What a night, what a night. It's all I've been thinking since I got on the train to come home from Fenway Park. My entire neighborhood is quiet, the houses dark, people either gone for the holiday weekend or asleep already since it is almost 1 AM on a Sunday. Tonight's game started at 8 for the benefit of ESPN.

It was a night of firsts for me. It was business as usual for the Yankees.

This was the last of a four game set. I had bought tickets prior to the season for the first two games, stayed home for the third, but tonight? I figured I'd put some cash in my pocket and see if I could get lucky.

I printed up a small sign that read "I NEED ONE" with the Fenway Park seating chart on the back. That way I figured I could always double check whatever a scalper told me about how good the seats he sold me were.

I wore red sweatpants and a black turtleneck, and my long black rain coat, topped with a navy blue "61*" hat. At a quick glance, you'd never be able to tell if I was a Yankees fan or Red Sox fan--in fact, you might even mistake me for a Red Sox fan since the day I got the "61*" cap was at a Sox/Yanks game in the Bronx. So some thousands of Sox fans have them, too. (Thanks, Mom, for the red sweatpants. Normally I'd never wear red anywhere for anything, but I finally found a use for them!)

I packed my bag with the following:
• generic pinstripe jersey, in case I got a ticket from Yankees fans
• copy of Yankees magazine (with my article on Luis Sojo in it)
• Yankee photo album, in case I got in early enough to get autographs
• binoculars, in case I sat far away
• copy of "A Legend In The Making: The 1939 Yankees" to read in case I had to wait in line for tickets or before the gate opened
• two extra Yankees pins--when I buy tickets from Yankees fans on the Internet, when I mail them a check I often mail them a pin or button, I bought a whole bunch of them a couple of years ago on sale for that purpose. I figure if I get the tickets from Yankees fans, I'll give these to them, too.

What I forgot to do was go and get a bunch of cash before leaving. I had about $60 in my pocket and meant to visit the ATM on the way, but I spaced out.

I left for the park around 4:30 pm and took the subway in. At Kenmore station there was what looked like a newspaperman standing there, but he wasn't selling newspapers. "Free Rally Hats" he said, referring to the cardboard thing on his head. He handed me one. You know those crowns they would give you if you had a birthday party at Burger King as a kid? It's like that, but it says "Boston Red Sox" on it in two big white circles (the "two socks logo"), and sponsored by The Boston Globe. (That explains why he looked like a newspaperman.) As I came up out of the T station, a young couple in their early twenties came out with me. I saw they had one ticket in their hands. "Are you selling one?" I asked.

"Yeah," the guy said. "I want to sell the one and then try to buy two together."

"Where is it?"

"Bleachers, Row C. Row C seats are really good. I'll take fifty bucks.I'm not a scalper or anything."

I told him, thanks, but... I wanted to look around. I really didn't want to sit in the bleachers unless I had to. Given the number of people I'd seen dragged out of there by the police, and given my previous experiences at Fenway (like that time with the b*tch who poured beer on us, and this in the expensive seats!), I wanted to avoid the bleachers if I could. And fifty bucks for a ticket whose face value was $18? I wondered if maybe I could just find some Yankees fan who had a friend who was too sick to go or something and who needed to unload a ticket.

I walked toward the park. The usual scalpers, mostly white, working class guys in their thirties with thick South Boston accents, were gathered on their usual corner on the bridge over the Pike. "Anyone got one?" I asked. they shook their heads. "We haven't got anything," one of them said. "Nobody thought this game would be that big." Uh, hello? Sox/Yanks, holiday weekend? And the Sox traditionally surge in May and make it look like there is a pennant race. The kid who was looking to unload his one got into a negotiation with one of them. I chatted with her nonchalantly while the deal was going down. it looked like he sold it for at least $40. The scalper turned around and sold it a few minutes later for $100. Wow.

