MLJ Invades Boston: When Roman Met Hef

Be forewarned. This is a print and poop.

It was interesting finally getting to meet one of my fellow Jerks in person. I had never met, nor spoke to anyone on the phone before this weekend. I had left CRM a voicemail when I was headed up to Albany over the Summer but he blew me off because he had a sense that he was better than me and never returned my phone call. At least that is how I like to remember it. Going to your parent’s house indeed. I have met and talked to Sparty over at Sparty and Friends. We are both big Giants fans and we talked about meeting up at training camp. We did. I met Lil’ Sparty and everything. I was shocked about how it wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be. I mean we talk everyday, or I should say write comments to each other or G-chat, but you don’t really know that person. Well, Sparty was pretty similar to what I thought he was going to be. I think he thought the same. So when the opportunity to meet Hef came up, I jumped at it.

There were multiple factors behind this. First, I wanted to meet a guy who I have been friends with for over a year. Second, I needed to meet a guy that I am now closely associated with, for better or for worse. Thirdly, The Mets were in Fenway and I had never been to Fenway. Lastly, and most importantly, I could actually watch a game with Hef at Fenway Park in which my favorite team and one of Hef’s 26 favorite teams played each other. I mean this was a win-win. Hef and I started organizing this in March. Hef had other motives for his trip to Boston which he will get into with more detail. His were more personal then “Let me fly across country to meet Roman”. He was looking to spread his mother’s ashes at Fenway. So with all this in mind, let me give you the happenings of my trip to Boston.

Friday night, I was home watching Johan do his thing, including mixing it up with Kevin Youkilis. This was a great source of conversation on Saturday since Youk was leaning over the plate looking for the outside pitch, Johan’s pitched was on the inside of the plate and hit his elbow which hovered over the plate. As Youk cursed and waved his arm because of the ouchie on his way to first, Johan told him to move his ass since he was milking his walk to first for comedic purposes (or so he said). Johan being a true Hall of Famer and competitor just wanted to get him to first. No need to show him up. Youk decided to do so. Fuck Youk. That HGH ridden, flash in the pan should have gone to first quietly. It is not like Johan was intimidated by him. He struck him out 3 times on Friday.

After the Mets won Friday, I contacted Hef and everything was still in place. We would meet in the early afternoon, get some food and head into the ballpark. I had my bag packed. I brought my Johan jersey and blue Met cap. I brought my authentic Nomar jersey for Hef to wear. Why do I have an authentic Nomar? I used to work at a sports store and got jerseys at discounted prices. Before the Red Sox turned into to the Yankees, I liked them.Well, really, I liked Nomar. I thought he was the best of the three big Shortstops at the time. I was wrong in retrospect but I own the Jersey which has not been out of the back of my closet for 8 years.

I hit the road around 10AM Saturday morning. I have the XM radio, but I turned on FAN where you could hear one of two thoughts. First, even though the Mets won they had a shitty lineup around Wright, Sheffield and Beltran. That is true. Ramon Martinez belongs nowhere near the big leagues. Jeremy Reed is not an everyday player. Omir Santos has been a nice story but please it’s Omir Santos. The other thing was how Yankee Stadium is now a bandbox and needs to be fixed. OK, sounds great. How do you guido fucks propose this to happen? Listening to these amateur engineers give their easy fixes was entertaining but I needed to stop before my brain went to mush. I turned on my XM and flicked around the music stations. The 80’s station was upbeat music all weekend long so I stuck with it since it was mindless driving music.

I stopped at a rest stop on 95 in Connecticut since I drank a full cup of coffee and a half a bottle of water in an hour. Not good. Well, at the rest stop were a bunch of Met fans, all in their gear. Lots of chatter with the Mets fans as I ran in and out. I knew this was going to be more than a smattering. I saw NY plates all up and down 95 and then 91 as I was heading up to 84. I stopped at another rest stop on 84 (I have the bladder of a 5 year old) and as I was jogging across the parking lot, a car beeped at me. I waved my hand thinking they almost hit me, but a buddy of mine yelled out the window. He was going too. He had a whole crew with him. I had no idea. I met one of the guys in the men’s room and as I was telling him my reason for going to Fenway, he proceeded to tell me that the guy next to him had a giant hog. Disturbed, I left and said quick goodbyes. Maybe he was there trolling for dudes. Who knows? Why was he checking out his hog? He said something about peripheral vision. I think he was feeling me out.

