On Tuesday, June 2, I shook off lingering Amtrak travel fears and boarded an Acela to Boston to attend my first Red Sox game in many years. Joined by my parents and cousin, I entered the nation's oldest major league ballpark to watch the Sox host the Minnesota Twins. It was 48 degrees and bobblehead night.
Supposedly, when the temp fell to 47, the evening became the coolest June 2 ever on record in beantown. I carried my bobblehead in the pocket of my jacket, fist raised in support for the home team. It broke within minutes. Yet, the Sox stood strong, winning the game 1-0.