I kept on walking then, and wondered about the possibility of getting last minute tickets turned back in by the teams at the box office. There were signs in the box office windows saying "TODAY'S GAME SOLD OUT." I took one circuit of Yawkey Way, displaying my "I NEED ONE" sign. No takers. Plenty of people walking up and down holding up one or two or even three fingers. A Yankee fan stopped me, said he had four to sell. I told him I saw people looking for three, but he didn't want to sell just one. I went into the box office to see what there was to be seen.

There was a line of about twenty people in there, and an employee kept telling them all to keep to one side, keep to one side. This was the line of people waiting, hoping, for last minute release tickets. Meanwhile other people were coming in to buy future game tickets. All they had left, according to the large bulletin boards above the ticket windows, were bleacher and rear grandstand seats for Devil Rays and Blue Jays games in July and August. June is completely sold out. I got in line.

It was hot in the ticket office, and muggy outside, and I began to feel thirsty. I didn't want to lose my place in line and didn't want to have to get in line at a sausage stand to buy a drink, especially if I might need every dollar I had to pay a scalper with. Then I noticed what was going on right outside the window on the sidewalk of Brookline Avenue. Fleet Bank employees had set up a cart and were handing out bottles of water. I made friends with the guys next to me, then left my coat and bag with them and ducked out to snag a bottle of water. While I was there the Fleet people foisted a mouse pad on me--hey! guess what! It's got a photo of Nomar and Jeter on it! Well, it's okay then.

Well, i thought, perhaps it's my lucky day. The cosmic requisition provided me with free water when I was thirsty. Now would I get a nice ticket, too? It was only 5:30 pm, with the gates due to open at 6:30 for the 8pm game. I sat down and tried to the Yankees book, but found I couldn't concentrate. A tv above our heads was showing the Lakers/Kings basketball playoff game, so I watched that for a while and hobnobbed with the other people in line. (The Lakers down by 25 points in the first quarter? I thought the Lakers were supposed to be good? Whatever, I don't know squat about basketball. Baseball's really the only sport for me.) meanwhile, they stopped letting people into the ticket office. The security officers started making a line outside the doors on the sidewalk. Things were getting desperate out there.

At 6:45, a miracle occurred. Our line moved forward. Someone must have turned in some tickets. Outside, the gates were due to open, but they had not yet, and the crowd on Yawkey Way was thick. People searching for tickets elbowed their way through, holding fingers indicating how many they needed high in the air. Our line inched forward. I began to get excited, thinking I might be able to snag a ticket and then get inside to see batting practice and try to get autographs after all. Team tickets that are turned back in tend to be very good seats, too.

The line moved forward again. Now the two guys in front of me were next, then me, then the father of a group of kids right behind me. he was actually part of a group of eight, and they had four tickets and were trying to get four more. His wife had called him every five minutes on his cell phone to tell him they'd still had no luck outside and to stay in line.

Unfortunately for us, there were only seventeen tickets turned back in by the teams as unused. Damn, I thought. If I had just gone straight to the ticket office, instead of dickering with that guy and then walking up and down Yawkey Way, I might have been far enough up in line to get one! Drat. They made us clear off the premises then. "No availability."

I made my way back to the T station, figuring my only chance would be to be one of the very first desperate people that someone might see coming out of the train. There were dozens if not hundreds of people trying to get tickets. The scalpers were mostly gone. It was a waste of time to wait around for nothing. There was also the fact that now, at 7pm, there were cops everywhere.

There was a uniformed officer stationed about every thirty yards or so in Kenmore Square, yet I saw a young man, a Southie yout' by the look of 'im, holding up one finger right in front of a cop. I asked him what the deal was. He explained that it was fine to buy or sell a ticket at face value, "but there's tons of undercovers trying to sell them at higher prices. Buy one of those and you go to jail." Just then his friend came running up with two tickets in his hand. "Dude! I scored! And just as a cop was walking up, too!"

"How much did you pay?"

"Just face value, man, the cop watched the whole thing!"