After my Hefian experience with my buddy at the rest area, I was full bore towards Boston. I called Hef as I got close and he told me he and his buddy, the Gay Magician, were heading back to the Hotel to meet me. I had my Mapquest papers out. As I got off the proper exit, the sheet had me making all sorts of moves that I wasn’t certain of since there were no street signs. I wound up following Hospital signs since the hotel was part of a Medical center. Next thing I know, I was driving 10 minutes and arrived at a Hospital. It wasn’t the one that Hef told me. I followed the road for another minute then I was in the heavy downtown area. All these young kids wearing crimson and looking like hippies. Loud White Jazz playing out of the street cafes. You know White Jazz is like a couple of horns playing nonsense with a drum or bongo in the background. The type of shit that was “cool” in college but really wasn’t. It makes New Found Glory sound like Iron Maiden. I saw a street sign and I was in Harvard Square. I was on the wrong side of town. Fuck, I was in Cambridge.

I was driving on a street that was painted Crimson and I passed Harvard. All these smart people, I should have one asked for directions. But I was terrorized by the thought of some snooty asshole giving me directions to Vermont. So instead I called up Hef again. The Gay Magician lived in Boston for a good period of time, he gave me directions. I had to find Massachusetts Avenue. I finally went the right direction and as I was fearful I might be lost again, I saw that gold dome that was in the background of Matt Damon’s apartment in the Departed. I needed to get across the Charles River. That building was across the Charles River! Thanks, Martin Scorsese.

I got across the river, and made a turn on to Commonwealth Avenue then I had to make a left on Brookline. As soon as I made the turn, Fenway Park was on my left. It was right there. It is in the middle of this neighborhood and it just fits. It is quite jarring. Mets fans were everywhere. This was not just a strong showing, this was a takeover. It truly was a perfect storm. It was Memorial Day weekend. I am guessing people who live in the City wanted to get away for the weekend. Met fans thought, “;It’s Memorial Day Weekend, let’s make a trip up to Boston.”  Really, it made for a unique dynamic. I made the trip down Brookline a quarter of a mile and got to the hotel. I would now meet Hef.

I walked into the Hotel lobby and Hef called. I told him I was there, he didn’t see me yet. I walked around a turn and there we were talking to each other on a cell phone 5 feet from each other. We did the awkward man hug and started talking quickly. I was still hyped up from being lost in the Harvard Square ghetto. Hef was hyped up from my essence. That and I could tell that the whole reason for him being there was starting to amp him up. We were both a bit edgy but in a good way. It was comfortable. No really awkward small talk. We went up to the room and met up with the Gay Magician. He was having his own weird trip. His bag was lost on the way to Boston. He lives in California now, so he brought a carry on and a laptop. He had to take a puddle jumper to Phoenix and they made him check the Carry on. It was the last he saw of it. Happily, he wasn’t smelly. He borrowed some of Hef’s shirts and there was talk of an underwear run.

The Gay Magician took off for a few minutes giving Hef and I time to talk. We talked site business. We determined everyone else sucks and that they truly aren’t any good besides being cheap labor. Then we laughed and lifted our snifters of Cognac and chortled, adjusting monocles and living the sweet life that God intended. That and he showed me a plastic bag with his mother’s ashes inside. It was surreal. I am not the overly emotional type so I tend to take these things in stride, but I was thrown off. I was now tied to a very important moment in Hef’s life. Hef showed me a roll of tape and the bag of Mom and was telling me his idea. He was going to tape Mom to his leg and sneak her in. He would then put Mom in a Soda cup and we would take a picture overlooking the Centerfield wall, where Mom would fall out the bottom of the hole. That and we would try our best to not get arrested.

