It’s not easy being a green monster. People talk to me all the time, but I don’t really like to answer. I just watch.
I was around here in 1912 when Fenway Park opened; we won the World Series that year, don’t ya know? And we did it again in 1915 and 1916 and 1918 . . . and then there was a brief interruption.
For eighty-six years I watched the Red Sox play hard, win a bunch of games, and break a lot of hearts. And then in 2004 there was a change in the air around here. There was a new flag flying from Fenway Park, and I heard the distant echo of what sounded like a Nation full of cheers, tears, and joy.
The next two years were exciting, but in the end . . . no joy. But things were very special in 2007: The cheers started on Opening Day and the joint was rocking all season long. And now there are two new World Championship banners hanging on Yawkey Way.
Like I said, I am a monster of few words. I’ve traveled with the team, flown on the charters, sat in on clubhouse meetings, and visited the press box buffet in every major league park.
Here’s what I know: This Jerry Remy guy is not as dumb as he looks. He knows more about baseball than many managers, coaches, and players. Heck, he even knows more about the game than I do.
Jerry has been part of the Red Sox for thirty years; that’s almost a third of the history of Fenway Park.
Born near Fall River, Massachusetts, he was a high school star at Somerset High School. After coming up to the bigs and playing three seasons with the California Angels, Jerry returned home to Red Sox Nation in 1978. He was a dirt dog at second base for seven years, and then someone got the crazy idea of giving him a microphone in 1987. He hasn’t stopped talking since.
I know this guy, and he’s the real thing. This is not a history of baseball or a locker room confessional; there are more than enough of those. Instead, allow yourself to let Jerry talk to you about how to watch baseball, just like he tells me during every game.
WALLY THE GREEN MONSTER