So the men and women in blue might actually be to my advantage, I thought. That is, IF anyone comes along with tickets. I resolved to stay until 7:15, and if no one came, I'd just find a nice bar somewhere to watch the game.

About fifteen excruciating minutes went by, while a steady stream of people came out of the T, most looking at my sign and then looking quickly away, the way they do at people whose signs read "Homeless Please Help." But then I saw a dad and about four 10-12 year old boys, and the dad caught my eye, then looked at one of the kids. They were about to walk on by, but I kept looking at him and kind of beckoned him to come over with my eyes.

The twelve year old had two tickets in his hands. "You only need one?"

"Yeah, just one," I said, worried that he'd say no, he wanted to sell the two together. But he was just a kid, not a scalper. He glanced at the cop nearest us. "It's OK," I told him. "They said it's okay to sell for face value. What does it say on the ticket?"

He examined it. "It's a bleacher ticket. Fifteen dollars."

"I got exact change for you, buddy." I peeled a ten and a five out of my wallet, we handed off, and I thanked him. "Hey, see you inside!"

Within thirty seconds I watched him sell the other one. "Now you have money for hot dogs," I told him as I went past him. His dad smiled. They went off to the souvenir shops on Yawkey Way. I went straight for Gate C.

It was 7:30 by the time I got in, and batting practice was over. I had leisurely trip to the Ladies Room and bought myself a plate of chicken fingers with spicy fries and set about trying to find my seat. When I sat down I was amazed at what a good view I had. I was smack dab in the center of the bleachers--which are actual plastic molded seats here, just like in the normal parts of the park--about halfway up, in Section 39.

How ironic, I thought. I always thought I'd sit in Section 39 at Yankee Stadium first.

The place was filling up and yet all around me in a radius of two or three seats it was empty. So I ate my chicken and pondered what type of people I'd end up sitting with. Would it be the guy and his kids? They came up a while later, laden with souvenir bags, but they were two rows in front of me. A nice young couple who looked and sounded like college students from India went past me and sat two seats over from me. Then a group of college boys, seven of them, came and sat behind me. They were getting beery but were quite friendly. We had a good laugh about Brian Daubach's loss of his "Abraham Lincoln beard." Three hispanic men, two older, one younger, came and sat to my right, but these were not their seats. They had seats somewhere that were not together and were hoping no one would come. And in front of us came four college age girls. By the first pitch, our neighborhood was complete. There didn't look like anyone there who I would get into a fight with and I wasn't about to provoke anything, but as I would later learn, you can be doing nothing and still get ejected from the bleachers.

I spent the first inning getting to know my neighbors better. Someone else came then and was displacing one of the hispanic men, but I offered to move over into an empty seat so they could all stay. The younger one sat down next to me and thanked me. I had a feeling the guy whose seat I was in, who had also bought his ticket from the kid, was probably hunting for a better seat somewhere else, so maybe he would never appear. And with good reason. Now that the players were on the field, I realized just how distant home plate was. It was so far, I had trouble telling whether the umpire called a strike! Thank goodness for binoculars.

Nothing of note happened in the first--both pitchers had one-two-three innings.

Just before the top of the second inning, we had our first ejection. Not among my neighbors, but right above us. A guy in a black Red Sox jersey and a guy in a pinstriped Yankee jersey were standing up having words with each other. Hundreds of people turned to look and see what was going to happen. A swarm of security guards and some uniformed cops came up, and at first it looked like they were going to take the red-faced Red Sox fan away. The Yankee fan was proclaiming his innocence, but then he got taken out, too. There was a brief chorus of "Yankees Suck," but the old chant doesn't have the vigor or oomph it had before September 11th. (There have been a proliferation of variations on the Yankees Suck t-shirt, though. Not only are there many variations in different colors, fonts, and designs, there are also special Clemens versions with a 21 on the back, as well as Jeter Sucks, O'Neill Sucks, Clemens Sucks, and my personal "favorite," one that has a big #2 on the back that says on the front "Yankees Suck" and on the back "Jeter Swallows." You can also now get bumper stickers, pins, hats, etc... with the slogan on it.) The Sox fan's wife and daughter got up and left after the police took him away. The Yankee fan's family, if he had any, remained incognito.

