I remember my first major league game very vividly. I was maybe five or six years old, and we drove to Boston from suburban Topsfield. This was probably 1958 or 1959 and maybe my first time to Boston. I remember being about knee level to my parents and being too short and young to be part of the conversations. All I can remember is seeing shuffling feet and concrete covered with debris, spit, and cigarette butts. We walked up the ramp to the field level and suddenly it was like entering the land of Oz with the Green Monster, festive organ music, beautiful green grass, wonderful smells of popcorn and hotdogs, and players in colorful uniforms warming up for the game. I will never forget it.
I don't remember much else, but the initial introduction was very memorable. It was the beginning of my love with baseball.