It can be pretty bizarre to be at Fenway for a game that I never actually see. Beneath the center field bleachers, I sell tickets for the tour I will lead after the last out—a tour that brings people onto the field and to the Green Monster door.

“So here’s the deal, how it works,” I say. “The guys get the job done and, after we celebrate our win, we’ll all meet up here and I’ll get you out to see what Jacoby looks at most nights.”

The guys get the job done. Sure, the running joke going into last night was a bitter one—“What do the Red Sox and Bruins have in common? Both teams have one win at Fenway this year.”—but I like to be optimistic. And then I like to listen to the roar of the crowd from my spot in the Big Concourse to gauge whether the guys are going to back up my bold statement. I don’t see the action take place in front of me, like the other 38,000 people at Fenway, but I can hear the crowd and I can turn to look at the small televisions behind me.

Last night, Darnell McDonald had my back. In the eighth and then again in the ninth, I jumped up and down and high fived because the new guy was slamming the baseball around Fenway, lighting the spark the Red Sox have been looking for. The roar of the crowd was deafening before everyone streamed out of the stands and through the concourse—cheering, hugging, chanting, and dancing.

Earlier in the evening, I’d told a young boy that the Sox were just going to have to get the job done for him, given that it was his birthday and his first trip to Fenway. McDonald made sure that they did. And at the end of a thrilling game, just before I took him out onto the field, he had that warm and giddy smile that comes with realizing that Fenway really can be the single greatest place in the world when you’re there for the right moment.

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