I started talking baseball with the hispanic guy next to me, who it turned out was named Jose and was from the Dominican. It also turned out he is more of a Braves fan, but since he lives in Boston, he roots for the Sox (except when the Braves are in town). I shared some beef jerky with him. And it turned out the Indian guy off to my left was a Yankees fan. I found out when in the bottom of the second, Brian Daubach led off the inning with a home run and he was less than pleased. Then two pitches later, Shea Hillenbrand homered, and I thought of a game I saw Moose pitch in Oakland last year. He gave up only two hits, as I recall, but both back to back homers. (Clay Bellinger would later get the two runs back with a two-run shot of his own, but Jason Giambi, then still with the A's, would win the game for them with a two run walk off blast of Mike Stanton.) So much for hopes of a repeat of the near-perfect performance of last year when Moose had pitched the ESPN game at Fenway. Rey Sanchez also had an incredible at bat with one on and two out, but eventually struck out.

The top of the third arrived and it was time for another ejection near us. Some guys stood up and pointed to a guy near them who was wearing no team insignias at all. Just a guy, minding his own business, so far as we could tell. "It's him, it's him!" they were yelling and waving for security. Eventually security had to come up and see what the ruckus was, and sure enough, they took the guy out! "That is messed up," Jose said.

Darren Oliver, a pitcher who has given the Yankees fits in the past, sort of like Jamie Moyer, got into trouble in the third. He opened the inning hitting Rondell White. Then after Spencer flew out, gave up a hit to Nick Johnson, and Rondell went to third. All Soriano had to do was get a fly ball or ground the ball to the opposite field to get a run in, but he struck out looking. Jeter walked to load the bases, and Bernie came to the plate in a shower of boos. He flew out to right, didn't get a good swing, inning over. But it made it seem like Oliver was vulnerable. Moose answered with an out, a single and then a strike out, and then Jose Offerman was caught stealing by a mile to end the inning and leave the homer-hitter Daubach at the plate.

Oliver's control had not improved by the fourth. This time is was Giambi who was hit by pitch to lead off the inning. Jorge Posada wasted no time in tying the score by belting a ball into the screen over the Green Monster. Coomer and White followed with identical hits, rollers right through the middle, kind of like Luis Sojo's World Series winner against the Mets. The Yankees were licking heir chops in anticipation of putting Oliver away. But Spencer, who did not have a good night, grounded into a double play, and Nick Johnson struck out, stranding two.

The ejection treatment was not reserved only for men, as we watched a young woman in a Yankees sun visor escorted out after people in her section to exception to it, or her, or something. We still had not seen any fights, we hadn't even heard any shouting. But this far from the action of the game--where I had to tell most of the people in my immediate area what had happened recently and how various runners reached and who that was at the plate--the "sport" of getting people kicked out was one of the main amusements.

Another one was the batting of beach balls back and forth. I always wondered why beach balls? I've always thought of them something like The Wave. Not for baseball fans. Not for real fans who are there to watch the game, not have a picnic. But I noticed in the bleacher concourse, where the food vendors are, large signs saying that the possession or handling of inflatable objects was punishable by ejection. It seemed to fit the mentality of the bleacher denizens to thumb their noses at authority and dare the cops to toss them for hitting around a contraband beach ball. And like most of the security rules at Fenway, this one was ignored by the staff. (You're also not allowed to bring signs--but people do anyway, and the radio stations even hand them out outside. You're not allowed to bring backpacks, but a friend of mine was told to just put it under his jacket and they'd let him in. Women are supposed to be limited to a "small purse" but I brought a big tote bag and had no problems. Etc.)

