A customer asked about my relationship with Fenway. I started to answer in the comments but it got a little long. I thought y’all might like to know as well. So here’s my story, you won’t need to subpoena me for details. I didn’t know what to title this, so I stole from Dropkick Murphys.

Basic history: I was born in Brighton, but my parents moved to Waltham, the Watch City, when I was 2. Dad and my Uncle Dick worked at Buck Printing on Ipswich St, at the corner of Landsdowne St. It has been a nightclub-The Ark- a roller rink, an arcade/bar. I googled the address, it’s now a bowling alley and bar, Lucky Strike Fenway. You can see the old building from the Mass Pike. The Buck Printing sign on the roof could be seen from the park, before the Jumbotron days. Dad said they’d sometimes take their breaks up on the roof on game days/nights. Uncle Dick was always scoring tickets, and would take me and my brother to games when we were kids. They lost a lot back then, but we always had hope. I loved keeping score, and trying to convince Unk that we shouldn’t leave before the end to beat the crowds because they just might come back. During my college years at Northeastern, I lived in an apartment along the Green Line half a block from the Fenway stop. You could still get really cheap bleacher seats and SRO tickets. We’d get the latter, then roam around sitting in empty seats until someone kicked us out. I loved that old place, but it’s gone crazy upscale in the 40 years since I left New England Last game I witnessed was Jon Lester’s no hitter, May 19, 2008. Reminds me, I’m overdue for a pilgrimage. I try to catch games in places I’ve lived, so I’ve been to Oakland, Houston, and Seattle. Juanita Jean and I share a deep love of baseball, but sadly we never did get to one together before I left Fort Bend. About the Fran, both of my grandmothers were Frances, so it’s my middle name. I always liked it better than my real first name, but don’t tell my mother.