June 26, 1999.

Visiting family in Massachusetts (this was back in the day when Boston-area trips for me were rare), my father, brother and I decided to embark on one of those random adventures that always left my mother shaking her head in amusement.

"You're going to go pay money to stand at Fenway?"

Four words, Mom: It's a Pedro Game.

The game against the White Sox proved to be the only time I saw Martinez pitch in person. It was a massacre - 17-1 final score, an 11-run first inning, five Boston home runs (including two by then-favorite Nomar), and Pedro dominating in the five innings he pitched. Our standing spot was on the third base side, but the back row of seats was empty, so we decided to use them until their owners arrived -- which wasn't until the fourth inning. By the end of the game, T and I had made our way to seats in the second row behind home plate, sitting among the folks touting radar guns.

(Those were the days, huh?)

Our crew of three arrived back in Beverly with beaming grins, and my brother and I overlapped each other as we recapped the game for the amused family members who had stayed behind.

"TWO STRIKES, but I just KNEW Nomar would connect -"

"- you should have seen V's face as Dad picked on her about him -"

"- because he just doesn't have as much FAITH in Nomar as I do -"

"- you should have seen HIS face when Nomar hit the homer!"

"I never thought I'd actually almost get tired of the Red Sox scoring runs!"

I complained when Pedro left, but I'm now just looking forward to seeing him take the mound back at Fenway. The big question today has been "How would you greet him, if you had tickets to the game?"

Well, I'm going to be perched in front of the television at home, cheering for him.

That said, it would be glorious to see another Red Sox slaughter.

My nostalgic tendancies only go so far.

Update:
Dear Pedro - Sorry, dude.
Dear Red Sox - Whoo hoo! Many thanks!
xoxo - Vix