The Enterprise of Brockton, Mass. www.enterprisenews.com Video by Dan Goldman, Enterprise staff writer Story by Bob Stern, Enterprise staff writer BOSTON — Red Sox manager Terry Francona remembers a night a year or two ago when he went out to dinner with his wife. "We had a baby sitter and got home late and we didn't have any milk for the kids' breakfast," he said. "I walked in late to one of the markets in the neighborhood and the guy there was telling me I need to do this and this and this. It's 1 o'clock in the morning, and I'm tired." Welcome to the glass fish bowl that is the Boston Red Sox. "For the most part, people are generally very, very nice and polite," said Francona. "Sometimes, they're not. It does put you on guard a little bit. "Sometimes you feel a little bit like you're in a zoo. You hear people chirping. It's like 'I'm right here, you know.'" It goes with the territory. The manager, along with the players, are seen almost 24/7 on TV and talked about constantly on the radio. But they know they're as popular as their last home run, last strikeout or last good decision. They are celebrities, more so here than in many other cities. The passion of baseball — check that — the passion of Red Sox baseball, is unprecedented anywhere else in America. "It's just like seeing movie stars," said Dan Benoit, a fan from Bernardston. Benoit was standing outside Fenway Park at 3 in the afternoon one recent weekday just to see the players drive to the ballpark. He wasn't going to the game. He's not alone in his zeal, though. That afternoon, approximately 50-60 people lined up outside the players' entrance just to see what cars they drive and what their wives look like. Sometimes players would acknowledge them. Most times, they'd hear the fans' shouts and go about their business. "I want to see the players who are saying nothing to us," said Don Steele, a fan from Leverett. That's not exactly true. Julio Lugo flashed the peace sign to the crowd. That was a highlight. Fans will linger around the ballpark for hours with no guarantee of seeing anyone or even going to the game. Jean Diorio of Wilmington got into line at 2 p.m. for a 7 p.m. game, hoping to buy tickets. "It's worth it to me," she said. If Diorio gets into the park, though, she'll only watch. "I'm too chicken to ask for an autograph," she said. Fenway Park is a melting pot for the country. Walk around the park any day, and you'll find people from the four corners of the nation, all in awe of the same thing. They'll take pictures of the Ted Williams statue, stand outside the Green Monster, eat a sausage from a vendor — anything to take in the ambiance of the place. "This is a legend," said Curt Saltzgarber, a resident of Fort Collins, Colo., who said he was lucky enough to get tickets for the game. "This is kind of like the Mecca." "You can't beat the atmosphere of Fenway Park," added Jason Hawkins, visiting from Ada, Ohio. "It's old-time baseball, great atmosphere, passionate fans. You don't get that in Ohio. "I compare it to Ohio State football. We call it 'Buckeyes Nation.'" It's that attitude that sometimes eats at the players. Most of them admit they don't go out in public as much as they'd like; there's a fear they'll be recognized and bothered. Most players value their privacy, but grudgingly realize fame comes with a price. "I get recognized every time," said David Ortiz, who's hard not to recognize. "Sometimes, it just gets out of hand. "This year, I haven't been going nowhere. I go to my house and chill out there. Normally, I used to go to a restaurant, and even when you're having dinner people come and ask for photos. That's very rude." Ortiz is one of the more affable players on the team. He's friendly, outgoing and polite, but there are times the fans' adulation becomes too much to bear. "I guess our fans are the ones who do that more often than some other fans," he said. "They get excited when they see us. "It happens to me all the time. Every time I go to a restaurant, I hear them. If I start telling you how many times it happens to me, I won't finish it today." Despite having one of the smallest ballparks in the major leagues with a seating capacity of 38,805, the Red Sox lead the majors in home attendance percentage at 101.4 percent, playing to standing-room-only crowds nearly every game. All the players realize playing in Boston is different than playing elsewhere. "It's night and day," said relief pitcher Kyle Snyder, who used to play for the Royals. "At times I was recognized in Kansas City, but for the most part there's no comparison." Snyder, by his own admission, is not one of the most recognizable players on the team. He's tall, and his blonde curly hair gives him away, but only true fans would recognize him on the street. Those fans follow the Red Sox. "Outside of the Bostons, New Yorks, L.A.'s and maybe Atlantas, I don't think you understand what it is to sacrifice part of your life or your family until you play in a market like this," Snyder said. "I think there are players who have been in the major leagues for 15 or 20 years who wouldn't have an understanding of where you should go on the basis of being recognized." Snyder said most fans are polite and respectful, but they still take liberties. He tells of the time he was walking to a restaurant with teammate Javier Lopez, and a fan across the street took their picture with a cell phone camera. Still, that's a small price to pay for a major league career. An occasional photo, a word of encouragement — those players can handle. It's the criticisms from fans who think they know how to play because they were in Little League 30 years ago that get overbearing. "You don't want to ever have something happen, so I try not to make eye contact with people," said Francona. "I don't want somebody to say something that puts me in a position of being uncomfortable. "The team is so special to them that they lose track that this is my job. I'd never go up to somebody else and tell them how to do their job. If I did, they'd probably think I'm a little bit ignorant. That's probably how I feel sometimes." "When those conversations come up, they don't understand what we do or how hard it is," added relief pitcher Jonathan Papelbon. "When you watch a game on TV, it looks so easy because we make it look so easy. When those conversations come up, I try to change the subject as quick as I can." Still, Papelbon is one of the rare players who, if he doesn't relish the attention, doesn't shy from it either. He lives in downtown Boston and everytime he steps on the street, there are hundreds of fans around him. "I never wish I played in another market," he said. "I'd love to play in a big market the rest of my life. That's what gets me going. That's what makes me pitch to a high level. "I live as much a normal life as I can and I try to be Jonathan Papelbon. That's it. For me, I'm not trying to escape it. I'm not trying to be a player who lives in a hole and never goes out just because I play professional baseball for the Red Sox. That doesn't mean it has to take away from my life." But for the fans who line the players entrance before and after games, or the ones who stand behind the dugout during batting practice and call out players' names for autographs, a little attention is never forgotten. "When I was a little kid, I met (former Red Sox outfielder) Reggie Smith once," said Benoit. "He flew to Holyoke High School in a helicopter, and I was the first one there at 7 in the morning. He didn't show until 9:30 or 10. "I was waiting right in the middle of the field and I was within the first 10 in line. It was a big thrill back then." And as he waited for the next player to arrive, it was clear the thrill had never left him.
