Is there anything better than unexpectedly coming up with tickets to a game that you had no plans to attend? I think not.

Such was my luck on Wednesday. Late on Tuesday night I logged onto Facebook to check messages and such, to see who had picked their Top 5 people they wanted to punch in the face and bands that they’d seen live and such, and my friend Kevin (an actual friend too, not just some random person added as a “friend” on FB to try to bump the number over 500) had posted that he had two extras for the afternoon game on Wednesday. He had attended on Tuesday night, but due to the rain out he wouldn’t actually get to see the game.

He wanted $70 for the pair of tickets, which was an awesome price seeing that they were face valued at $85 per. I made a quick call to Eagle One to see if he wanted to go, and got the response I expected, “what do you think?”.

Thankfully with the schools being on vacation this week the sports calendar has been pretty bare. Falmouth High had just one scheduled game, on Nantucket, and there was no Mashpee games. Since Tuesday’s action had been totally washed out, that meant Rich would have spent the majority of the afternoon twiddling his thumbs between writing game stories.

Sure I had to spend more time writing on Wednesday evening than I had planned, leaving my viewing of the Bruins-Habs game to brief glimpses over the shoulder, but it was totally worth it.

The seats were fantastic, about 20 rows up from the field, just to the left of home plate at the outer edge of the screen. I’ve had better seats at Fenway, but not much. They were definitely in the top 10.

But the true highlight for me was just seeing the ballpark again, and being there for a game. Fenway Park is my absolute favorite place on earth. I can’t think of a place I’d rather spend an afternoon. If I knew I had just one day left to live, I’d probably want to go to Fenway. Actually, I know I would.

Walking up the ramp and seeing he field for the first time every year is a joy. Standing to cheer when an opposing batter has two strikes and urging our guy to get strike three is just fun. Jeering an opposing pitcher with 35,000 other people and making him throw balls, like we did to one of the Minnesota relievers in the latter innings, makes you feel like a part of the action.

I could go on and on.

My next trip to Fenway, which is actually a scheduled one, is sometime in July. That may be the greatest day of my life, and I have no idea who’s pitching, nor do I care.

In July I am taking Rye, my seven-year old son, to his first game at Fenway. He’s been to one big league game before, but he’s never seen one at the old park in Kenmore Square. He’s never walked up that ramp and seen that beautiful outfield or the huge wall in left. He hasn’t experienced the thrill of watching one of his heroes hit one over that wall. He hasn’t been fully indoctrinated into the experience yet. Sure he’s watched on TV. Tonight he wouldn’t go to bed until the Sox got the final out in the ninth, which was annoying for his mom and pride-inducing for me. That day though will be one we never forget.

Of course if we fall into tickets before July it might happen sooner. You never know when you’re going to get a pleasant surprise. If you know anyone that has extras, the management at Maclone’s Musings are always accepting gifts.