With the game tied, Mussina grabbed the momentum by striking out Daubach to open the fourth, and then getting two more quick outs for a 1-2-3 inning.The Yankees, meanwhile, picked up where they had left off, pummeling Darren Oliver. Soriano put the team ahead leading off with a home run. Trot Nixon went back on the ball and ran full speed at the bullpen wall, banged it hard, only to have the ball go off his glove. "Ah! Soriano!" Jose cried. "He's so wonderful, he does a lot of charity at home in the Dominican, and he's such a nice guy. But he's KILLING ME!" Indian Yankee Fan and I quietly banged fists. Trot acted like it was no big deal to bang the wall that hard, but I suspect he broke a rib or two when he hit.

Jose bought me an ice cream. Sweet!

Then the blowout began. Jeter walked. Bernie singled. And Giambi hit a three run home run that hit the wall at the deepest spot in the park. A few feet to the left and it would have been a wall ball single or double. But it hit the right of the line demarking the home run area. At least, we're pretty sure that is what happened, since our angle on it was so weird. "Was it a ground rule double?" one of the guys behind me asked. "I don't think so," I replied. "Since the bases are clear and it's now six-to-two." I banged fists with my neighbor again. "Hey, are you a writer?" he asked, as he saw me jotting down notes on my scorecard and in my notebook. I told him yes, in fact, I just did a piece for Yankees Magazine. The woman directly in front of me turned around then and just smiled and smiled. Hmm, we are everywhere.

Oliver then gave up a single to Jorge Posada, and they took him out. In came Tim Wakefield, who was perfect against the Yankees a few nights ago. Not tonight. Before we could blink, Ron Coomer hit the second pitch he saw into the screen for a two run shot. Then Rondell White hit the next pitch for a base hit. Unfortunately, Spencer and Johnson then teamed up to end the inning just as they had the inning before, only this time it was Spencer who struck out and Johnson who hit into the double play.

The Red Sox answered with three more runs off Mussina in the fifth, but what would have seemed like an upstart thrashing of Moose seemed rather harmless in the face of the 8-2 lead. (Then again, we'd seen the Yankees come back from 7-1 down to tie the game at 8-8 a few nights ago, so we knew anything could happen.) Four consecutive hits gave them two runs and two men on. Jose Offerman got a third run in while grounding into a double play, which killed the rally. Nomar bounced harmlessly to short on the first pitch to end the inning. Another woman was taken away from our section. One guy, Red Sox fan, just too intoxicated to stand straight, punched one of the cops trying to take him away.

That was the only punch we saw thrown unless you count what Soriano did in the sixth. Leading off again, since the Yankees had sent nine men to he plate in the fifth, he again faced Tim Wakefield. Wakefield must have hung the same knuckleball as the first time because Soriano hit another one over the Monster, this one onto Landsdowne Street. We were quite impressed when a few minutes later, the ball came sailing back over the wall and onto the field! Someone out there must have been trying for a while to throw it back--maybe they went up on the roof of the parking garage over there to do it. Jeter grounded out, but then Wakefield walked Bernie and Giambi. He could smell homers in the air I guess. Somehow he got Jorge to bounce into a 3-6-3 double play to escape the jam, though.

Moose pitched his sixth and final inning, while the folks in our section tried to start "The Wave." I've always been against The Wave at Yankee Stadium, especially with the home team at bat. But here, who cares? We're winning, the Sox are at bat, and baseball spectation in the bleachers is clearly a sport unto itself. In cae you've never been at the start of a wave, everyone among the instigators shouts "One, Two, Three" and then jumps up and puts their arms up, and shouts (optional). If you get enough people to do it, the people to your left notice it, and they do it too, and it keeps rippling like that. But the wave kept dying out around third base, and after about ten tries, soon even the people in right field grandstand wouldn't do it, and then the people in Section 41 wouldn't even do it. But hey, we tried. So now I can say I've done the Wave. (But I still won't do it at Yankee Stadium. Feh.)

