My Dad took me to my first ballgame at Fenway when I was ten years old. And I've still got two things from that day. One is the well-worn, dog-eared program he bought me, which still has his pencil-marked scorecard tucked neatly inside. The other is the indelible memory of walking up that ramp and seeing for the very first time that sweetgodandsonnyjesus explosion of deep blue sky and dark gre...
View the Entire Article