Fenway's Centennial

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I've been to Boston a few times in my life, and I've seen the historic sights that there are to see there, but I've never been to Fenway Park, the home of the Red Sox.

It's long been a fantasy of mine to go there — and to some of the other classic ballparks in America. A friend of mine and I used to talk about going on such a road trip — the way guys often do — and, to a certain extent, I think we were both serious about it.

But, on a more realistic level, I think we both realized it was just a fantasy, nothing more. Certainly nothing that we were ever likely to do.

The prospect became more remote as many of those historic, classic ballparks — Tiger Stadium, Yankee Stadium, Comiskey Park — disappeared. (I went to the old Busch Stadium in St. Louis several times when I was younger, but it has been replaced in recent years, and I went to the Astrodome in Houston when I was about 10 years old — but the 'Dome hardly qualifies as a classic ballpark.)

Fenway is the oldest active major league ballpark, and today is the 100th anniversary of its opening.

It's hard to imagine a Red Sox great who never played in Fenway. Babe Ruth pitched there. Tris Speaker roamed its outfield, as did Ted Williams and Carl Yastrzemski.

After I had graduated from college and went to work on sports copy desks for daily newspapers, Wade Boggs was a regular at third base for the Sox, and Roger Clemens set all kinds of records on the mound.

Talk about a field of dreams.

I, for one, will never forget watching Carlton Fisk wave his game–winning homer into fair territory against Cincinnati in the 1975 World Series.

(Not that the folks who put together the postseason highlight reels would ever let me forget it.)

The "Green Monster" is a fixture in left field, one of many quirks in an old ballpark where, apparently, amenities have always been rather sparse for spectators.

"It's not easy to find in the labyrinth Boston calls a city plan," writes Stephen Cannella in Sports Illustrated. "If you manage to get there by car, it's nearly impossible to park."

And that's just outside the ballpark.

I gather it's always been a kind of Joe–Friday–just–the–facts–ma'am sort of place.

"The Red Sox didn't even hold an opening ceremony ... until May 17," writes Cannella. "The implicit message from the new Fenway to its fans: This is a baseball park. You are here to watch baseball."

They still come to Fenway to watch baseball — which isn't such a bad thing at a time when so many entertainment venues seek to be all things to all people simultaneously — and they'll be celebrating this centennial in Boston all year.

For the rest of 2012, the ballpark and the ball club will have to share the billing.

But today, everyone's attention is, as it should be, on Fenway and its connection to the history of the city and the sport.

There is a game being played at Fenway this afternoon, and it's appropriate that Boston's longtime rivals, the New York Yankees, are in town this weekend.

I have no evidence to support this, but I have to think the scheduling was by design.

Even if it wasn't, even if the opponent had been scheduled completely at random and the Sox were playing the most unexciting, nondescript franchise in the league (and, based on the 2011 standings, I suppose that would be the Twins or the Mariners — or, if the schedule makers wanted to keep it in Boston's division, the Orioles), this would still be a special day in Boston.

But the fact that the foe at Fenway today will be New York makes it that much more special.

Happy birthday, Fenway — and many, many more.

Down From the Pedestal

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Because he is so young compared to most in his sport, many people forget that Tiger Woods already has had a remarkable career.

He's won two of the four major tournaments four times each — the exceptions are the U.S. Open and The Open Championship, both of which he has won three times and came close to winning on a few other occasions. He also holds records for the most consecutive weeks in the top spot and the most total weeks ranked #1.

If he isn't the best golfer of all time, his name belongs in the conversation.

His pro career isn't over, of course. Many pro golfers are just hitting their stride when they are Woods' age (36), which means there may well be some more titles in his future — perhaps many more — even though he hasn't won a major since 2008, and he hasn't won two or more in a calendar year since 2006.

It doesn't look as if he will add to his majors total in today's concluding round of The Masters. There is too much ground to make up, too many golfers to overtake.

Woods won his first major, the 1997 Masters, 15 years ago this month. Only 21 years old at the time, Woods was the youngest–ever Masters champion, He wasn't the first black golfer to win at Augusta — Lee Elder accomplished that in 1975, less than a year before Woods was born — and he struggled out of the gate, but he won the tournament in dominating fashion, setting scoring records that still stand today.

Through the first nine holes, Woods was four–over par, but he finished the round three shots off the pace at two–under par. He seized control of the tournament in the second round, shooting a six–under 66.

(Nothing like that happened this year, of course. Tim Dahlberg of the Associated Press describes Tiger's second round of the Masters as "a foul–mouthed, club–kicking back nine ... that would have gotten you or me thrown off much lesser golf courses.")

Back in 1997, the third day was much like the second. Woods shot a 65 and took a nine–stroke lead into the final round. He only shot a 69 on the last day, but that was good enough to add three strokes to his final margin. His eventual margin of victory (12 strokes) is still the greatest ever in the Masters — and it was a record for all of the majors until Woods himself bested it with a 15–stroke win at the U.S. Open.

If anyone in golf is regarded as a natural (a la Robert Redford in his memorable baseball movie role), it must be Woods. So often, from his childhood through his young adulthood, it has seemed that things have come so effortlessly for him — the championships, the money, the adoring women.

The 1997 Masters made him seem like golf's version of Secretariat, pulling away from the field like (in the words of horse race caller Chic Anderson) "a tremendous machine" and strolling to the clubhouse to pick up his first green jacket. Hard as it may be to recall now, there was a period there in the late 1990s when many spoke of wanting to "Tiger proof" their golf courses with par–6 holes.

Undoubtedly, Tiger was a role model for millions. He was golf's golden boy who struck it rich with endorsement deals as well as tournament triumphs. In a post–Michael Jordan world (or one that was nearly so in 1997), he was the new Muhammad Ali of sports in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, recognized by all, master of all he or anyone else could see.

But, as both Jordan and Ali could have told him, such a time is fleeting. America loves its sports heroes, but it always ends — too soon for most athletes — and the love affair with Tiger was tarnished long before this year's Masters.

His tantrums on the Augusta National course in the last few days indicate that Tiger has been doing things in reverse order. He was a child prodigy for whom success came too early; he lacks the maturity and discipline now to learn and, eventually, benefit from mistakes and setbacks.

His enablers may say otherwise, but he hastened his own plummet from golf's pedestal.