The general groinal area of luxury really has two sides, and never has that been more apparent in the past seven days. I think we're all familiar with one side of the midsection - the so-called "lap of luxury". I had the pleasure of experiencing said lap in the form of luxury box tickets at Fenway Park last week.
The luxury boxes are often called skyboxes, which is really a misnomer - the skyboxes are actually the level above the luxury boxes, and are really just seats under a roof. It wasn't until I got in there that I begun to understand why so many balls are dropped there - in order to get a foul ball into one of those boxes, it has to be a frickin' laser - your typical popup/fly ball will land up in the skyboxes, or won't reach the luxury box and instead fall down into the loge/grandstand below.
No, the luxury boxes are quite appropriately named, as they are quite luxurious. First, they are accessed through the .406 Club entrance, which is decked out nicely with a uniformed chap checking tickets and ushering you through a meticulously-cleaned foyer and up an escalator lined with black-and-white photos of past Red Sox glories - Ted Williams and teammates, the 1912 club, even a picture of a temporary field they built into a football stadium while Fenway was undergoing renovations. We then found our box and strolled on in.
Immediately, we were confronted with a table, upon which was laid two platters - one with fruit and one with crackers and cheese. To the left was a counter with chafing dishes built into it, which housed chicken fingers, buffalo wings, steak tips, hot dogs and other foodstuffs. There was a mini-fridge stocked with beer bottles, soda cans and a couple bottles of wine, and a long table with a huge tin of popcorn and some pretzels. Oh, and the table had two leather love seats flanking it, a huge leather sofa behind it, and a flat-screen, high-definition plasma screen mounted to the wall facing it. At the far end of the box is a counter with three or four stools at it, looking out over the seats themselves, which are outside, overlooking the field.
It was suggested that we bring binoculars with us, since we'd be fairly up above the action, but in truth, it was quite possibly the best view of the game we'd ever gotten. We usually sit in section 10, which is halfway between 1st base and Pesky's Pole (roughly even with canvas alley, where all the groundskeepers sit - draw a line up from there to the fifth row of the blue seats under the overhang, and that's us). The view is nice from there except you can't see the catcher/umpire depending on which seat you're in. We've had sixth-row seats behind the plate (courtesy of one of Mrs. Dave's plethora of bad-ass work contacts, who were our benefactors on this night as well) and while it was incredible to actually see the pitches break as they hurtled toward us (and to watch Dustin Hermanson injure himself for the rest of the season after relieving Tomo Ohka), the depth perception is really hard to judge. But from the luxury box, you're able to see everything, judge distances and angles, and just take in the whole field at once. It's a thing of beauty.
The game itself was frustrating at first - David Wells was pitching, Mrs. Dave's least favorite hefty lefty, and the Sox took an early lead only to give it back run by run - but we didn't much care as we munched on the free food (well, free as part of the price of admission, anyway) and shot the breeze with the other 12 people invited to the box. Later in the game the Sox loaded the bases before Johnny Damon unloaded them with a double to straightaway center, and then we all had Ben & Jerry's ice cream pops (mmm...Cherry Garcia...) and went home happy. With a little green Red Sox lunch bag and more ice cream pops inside it.
I'm not sure I'll be able to cope with our section 10 seats next time. Ah, who am I kidding, these are the World Champion Boston Red Sox, muhfuh!
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