[Republicaninmass]

The year was 1989, I was a 13-year-old heading to Fenway Park with my 63-year-old grandmother for her first Red Sox game. The Sox were playing the mighty Oakland A's in a late September battle. It was a Sunday afternoon to which I had been looking forward to all summer long. I had spent countless hours thinking about this day: just my second Red Sox game, and my grandmother, a diehard fan, getting her first visit to Fenway. I can't tell whether it meant more to me then or now, but the feeling is still overwhelming.

In preparation for that game, I had thumbed through countless baseball cards, in an attempt to find cards of players to ask for autographs during batting practice at the dugout. Of course my parents and grandmother thought I was a dreamer for thinking I could actually get someone to sign one of my cards, but I had heard that players would willingly sign.

Herein lies a problem I had to deal with that day: the Red Sox latest star, Nick Esasky, did not have a Red Sox card yet as he had been a recent trade. He was on a tear with 26 home runs, probably leading the team at that point, and I needed to hunt for a card of his. I could not show up empty handed in case the once in a lifetime opportunity occurred and Esasky decided to sign my card. I finally found one in my stash, a 1989 Score card of him with the Reds. Now I was ready for the game.

I entered Fenway with the wide eyes only a child could have. When I walked up that ramp and saw the green monster and the outfield grass - after watching it on television so many times - it took my breath away. The sheer size, color, and smells of the park sent me into sensory overload. With my plastic freezer bag filled with cards and a pen I headed down to the mob scene which was looking for autographs around the Red Sox dugout.

After trying and failing with many of the players, some who signed, and some who didn't, along came Esasky. I started yelling: "Mr. Esasky! Mr. Esasky!" while thumbing madly through my bag looking for his card. I don't know if it was the lack of his having a Red Sox card that helped my efforts that day, but it seemed like I was the only one yelling his name. Our eyes locked, and sure enough he came over and granted my wish.

When I got back to my seat I was wild. My grandmother couldn't believe I actually got a card signed by Nick Esasky. The only thing that could have made that day better was if he were to hit a home run after touching my card for luck. Which he did in the seventh inning.