Futures at Fenway

Last summer, I got to go and watch my brother play a minor league baseball game at Fenway Park. It was an amazing experience that I will not soon forget! The following is a quick brain dump of my experience that I wrote at 3:00am after seeing Steve play at Fenway earlier the day before...

Futures at Fenway Game – Fenway Park - Boston, MA
Saturday, August 11, 2007

“Ray, people will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.”
--Terrance Mann, “Field of Dreams”

I came. I came to Boston. When I woke up this morning I felt normal, until I was sitting on a train headed for Boston from Lowell, MA. It still hadn’t set in with me that I was on my way to Fenway Park. Maybe the fact that I wasn’t totally ecstatic to be making my second trip to the most storied baseball field in history says something about my upbringing, or my lack of emotion, or both. When we got off the Green line train in downtown Boston, everything changed. As we climbed the stairs up to the street, I saw something that suddenly triggered every nerve in my body and I was literally trembling with excitement. The large “CITGO” petroleum sign that was mounted above one of the many downtown office buildings was instantly recognizable to me. This might be one of the most recognizable ads to any red-blooded, American baseball fan ever. If you’ve seen the movie “Field of Dreams” you know what I’m talking about. This sign, either during the day, or illuminated at night is easily visible as it is at least 75 feet wide. The most notable thing about this sign, however, is that it lies only three city blocks and across the Massachusetts Turnpike from Fenway Park. When I saw this sign, I knew we were close!

My parents and I could not believe the amount of people in Red Sox garb, it was unbelievable! The Red Sox weren’t even playing today. I was looking down at my feet as we walked and just trying to ponder the ridiculousness of what I was about to witness. As I began to lose myself in my thoughts about baseball I looked up and there it was. Perhaps it looked just like any other baseball field to the average eye, but to me it was unmistakable. Just beyond the next block stood a pure white light tower anchored to the green railing that sits atop the most well-known wall in all of baseball, the Green Monster. We had arrived! I could hear the organ music playing from more than a block away and all of a sudden it hit me that today would be unlike any other day I have ever experienced in my 25 year love affair with America’s National Pastime.

We kept walking, not a sound from anyone. Mom, Dad and I all realized for the first time that day what we were doing, where we were, and how big this whole day really was. We stopped and I pulled my camera out, I zoomed in perfectly on the street sign that was backdropped by a perfect blue sky and snapped the picture, “Yawkey Way” showed up perfectly on the preview screen, we were now officially at Fenway Park. It’s true that any baseball junkie will be able to tell you that when you go to a game at Fenway, it takes you back in time to the way baseball used to be. The food is greasy, it smells like beer and peanuts and everything around you is the same as it was back in 1912. The underbelly of the ballpark is not attractive because back in the day, it was all about the game between the lines; the seats were closer to the field and the whole setting was intimate. Today going to a baseball game is completely different with the sushi joints and premium wine bars you see in the new ballparks. The seats are more spread out and there are more options when it comes to tickets. But how many people truly stop and admire the details of Fenway from the outside? I did.

I intentionally snapped a lot of pictures to capture the significance of today from all possible perspectives. I took shots of the banners outside on Yawkey Way telling me that I was at Fenway Park, Home of the Boston Red Sox. I took pictures of the dark red bricks that were coated with dust and soot from almost 100 years of hosting the Boys of Summer in Boston. Then I focused my attention on the sign that proudly overlooked the main gate, “Fenway Park, 1912”. As I walked through the turnstiles out in the middle of the street (Fenway was built such a long time ago, that the main gate is literally on the sidewalk of Yawkey Way and can’t safely accommodate today’s much larger Red Sox Nation, so they shut down the entire street.) I could hardly contain myself. Down the ramp, around the hot dog stand and past the souvenir booth, through the tunnel and out into the sun-drenched Saturday late morning. The organ was playing “Runaround Sue” and the field was set up for batting practice. I walked through the tiny red and blue seats that have witnessed so many great moments in Red Sox history up to the three foot brick wall that separates the fans behind home plate from the field. As my eyes frantically searched the field, they suddenly locked on a familiar set of hands held just above the helmet.

Twirling the bat above his left shoulder, he set himself, loaded and cracked a screaming line drive that shot between first and second and rolled into the right field corner past Pesky’s Pole. Immediately afterward he pulled his helmet off and filled it with baseballs that were sitting in the cage and ran them out to the mound and dumped them into the bucket. He walked slowly back to the cage, grabbed his bat and circled around behind it. After my initial shock, I raised my camera and snapped some quick photos. He wore his pants up, his shirt was sweaty and I’ve never seen him smile so big, it was my baby brother, and he had just finished taking batting practice at Fenway Park.

As I watched him walk back to the dugout I was overcome with emotion. I don’t think that I’ve ever been more proud of him in my entire life than I was today. As I studied his confident stride to the dugout I realized that he was enjoying himself. He wasn’t nervous and he wasn’t overcome by the fact that he was playing baseball on a field that most people would pay thousands of dollars they don’t have just for the opportunity to walk around on. I followed him as he grabbed his glove and hat and trotted out into left field and then I saw it. Stephen Vogt trotted out into left field and stood under the shadow of The Green Monster. I made my way to the left field line and snapped about 35 more pictures and as I lowered my camera, I saw something that I will never forget.

The bat cracked and Steve took two steps back toward the wall and turned to face the wall. The ball caromed off the Monster and on one perfect hop into Steve’s glove. Stephen Vogt played a fly ball off of the thirty foot left field wall just as a few guys named Yastrzemski and Ramirez had done before him.

