Not One Drop

I've said for years that going to Fenway Park is like a religious experience for me. I'd venture to say that the walls of Fenway contain more faith than St. Thomas the Apostle Church. When I walk through the gates of Fenway, a special feeling comes over me that I can't quite describe.
Some say that God won't give you more than He knows you can handle. Although you might think that you can't take any more of Bobby Valentine...or Matt Albers...or Nick Punto, God knows your limits and He takes special care of Red Sox fans. I mean, haven't we been through enough?
He certainly took special care of me & some special people a few weeks ago.
Uncle Tom, Jill, Sarah, Dad & I set aside a Friday in early June for Dad-Daughter Day in Beantown. The Florida contingent was in town and we decided to spend the day visiting some of the city's most valued institutions and houses of worship...Harvard, the "Gah-den" and, of course, Fenway.
The weather forecast had looked decent in the days leading up to our adventure but as days were checked off the calendar, it started to look...well, not so great. In fact, I brought an umbrella and a fleece jacket.
We took a driving tour of Harvard so Jill could recruit a boyfriend (unsuccessfully) and then we headed, by way of The Harp for a few beers, to the TD Garden, home of the Boston Celtics. As we sat in The Harp, I recounted some stories of dancing to Jessie's Girl while wearing pink corduroys and stealing a lollipop from the DJ booth on "that very dance floor" as we watched the rain start to fall.
We paid our tab and as we walked towards the exit, I faintly heard a choir of angels' song and the rain instantly stopped. We crossed the street safely and made our way from the dark into the sunshine that was the Garden.
From there, we got into the car and headed towards the light...of the infamous Citgo sign. We were Lansdowne bound.
We walked from Dad's super secret parking spot to...where else?...the Cask & Flagon for an early dinner. Without a wait, we were seated at a table away from the crowd but near the excitement. As we settled in, we watched the rain pour down upon the Green Monster. Because of the impending storm, fans were escorted out of their seats on the wall and ushered to safety. A wise man once told me that "it never rains that hard for that long". Words to live by.
He was right.
Just as we were getting ready to head out into the storm, the clouds parted and the sun returned to the sky. It stayed clear until we reached our seats - covered, of course. Unfortunately, the Sox lost the game but, hey, you can't win them all.
You may think I'm crazy but it's not just me that believes that Fenway is a sanctuary. As we turned onto Lansdowne Street, Uncle Tom showed me the goosebumps on his forearm and said, "I feel like I should genuflect".
It must be in the genes.