Strange those two 'holidays' could fall on the same day. I choose the former though, on vacation, and will save the latter for a rainy day.

10:45 a.m. - Bye bye Bar Harbor, hello Boston.

It's too bad we don't have one more day in Bar Harbor - just to relax on the deck by the Bay and walk on the beach, take in a whale-watch tour, etc.

Boys and girls split today, with the guys heading straight to Boston and the gals taking their time, driving along U.S. 1 down the coast of Maine past little towns like Kennebunkport to swap stories with the Bushes.

4:30 p.m. - We're in Boston! After navigating the very busy and scary roads to the hotel, a Courtyard by Marriott in Revere, on the northeast side of town, we park the Cherokee at the hotel and don't move it for three days (it's not reassuring when the hotel clerk tells you not to drive because the area's roads are "dangerous"). Instead, we rely on the shuttle provided by the hotel.

Actually I'm fully convinced that Boston drivers aren't really that bad; the roads are just designed so poorly.

6 p.m. - The shuttle drops us off at the airport T station (short for MBTA, their subway system). Boston's subway is old, reminding me of London last year. The rail cars screech and clickety-clack under Boston's busy roads, but unlike Atlanta at least the T actually goes somewhere worth seeing!

It also helps that Boston is a walking city and most historic sites are within a short walk to one another.

Hop on the airport T at the Blue Line, then connect a few stops later under the State House at the Green Line. I knew we were in for a busy ride when the driver gets on the intercom - using his thick Baastin accent - and announces that: "It'll be slow-going for awhile. There's a train stalled ... somewhere." That pause elicits giggles from the sardine-packed passengers, though it quickly becomes frustrating as we move in 100-foot increments for the next 15 minutes. Then Dad and I realize we have to move from the back of the train to the middle to get off at Copley. So I use my 6-foot-4-inch, 270-pound frame in the best Andre the Giant-in-The Princess Bride fashion by imploring those in my way to allow our getting through.

	Fenway from the Observatory

We take my roomie Brian's advice and started at the John Hancock Observatory, which provides a great 360-degree panorama of the city from the 60th floor of the John Hancock Tower, the tallest building in New England. The view is spectacular (all the people look like ants! let's squish 'em!) and a good starting point before setting loose in Boston, with plenty of markers above the windows letting you know what you're looking at and for. There's a multimedia presentation of Boston's role in the Revolutionary War, complete with a miniature map of the city on the floor that people stand around to experience a light and sound show. It's no Pink Floyd laser-light show, but historically informative nonetheless.

8 p.m. - The Observatory also just 'happens' to be near the Hard Rock Cafe - how convenient for those of us sorely in need of a good burger and souvenir shot glass (hurricane glass for Dad).

Now we come to the bone-chilling horror story of the trip: Amid all of the connections from the hotel to the T, Dad realizes that tomorrow's Red Sox tickets are in Danielle's purse, in a galaxy far far away (or Maine). If you just winced and said "Oh, no" then you're 1/100th to where our hearts dropped upon this bombshell of a realization.

	The prized tickets.

Thus, during the entire shuttle ride, the walk to Hard Rock, the shuttle back to the hotel and finally back at the hotel, Dad engages in the most important negotiation since Adam was swindled into giving up a rib to get a woman. Looks like we picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.

Still, it works. Danielle and Pat cave into our caterwauling and agree to get into Boston earlier than expected on Thursday in order to get us the tickets. We will owe them for the rest of our lives for this, I'm sure. I guess I should practice foot rubs (ew, gross - nothing against their feet, I just hate feet in general).

11:20 p.m. - Boston's TV sportscasters are absolutely brutal, making the butt-licking Atlanta reporters looking like weak lackeys of the Braves. Watching WBZ-4, the anchor spends five minutes ripping the Red Sox a new anal opening, interspersing clips of Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men declaring "I want the truth!" with highlights of Wednesday's loss. In his commentary he makes sure that viewers knew that the "truth" is that Boston isn't nearly good enough to make it to the playoffs, let alone win any games against Oakland, Seattle or New York.

After showing a great pitching performance by the Yankees he continues to rant, asking "Why can't we get pitchers like that," bemoaning the Red Sox' lack of quality starters. I tell you, if Atlanta's sportscasters were anywhere near as tough on the local teams, the Braves, Hawks, Falcons and Thrashers would go cry in their lockers and wonder why nobody likes them: "Alas, I only make $3.5 million with a .245 batting average, why does everyone chastise me? Poor, poor pitiful me!" Cripes. I'm getting into a Boston mood in such a short time!

