LINCICOME: History lesson painful for Rockies

Published October 25, 2007 at midnight

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BOSTON — Fenway Park squats in disjointed immunity to the present tense, having convinced New Englanders that being too small, too ugly and too weird is, nevertheless, as a banner proclaims, "America’s most beloved ballpark."

The 103rd World Series opened in this absurd little tenement by the turnpike Wednesday night, since those are the rules and the TV trucks were already parked on the street from the Cleveland series.

And the Red Sox, too, continued in form, knocking the Rockies around as they have not been knocked around since they were anonymous.

A local artist, wearing one of those Winslow Homerish hats against the gusts of autumn, painted a portrait of Gate B for no clear reason, not even including the statue of Ted Williams who is either giving a boy a ballcap or stealing his.

Whether it was the long layoff, the American League peculiarities, the ballpark mystique or just plain it was about time, the Rockies now begin the last part of their astounding journey in the hole.

"We’re still looking to finish the drill," said manager Clint Hurdle. "That’s why they (the players) write on the blackboard ‘Not Done.’"

Yes, one game does not a series make, and none of the 13 runs scored by Boston can be, unlike the deep set aromas of the place, carried past one night. Atmosphere reeks as does the park itself, with the smells of generations of backsides and years of fried dough and turkey tips.

Coloradans may not be able to appreciate the local fascination for this analog woodpile, having a much more digital Fenway of their own named after a beer but with more comfortable seats and better food, if no more convenient or cheaper parking.

As if further reminders of the history of the place were needed, it was suggested to Curt Schilling, tonight’s Red Sox pitcher, that this was the place where Babe Ruth pitched. "Well, he’s not pitching for us, unfortunately," said Schilling. "But we do have the best pitcher on the planet starting, fortunately."

That would be Josh "Bend It Like" Beckett, and there will be no dispute from the Rockies about Schilling’s review, when it seemed like the best strategy to beat Beckett was to keep him in the dugout while his teammates batted around and around.

Having played a three-game series in Fenway this summer, the Rockies were as familiar with the place as a fish might be with a wood screw.

Not that it did them any good, but the Rockies had spent time diligently pacing and poking at the place, refreshing their memories, when, really, one look is as good as a million.

It is maddening to try and memorize all the cracks and crooks of Fenway, nearly as maddening as listening to thousands of New Englanders singing the Stah Spangled Bannuh.

Besides, Fenway could not have changed that much in a few months, as indeed it has not since it first opened in 1912, only coincidentally on the same day the Titanic went down.

When the Rockies arrived at Fenway on Wednesday night, refreshed and excuseless, all was as they remembered it, except for all-timer Carl Yastrzemski throwing out the first ball and John Williams and the Boston Pops playing the anthem.

"We’re not in awe of the place," said starting pitcher Jeff Francis. "We’re not blown away. We’ve seen it. We know what to expect."

Nobody expected this. Poor Francis was only two pitches into his and the Rockies’ first World Series game when Boston second baseman Dustin Pedroia launched an easy Coors Field out inches over the home-field advantage, otherwise known as the Green Monster.

The huge, blank wall in left field astonishes those unfamiliar with it. A first-time visitor asked me, "Are they going to leave that up once the game starts?"

The Rockies were doubtless astounded by the wall, not just because it seemed close enough to reach out and touch but because the balls they banged off it seemed to count only half as much as Boston’s. Whereas Pedroia got to trot around the bases to cheers, the Rockies, hitting the ball harder and seemingly further, had to stop at second.

By game’s end, the Red Sox had pounded balls off the Monster, up the alleys, off the sideboards and just about everywhere with space enough to fit a baseball, nine of their 17 hits for extra bases.

Or they merely waited for someone from the Rockies bullpen to walk in another run.

"I’ve heard that this is about who wants it the most," said Hurdle. "That’s a joke. It is about who executes the best."

And on this night execute was exactly what the Red Sox did. They should have had to wear a hood and carry an ax.

Ouch.

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