"Dah dah dah DAT dah dah! Charge!" The stadium roared with the excitement of 30,000 Red Sox faithful. It is my first Red Sox game at the ancient living monument - Fenway Park. On this model of a summer's day, the grass seems a little greener, the sky a little bluer, and the sun a little brighter. The whole structure of this ballpark seems to come alive as it complements the beauty of nature's elements.

To my four-foot-stature, many years ago, the "Green Monster"(the infamous left-field wall) did seem quite a beast. My eyes were fixed on the 30-foot barricade, and I could not imagine how any person could hit a small cork and leather ball over this Green Monster with only a yard-long wooden stick. Every home run seemed like a Herculean blast when seen flying over The Wall. Surprisingly, the Green Monster was not the only aspect of this perfect park that I noticed that day.

My stare of wonderment shifted from left field to the plush green turf of the out-field grass, where each blade seemed cut according to some exact specification, and yet at the same time was woven into one perfect carpet. The lawn was mowed in a criss-cross pattern to form a layout of diamonds. The in-field grass was made to match the out field, and, along with the perfectly groomed dirt of the in field, completed the mirage. I think that, even more than the diamond-cut grass, it was the dirt that made the field most like a mirage. The special blend of earth used to adorn the in field seemed to reflect the sun's light in such a way that the coming sunset could almost surely be recognized by a glance at the base paths. Not only was the field right out of a fairy-tale dream, but so was the game.

I do not remember much about the specifics of the game, but I do remember the important details of every Red Sox game. First was the awe experienced when first seeing the field, whether it's your first time visiting or you are the proud owner of season tickets. Next I remember asking all my baseball heroes for autographs before the game while watching batting practice. After that, when the game started, there was the welcoming smell of Fenway franks, ice cream Sports Bars, and delicious brown-paper bagged cashews purchased outside the Park on Yawkey Way. There are the signature wooden seats, the old cement steps, and the rowdy bleachers. There are the retired numbers of Red Sox legends hanging high on the right field facade, bearing the memories of Doerr, Pesky, Williams, and Yastremski. I must say, though, that the thing I remember most is the general procedure of the great game of baseball, where, as one journalist once described, "it is a game where two grown men fire missiles at each other until one of their teams hits the right spots."

Yes, that is the game of baseball, America's pastime, and nowhere is it done more justice than at its true home, Fenway Park, where I was lucky enough to experience my first taste of this great game. l