Meanwhile, Moose was striking out Daubach for the second time since his second inning homer, which now seemed SO inconsequential. "He might have to grow that beard again," I told the guys behind me. Hillenbrand flew to center. And Trot Nixon hit what might have been a wall ball double, but Rondell White leaped up, banged into the manual scoreboard, but caught the ball. Another 1-2-3 for Moose. With the clock now around 10:30 pm, people began leaving, some waiting until after Ron Coomer led off the seventh with a hit off the wall, and then was awarded third base when Nomar, taking the relay throw from Daubach, tried to nail Coomer hurrying back to first. Nomar threw the ball into the dugout, a two base error. The Yankees could not score Coomer from third, though, as White grounded to short, Spencer's tough night continued as he looked at strike three, and Johnson grounded to second. What, did they think that had enough runs already?

The Red Sox faced Mike Stanton in the seventh, who induced two ground outs and then faced the #9 batter, Rey Sanchez, a speedster. Sanchez grounded a ball weakly in the infield and then beat out the throw at the bag, but pulled his right hamstring while doing it. From where we were, we weren't sure if he tripped on the firstbaseman, the bag, or what. he limped off, and Lou Merloni, the pride of Framingham, Massachusetts replaced him as a pinch runner. He didn't get vary far though, as Johnny Damon flew out to end the inning.

The Yankees, as it turned out, did NOT think they had enough runs. Now facing Sun Woo Kim, since Wakefield was not going to face Soriano a third time, Sori singled, Jeter walked, Bernie singled, Giambi walked, and Jorge hit a sac fly to deep right, accounting for two runs and one out. Then Robin Ventura pinch hit for Ron Coomer. I was just beginning an explanation to Jose about how Ventura is just amazing everyone. His batting average is a weak .240 but he's hitting so many home ru.... oops, three run home run. Yankee Fan and I banged fists with silent smiles on our faces. More and more people were leaving, and Jose's father was agitating for them to leave too. So we said goodbye. After he left, I noticed the college guys had left and I hadn't even noticed. It was starting to get quite thin and we now had room to stretch out.

I asked the Indian couple if they were both Yankees fans, or if it was just him. "Just him," she told me. I gave him and the silent, incognito fan in front of me the pins I had brought. "I think it's safe to wear these now." They both did, and then left.

Sunny Kim eventually got out of the inning (Spencer, 0-for-4, darn it) and Stanton had a second inning of work. Nomar, who had been 0-for-3 up to then doubled, but it was too little, too late, and he was stranded.. Actually, it was a pinch runner named Brett Nelson, who nobody in our section had heard of, who was stranded, thanks to a great leaping stab of a liner by Jason Giambi, and a couple of groundouts. Kim had found his groove, and set the Yankees down in order in the top of the ninth, ending with a strikeout of Derek Jeter.

With the score 14-5, it hardly mattered. I was pretty sure a nine run rally was not coming in the bottom of the inning, and with plenty of room around me I was able to eat sunflower seeds in peace. Spitting shells where ever I wanted to. Content. As predicted, the nine run rally did not materialize, though Carlos Baerga did double off Randy Choate. But Choate got Nixon to fly to center, struck out Mirabelli, and then Lou Merloni was the last hope. He popped a ball foul, and Jorge ran over and made the catch leaning into the $200 seats between the Sox dugout and home plate. Ballgame over!

I had been the first to arrive in the immediate vicinity of my seat, and was the last to leave. The game took three hours, twenty six minutes to play, and the attendance mark cracked 34, 000 at 34,096. The Yankees would leave town the same way they entered, only one game back in the AL East.

I would leave Fenway having spent only $15 on a ticket and $6 on chicken fingers. (Hey, that works out to about a dollar spent per runs scored the entire game...) I'd be going home having gotten a pile of free stuff, from the rally "hat", to the free water, the mouse pad, even ice cream. I didn't even have to buy my T tokens--having found them in the station the other day on the way home from the park! But well, the best part was the one thing I couldn't buy, which was the Yankee win. I got into no fights, was not singled out for ejection by the rabid bleacherites, and even if Mussina wasn't perfect this time, I had a damn near perfect time.