The message I got Wednesday: “Cancel your Sunday golf. Monster seats.” Click.
Say no more. And there we were on Sunday. High atop the Monster at Fenway Park.
So why is someone who has made his living on television for more than 30 years as happy as a twelve-year-old to see himself on TV at Fenway Park? Seriously. Why? (I’m the turquoise blur. And yes, I wore that polo shirt so the color would stand out.)
Really, I’m pathetic. (But I’m good with it.)