When the Gay Magician got back, we decided to walk down to Fenway. It was early but we were hungry. We made our way past Fenway (the bars there had hour waits) and over to Commonwealth to a chain restaurant called Bertucci’s. The place was OK in that is was empty and had tables for us to sit at. Besides that I would not recommend it.  My friends from the Rest stop met up with us there, but they got another table so I was not regaled with more talk about other men’s genitalia. Monkeykong called while we were eating. He drove up from his weekend getaway in Rhode Island to see the game with us. I take this moment to that Monkeykong’s lady for being cool and letting us have Monkeykong for the game. Or maybe she should thank me. He is fucking unbearable. Your welcome.
We walked over towards Fenway and met up with Monkey. We went into Game On, one of the bars right outside of Fenway. We had a few beers as Hef and the Gay Magician went into the Men’s room to tape his Mom to his leg. When Hef came out he was very jumpy. It was like he was a coke mule who couldn’t handle the pressure. He was chugging beers and was paranoid someone was going to catch him. Monkey gave him the sound advise to stop touching his inner thigh and saying that’s where his mom is. It might not get him busted. Hef was ready to go inside. I was still at the top of a beer. He yelled at me to chug it. I am not a big beer chugger but I don’t like wasting beer so I was in quite the conundrum. I chugged the beer. Fucking Hef and his uneasiness.

We made our way to the gate and got inside with no problem. I kept advising Hef, don’t act like there is anything wrong. Act like you do this all the time. No one bothers you. Trust me, as a guy who enjoys his Cabernet, I know how to get it places where it isn’t supposed to be. We were now inside one for the “Cathedrals of Baseball”. Let me tell you, it looks and smells like an old carnival. There are hot dogs stands and other sorts of stands that are cooking something. All the concessions are technically outside of the Park with and it is covered but not closed in. All the signs are that white and green Carnival style sign. It’s very quaint and old school. It is not what I would call nice. The place is well kept for an old ballpark, and the bathrooms were much nicer than I expected, but it was not nice. What makes Fenway stand out is the atmosphere. Everyone there has a good vibe. In my particular case, it was a bunch of Met fans very excited to be at Fenway. For the Red Sox fans, it was almost like the novelty of having another team’s fans actually taking over the place. I heard it more than once, that it was not normal. Fenway is usually 99% Sox fans. I would say it was like 65-35. It was impressive.

Before we made our way to our seats, we went to the top of the Green Monster. Or right next to it. The security guard would not let us go further but we got some cool pics and we checked it out. Looking out on the field I was taken by how green everything was. And how close everything is. It is very tight. It is almost like a minor league feel. I mean that in a good way. You are on top of everything. Nothing is too far away. During the game watching the Foul balls just ricochet off the upper deck overhang, it was like the ball traveled 10 feet to get there. It makes everything that more intense. I see where the normal home field advantage comes from.

We made out way up to our seats, we were in right centerfield. The seats are pretty tight so you are in everyone’s grill. Hef, The Gay Magician and myself are not small guys so it made us a little cozier than we would have liked but it did help when it got colder. The other weird thing about where our seats were, they don’t face home plate. They face the right field corner. To be more exact they look at the Pesky pole dead on. You have to look to your right to see home plate. The problem that evolves is that the steps up and down are also to you right so you are constantly blocked by those who must constantly travel up and down the steps and the concession workers who hold everything over their head, and the assholes who can’t find their seat because they are in the wrong section and refuse to squat down when the pitch is being thrown because they are inconsiderate. Don’t think this was just New Yorkers, the Massholes also were lost.

Our view from the seats when looking stright ahead

As the game evolved I noticed Hef and I are different in our game watching. I tend to watch the game intensely and little things like Ramon Martinez’s existence set me off into a blind rage. I am both quiet and intensely loud. I clap a lot and cheer but I know the deal. Hef, on the other hand, is a schmoozer. He starts up conversations with those around him. He cracks jokes. He makes observations about the game and those around him. He is the type of fan you enjoy since he brings something to your game experience or hate because he won’t shut up.