I stood there and just watched my brother in awe. As he walked the warning track in left field and shagged fly balls for the remainder of BP, I realized how much he has grown up into a young man that any parent, brother or relative would be blessed to have. He was confident, strong, proud of what he’s accomplished and most of all, humble. It hit me that today was about so much more than baseball. It was about hard work and dedication to something that you’re passionate about. It soon came to me that what I was watching was the fulfillment of a dream. Steve is a hard worker and possesses the unique ability to mentally overcome obstacles that can potentially hinder his progress. I have had the privilege of watching him not be intimidated by things that would get the best of most people and I attribute this to his determination and confidence.

As my thought process began to get the best of my emotions, I was jolted out of my head and back to reality when Steve whistled at me and jogged over to where I was standing. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an official Major League Baseball and slapped it into the palm of my outstretched hand. Hundreds of thousands of people flock to major and minor league ballparks each summer with the hopes of securing a coveted baseball. There’s something about getting a baseball from a pro ballplayer that makes even the most seasoned baseball junkie act like a little kid again. I don’t know what it is and I won’t attempt to explain why people go nuts over getting a baseball.

I think for me, it was the significance of the gesture that meant so much to me. Steve and I dreamed of being pro ballplayers for as long as I can remember and he is the one that made it happen. I viewed this gesture as his way of sharing his pro experience with me. There’s no way I’ll ever field a fly ball on a pro baseball field and I’ll never have a pro at bat, Steve has done both of these things professionally for more than 400 innings already in his short career. He knew that one way to connect me to the game today, even if it was just a little bit, was to come over and hand me a ball. If I hadn’t been moved to tears as I had the day before today when I saw him play professional baseball for the first time, this might have pushed me over the edge, but not today. My displays of emotion are few and far between and I wasn’t about to have a breakdown two days in a row.

One of my fondest and most permanent memories of this trip will always be of the 20 minutes my parents and I spent just talking with Steve as he stood on the field at Fenway and we sat on the short brick wall that separated the fans along the third base line and the field. We talked about growing up, about what it felt like to be at Fenway to watch him and how proud we were of him. We snapped pictures, gave hugs, laughed and even cried, but just a little bit. Soon after our conversation, Steve ran off to the clubhouse to change into his jersey, game time was just around the corner.

The organ music halted and the Boston Red Sox PA announcer broke the silence by announcing the starting lineup. I grabbed my camera and got ready and sure enough, it came: “Batting in the fifth spot for Hudson Valley, the left fielder, number 30, Stephen Vogt.” It sent chills up my spine, but there was no time to lose. I quickly snapped a picture of the jumbo-tron at Fenway that bore Steve’s picture and name. How many people in this country can say their name has been posted in a starting lineup at Fenway Park?

The game commenced uneventfully in the Top of the first inning, three up, three down. I immediately jumped up with my camera at the ready. Steve bolted onto the field, his strides hammering the dirt first and then the cool, deep green grass of Fenway Park’s left field. As I watched him effortlessly toss the ball back and forth with the Right Fielder I had one of those moments where all the noise around me ceased to exist and all I saw was my surrounding environment. The sun made the grass sparkle, the stands at Fenway Park were full and 34,746 people watched as the biggest, puffiest, whitest clouds you’ve ever seen floated by the light towers up against the blue sky; it was a perfect day for baseball. While the game rolled along, I was completely overcome by the fact that Steve was here playing baseball. I flew to Boston to see Steve play, I jumped on the subway to come see Steve play. I walked through downtown Boston to see Steve play and I came through the gate at Fenway Park, to see my brother Steve play the game that we both love.

What was without a doubt the best moment of the day came in the sixth inning. Steve stepped up to the plate to lead off the top of the inning. As he strolled up to the plate, the baseball player in me was very jealous. Steve was kicking at the dirt in the left-handed batters box at Fenway Park! As he prepared to step into the exact same batter’s box as Ted Williams, Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, I could feel the collision of past and present happen right in front of my face. Fenway is a baseball cathedral of sorts, a hallowed shrine dedicated to some of the most storied players and events in baseball’s rich history and my brother was now part of a select group that has been allowed to stride upon that sacred ground.

It was then that I saw what will be my greatest memory of Steve’s career thus far. A 1-1 pitch was offered on the outside corner, I heard the wood bat pop as Steve tattooed the ball into the left field gap. The ball was hit on a line and as it took one hop, the steel of the out-of-town scoreboard on the Monster thundered as the ball hit it. Steve rounded first and slid into second base. He was safe, it was a double. Stephen Vogt had just doubled off the Monster at Fenway Park in front of 34,746 people. I jumped out of my seat, screamed for him and clapped as loud as I could. I high-fived my Dad, hugged my Mom and was overcome with pride and joy.
When I sat back down in my seat my eyes were on Steve at second base. The man behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “I have to know how you know that young man. I have never seen anyone cheer like that for a player.” I looked this man that I knew I would never see again in my entire life right in the eyes and said, “That’s Stephen Vogt, he is my brother.”

The game moved on and in the tradition of Fenway Park, the whole crowd sang along in the middle of the 8th to “Sweet Caroline”. I was singing along with the sellout crowd as I again watched Steve warm up in left field. I looked hard and I’m pretty sure that I saw him singing too. The game ended after 9 of the most glorious innings I have ever witnessed. Steve’s team did not win the game, but for me, it was not about winning or losing; not today. Today was about pride, love, joy and commitment to my brother and wanting to be a part of his achievement. While I’m sure that Steve is upset they didn’t win, I know that this is a day that I will remember for the rest of my life as the day that I saw my dream for him come true.

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