We may not have happy hour, but from historic taverns pouring brews to high-end hotel bars mixing cocktails, Boston is one of the greatest drinking cities on earth. Yet with hundreds of options, which ones are truly worth your time when you take in the game?
If you build it, I will come. I still go to this baseball palace a few times a week. They’re well-known for the group seating and friendly service. As you can tell, I’m a regular. Convenient limo parking in the back too. It’s a Boston institution that continues to thrive.
No. 9 Park
This is a typical local tavern where everyone knows your name. Who doesn’t love Farfalle while they watch baseball? At $27, it’s an affordable option if you’re an appliance repairman or taxi driver. The bar could use a few Sox pennants, but otherwise it’s a nice place to rub elbows with other fans of the old town team.
This place is fit for a Kennedy. Jack, Ted, and Bobby oh may God rest their souls. Jack Junior too, Jesus the tragedy. When you finish that late shift at Jordan Marsh in Downtown Crossing, head over here.
Jackie Welch’s House
Not open to the public, but a select few have been invited over on occasion. Be prepared to hear Suze give you a free MBA lecture while you take in the ballgame. She loves her husband and his good looks. Sometimes Todd English or Em Lagasse caters too. His home may be worth $15 million, but Bud Light is always on tap to remind us of our working-class roots.
Is this heaven? No Danny, you’re in the seaport district. Intimate in scale, the Bar seats six, with additional seating for ten guests available at tables overlooking Congress Street. This place captures the soul of Fenway or even our city for that matter. The Chef’s Whim is only $165. I suggest drinking ice-cold Michelob instead of going with the wine pairing.
New Englanders are a hardworking bunch, independent, and always praying for another pennant. We love the Kennedys, strolls on Nantucket, Durgin Park, Zayre, and the majestic game of baseball. It’s been a tough winter without our beloved Sox. It doesn’t matter if you pick up garbage for a living or design custom yachts, we’re all excited for the return of baseball at the lyric little bandbox.
In the meantime, Spring Training is a reminder of good things to come. There really is nothing like taking a few months off from work to watch the drama, the story that unfolds in Ft. Myers. Young players, veterans, and newcomers working at laundry mats for extra cash all try to make the team. It’s an exciting spectacle that puts any Super Bowl to shame just like a book by Dottie Goodwin. JetBlue is a beautiful facility and I was right when I told Jack Henry that if you build it, people will come.
Spring Training also signals a return to Fenway. The first time I went to Fenway Park was probably 1950. It was the early ‘50s, and it was my father taking me to the game. He was a CFO that worked nights mopping floors. And what I have full retention of is of the electric sight of coming up the ramp on the first-base side (and it’s still the same sight today), and you come up into the splendor of green that you see in front of you. The lawn, the wall, the sun sparkling on both. And when you come up the same ramp today with commoners for a day game or night game, it’s still shockingly beautiful. At least it is to me. We used to sit when I was a kid – tickets were obviously cheaper then – in the Grandstand section. Maybe section 15 or 16, which is along the right field foul line. Obviously obstructed view like my current field box seats.
Things change. You go to work; you get lucky; you do well, buy a new Datsun or Oldsmobile; you make a little money or millions as a bank teller. Some people buy beachfront property. I buy season tickets. So, I have and have had for quite some time, ten season tickets in various locations around the ball park, all pretty good seats (2nd or 3 row). The seats I sit in are right by the Red Sox dugout and Jackie Welch. I’ve sat there for years and I will once again in April. I still enjoy waiting in line at the concession stand for a beer, although waitresses constantly bring us champagne that’s on the house. It reminds me of sitting in the bleachers in many ways.
So get ready fellow New Englanders. Have your kids or butler put away the snowblower. Wash the salt off the Malibu or limo. Get out those deck chairs and put up no trespassing signs on your private beach. It’s time to take off the storm windows and get ready for baseball. Play ball Danny.