THURSDAY, AUGUST 16 - BRATWURST FESTIVAL


What's with the food days? Dang, I don't think I've ever had a bratwurst. I'll just adapt that as a hot dog-like food and blend it in with the celebration of attending a Red Sox game at Fenway.

	Not the wake-up call I ordered.

6:30 a.m. - Some yahoo pulls the fire alarm on the second floor, waking everyone up in the hotel with the wailing of an alarm, a blinking light in the room and later the blaring horn of a fire truck below. Shades of Ballater, Scotland, last summer except that this time we don't have to evacuate. Like we would have, anyway. Being on the top floor our lifesaving efforts would be hopeless anyway, so we make sure our living wills are in order and go back to sleep.

11 a.m. - After a shuttle trip to the airport T, Dad and I adopt an affable chap named Jim for the day as our Boston tourist buddy. He works for a pharmaceutical company, and is in town on business hiring sales reps for Boston. But a few interviews he scheduled were cancelled, leaving him free for the day to enjoy what the town has to offer, including tonight's Red Sox game.

Ladies, you'd absolutely adore Jim - Pat does, she subtly inquires about his marital status before setting him up with young female relatives (or even herself, you never know!). A graduate of Texas A&M living in the Dallas area, he's a tall strong guy with wit and charm, and yes, he is married with a three-year-old son named Daniel. The three of them are about to move to Orlando, where he is being transferred. Also, being a religious guy and a conservative. This advances the conversation along splendidly.

So the three of us tour Boston, sort of. Because of not knowing how things work in Boston, that if you don't get tickets to something by 9 a.m. you're largely out of luck, we would be shut out of a tour of Fenway Park, then a few stops down the T find that we're too late to get tickets for a Duck tour. So we end up just walking and shopping for Red Sox stuff, and lunch, then back to the hotel. As much time as we spend in the area it seems like we do a lot, but nope.

1 p.m. - Lunch is in Boston's Back Bay, outdoor at Charley's, where we demand to be brouth their fineest grog and a wench! No, not really. This is where I come across the one waitress a year whom I instantly fancy. Last year was the cutie in Bath, this year Meagan. She has a perfectly round doll face and sweet smile, and the way she actually looks at me and smiles a real smile - not a fake I-have-to-serve-you smile - I am smitten.

It is said at different times by all three of us that we are pleasantly surprised at the number of babes in Boston. A plethora of eye candy greets those walking the busy streets. I don't know if I expected a million women with snakes growing out of their heads, but maybe we're too spoiled by living in the South among the land of Scarletts. But I also find that up North, as well as in the South, that they're pretty good at ignoring you if not interested.

4 p.m. - Danielle and Pat got in town a little after 3 p.m. with tickets in hand for the Red Sox game that night for me and Dad, and after an hour layover we headed back to the T. On the way to Fenway, Danielle and Pat get off at State/Aquarium to go to Cambridge while me, Dad and Jim stay on to the Kenmore stop and Fenway Park.

6 p.m. - Finally, doing what my original visit to Boston was for, making the trip to Fenway Park. Only later did I expand my vacation to include everything beforehand (which wasn't just icing on the cake; it was the clump of icing-shaped flower on the corner of the cake).

How do you get to Fenway from the Kenmore T? Just follow the crowd, because they're all on the same mission: seeing the Red Sox!

Dan Duquette to Jimy Williams: "You are the weakest link. Goodbye."

We picked an interesting day to come to Boston and Fenway, because manager Jimy Williams was unceremoniously fired this morning, and we get to see pitching coach-turned new manager Joe Kerrigan in his debut.

I'm a little disappointed in the decision, because Williams is such a down-to-earth guy with a great baseball record. I believe that if not for Williams, the team, 65-53 (.551) at the time, would not be currently in the postseason race because of all the major injuries endured thus far. General Manager Dan Duquette is a donkey's behind, never giving Williams any support and always berating him, and has yet to prove that he has any knowledge about how to run the storied franchise. How about some pitching beyond Pedro Martinez, Dan?

	Gotta get the free thermos.

It's the 100th anniversary of the franchise, so coming into the Park we receive a 100th Anniversary Commemorative Thermos! Woohoo, free souvenirs! Dan rules!

Architect Frank Lloyd Wright once said that he'd like to clear out the inhabitants and make Boston a museum piece. I'm not sure if he had it mind, but for me the centerpiece would be Fenway Park.

