Photo by Chris Robb, August 2006
And we’re back! Our trip to the East Coast was lovely, thank you. We relaxed by the beach with family, and on the last couple of days we stayed in Boston, attending a Red Sox game in the evening. Sadly, the Sox lost. But do you know who really emerged as the winner of the night? The Fenway Franks.
Yes, I ate the famous hot dog. Yes, I know it probably contained hormones, nitrates, the whole lot. But you know what? I was at Fenway, and I certainly wasn’t going to whip out a salad. That would have had me kicked out of the stadium for life. And you know what else? IT WAS GOOD. There, I said it.
Though I wouldn’t eat hot dogs every day, my little Nitrate Wonder at the game was well worth it. Sometimes, you’ve just gotta do the traditional thing, because it helps to make the experience what it is. I ate my Fenway Frank in my seat off the third base line, I sang “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” during the seventh inning stretch, and I proudly watched the Red Sox lose to the Detroit Tigers in a burning ball of flames. And I wouldn’t have changed a thing.
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