What cosmically ominous message was being sent when my wife Ann was beaned at Fenway Park on the 100th anniversary of the venerable baseball venue? To the day!
Was she there in another life on April 20, 1912? And did she sneak in? Was it a warning to stay away from Fenway and the atrocious 2012 Red Sox?
The bizarre event happened in the middle a losing effort to the Yankees (nee the Highlanders in 1912…bet you didn’t know they started in Baltimore) when we were returning to our seats. She was barely through ramp opening when “PFFFFWAP!” A foul ball came screaming down, smashed into the foot-thick concrete and glanced off the Ann’s head.
I had no idea it hit her, but looked back when I heard the initial contact. “John, that hit me,” she gasped, more stunned than hurt.
We were ushered to Fenway First Aid where they found a red mark, but no bleeding on the back of her head. The EMT gave her some Advil and some Red Sox personnel bestowed upon her a cheesy goodie bag (actually, Red Sox customer service has treated us well this year after a ticket snafu for which I am to blame) .
The odd thing is I have sat in seats near this ramp for almost 20 years and very few foul balls have come close to us — until last year, that is. In a single 2011 game, one landed in a seat in front of us and one in back. And like a Sidewinder missile, this one blazed toward my wife’s noggin. We never got the ball – it bounced into the stands.
I don’t want to think too hard about what this means. I’ll chalk it up to global warming.
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