A visit to Fenway is like a pilgrimage, a Mecca if you will, except that instead of circling a big block Red Sox fans circle Fenway Frank vendors. Actually, there's nothing "like" about it, it is Mecca, especially for a baseball fan, most especially as a Red Sox fan. Even though Jim is a Texas Rangers fan even he wanted to make sure to see Fenway before it's torn down.

Driving home, a Baltimore broadcaster notes that Fenway is a ballpark you can picture old-school players roaming and sliding in during the 20s, 30s, 40s, etc. right up to today. It's a place where you think of quotes like that of James Earl Jones in one of the best and most spiritual baseball movies ever made, Field of Dreams:

"The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again."

	The crowd goes wild!

In fact, our seats today are pretty close to those sat in by Jones and Kevin Costner in the film, when Costner is told to look for Moonlight Graham.

Jim and I walk around the stadium taking it all in, walking up to the Monster, seeing the red chair way back in the right field bleachers that denotes the landing spot of Ted Williams' 502-foot blast, the longest measurable home run ever hit inside Fenway Park. Williams hit the home run on June 9, 1946 off Fred Hutchinson of the Detroit Tigers, and legend says that the ball crashed through the straw hat of the man sitting in the seat - Section 42, Row 37, Seat 21.

You know you've got a great old-time ballpark when the Ground Rules are a little more specific than "If it goes over the fence, it's a home run." For example, some of the Rules listed in the game-day program include:

• "Ball going through scoreboard, either on the bound or fly: 2 Bases."
• "Ball striking top of scoreboard in left field, also ladder below top of wall and bounding out of the park: 2 Bases."
• "Fly ball striking wall or flagpole and bounding into bleachers: Home Run."
• "Fly ball striking wall left of line and bounding into bullpen: 2 Bases."

It also doesn't matter that I'm not able to see the scoreboard or the video screen because of the low roof overhead; I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be, as a strong, cool breeze skims over us from behind throughout the game, and the fans are incredibly enthusiastic by themselves without the prodding of an annoying organ.

Of course, jumping up all the time does make it difficult to keep score, but I manage to do that both nights. And I thank Dad for doing it for me when I walked around the Park during the game.

The aspect I enjoyed best was that the fans are baseball savvy; they really care about the game being played down below. There's a constant buzz: The wave sweeps through the crowd in the seventh inning, cheers of "Let's go Red Sox!" ring out frequently and in the eighth everyone sings along with Neil Diamond (who wouldn't?) and his "Sweet Caroline," apparently a staple and fan favorite at Fenway, always guaranteed to get everyone in a good mood. Come on, everyone, sing along! "Sweet, Caroline...Ba! Ba! Ba!..."

Meanwhile food vendors hawk their wares constantly, and unable to resist we have our share of Fenway Franks, peanuts, Cracker Jack and sodas. The joy of scarfing down a Fenway Frank isn't just the fat and juicy dog but also the thick bread that's sort of a hybrid of hot dog bun and sandwich bread. Because of this, I believe over two nights we spent roughly an equal amount to Bolivia's GDP.

	Bichette trots home after a three-run dinger.

We witness three home runs: The first by Jose Offerman, glancing off Mariner rookie-phenom Ichiro Suzuki's glove in the right field bullpen, the second dead center (by Nomar Garciaparra) and third over the Green Monster (Dante Bichette's three-run shot that proves to be the game winner).

Actually, because of people hogging the aisle, I see neither of the first two home runs leave the bat, but do catch them both when they leave the park. But because of the low roof overhead, we aren't sure if Bichette's round-tripper had enough height to clear the Monster until the ball hit the net. But when it does, the crowd erupts and good times begin. Red Sox win, 6-4.

The area around Fenway is happening; very spirited. As Jim noted, after the game it was even more so, like a carnival. As mentioned earlier, that's definitely one thing I adored about being at Fenway versus my usual trips to Turner Field to see the Braves: the fans are loud. They're truly excited to be there and not just hanging out as a social call. It's so refreshing to be at a park where fans don't get on their feet just because the scoreboard flashes a graphic imploring them to do so. And yes, that's a knock against my fellow Braves fans at Turner Field. Fenway is just such an animated atmosphere and quite a sanctuary for a pure old-fashioned baseball fan.

I'll take Dad's approach that the Red Sox wouldn't have won without us there. For example, they lost the previous two games against Seattle, so clearly we're good luck. And tomorrow we have to head out early, and the Sox end up losing a few hours later. Guess we need to move to Boston and get season tickets if the team's going to win that elusive first World Series since 1918.

Joy upon joy, Jeff! Keep going!