The Red Sox say, “MLB grabbed the seats. Nothing we can do.” So I go to a game, walk over to my usual seats, and ask the people sitting in them how they got them. “Stubhub”, I am told. So MLB is now kicking out season ticket holders and scalping their tickets. Just how distasteful is that? How does that build a fan base? I am annoyed beyond belief. - Koufax

There’s more and more season ticket holders who hardly ever attend a game but their tickets are a hot commodity, so they sell them through a ticket broker. In my section at Fenway, I used to see the same people all the time. Now I see only 4-6 people from the “old days.” This phenomenon is due to the acceleration of ticket prices or greed. Hell, even hubby suggested I sell my OD ticket. - BoSoxLady

It pisses me off too but I still pay way too much to see three or four games a year at Fenway. I also go to Yankee Stadium and Fenway South. It sucks. I fully blame the Red Sox management for this scenario. - bmacfarlane