They even had food for Hef at Fenway

Case in point, behind us we had a group of Sox fans and behind them a group of Met fans. Now the Sox fans were quiet but understatedly funny. The Met fans were young, drunk and obnoxious. (I know, I know but these guys were Phillyesque in their awfulness but they did give the section life) Well, as the game went on, the Sox fans loved Hef because he gave it to everyone, including me, and the Met fans focused on him as the asshole Sox fan. When Paps came into close down the game Hef was yucking it up and being all mighty and pompous like Mariano Rivera circa 1999 was trucking out to the mound. When Paps let up the homer to Omir Santos (OMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIR!!!!!!!) the Met fans immediately turned it’s joy and ire to Hef calling him every name in the book and partying in his face. Now, the homer wasn’t official yet, but where we were sitting we had the clearest view in the house. It was a homer. The Sox fans knew it. The Met fans knew it and we partied. Hef ran to the men’s room for the review. The Met fans took this as Hef running away and crying. (So did I, Hef is a baby) So when Hef got back after Joe West did the finger twirl, they were relentless.

Our View of the Monster

After an amazing bottom of the ninth, that included huge plays by David Wright, Luis Castillo and Ramon Martinez (do you see my concern as a Met fan) the game was over and the Mets won it. The Met fans were pumped. I was hugging and high fiving anyone in blue and orange. We did the good game hand shakes with the Sox fans and the Met fans that hated Hef. Hef being the bigger man initiated and the Met fans being good practical people, unlike Yankee fans, accepted his olive branch and all was well. Now it was go time. Hef has his cup ready to go and we were going to get our picture.

We made our way down to the rail (actually a concrete barrier) and Me, Hef and the Gay Magician were arm in arm as Monkeykong took a picture. Hef was holding the cup behind my back and the ashes ran out the bottom of the cup and when they were all gone, Hef told us to go. We made it down the stairs and their were hugs and exuberance. Hef looked relieved. The anticipation of the moment was on him all night. He definitely had his fair share of beer to compensate.

We made our way down to a bar called Copperfield’s and disappeared inside*. In the bar, was a bachelorette party and a ton of Met fans. As I made my way around the bar, I was hugging and high fiving perfect strangers. Random chants of “Omir Santos clap clap clapclapclap” filled the bar. One of the girls with the Bachelorette party was so upset by the Met fans she couldn’t take it. She was complaining and close to tears. The loss ruined the night for her. The fans ruined her good time. This was not even the future bride, who I chatted with and was amused by it all, it was some random Masshag. After the 15th rendition of “Omir Santos clap clap clapclapclap” she left. She left the Bachelorette party because of Met fans. If I am proud of anything in my life, that will be near the top. Also to that Vermont girl’s husband who texted you because she met Internet celebrities at the bar, Hello. How ya doin? I hope you like the site. We appreciate the page view.

Partying with my public

So after a night of drinking, we made it back to the hotel where we watched a movie as Hef passed out and farted something terrible. I must say, I have all of my functioning organs left. I really enjoyed my time in Boston. It is a beautiful city and it has a great vibe. Now, would I recommend a trip to Fenway? Of course, it is a must. But to be truthful, it is overrated. If it was where I had to watch every game, I am not sure I would like it as much. Then again I loved Shea and that was a dump. My point is, Fenway is not a great place to watch a game. It is a great atmosphere to watch a game in. It is nice to look at the Field but it is not anything more than that. Outside of Fenway is great with all the bars. If that can be dupicated at Citi Field, I encourage it. That is the only thing I would duplicate at Citi Field (stop the fucking Sweet Caroline garbage, it’s theirs. Let them have it).

As for meeting Hef, it was an enjoyable experience. We were not “on” at all times. Meaning we were not shouting internet memes at each other. But it was comfortable. Being a history buff, I think back to the stuff I see from the 1700’s, 1800’s and early 1900’s and people had life long relationships through letters. They would see each other sparingly but still felt the strong bonds of friendship. I look at what I do now with the Jerks and some other assorted people that same way. We are all friends. “Fake Friends” according to my wife, but in essence we say things to each other we may not say to people we see face to face. Meeting Hef helped me flesh out the whole picture. I now know he is gay.**

No Homo

*copyright RomanWarHelmet 2009.

**copyright the Internet 2008