Chlorinated hotel suites

The big leagues are glamorous … except when they’re not. Freshly swapped players have important choices to make when they land in their new cities. 

In 2003, I was released in June by the Colorado Rockies; I was immediately signed by the Boston Red Sox. Upon my arrival in Boston, I didn’t have ample time to search for a place to rent. Fortunately, I found an extended-stay hotel on Beacon Street in Brookline. My special place? The Holiday Inn. 

The good news (not for me, but for the eight-year-olds screaming at 7:30 a.m.) was there was an indoor pool. Of course, the bad news was there was an indoor pool. My room smelled like chorine; the carpet in the hallways was perpetually wet. By season’s end, I’d fallen in love with my new cozy confines. I remained loyal to that joint for the last four months of the schedule and throughout the postseason. 

I could take a taxi to Fenway, but purchased a scooter instead. A Red Sox player riding a Vespa on Lansdowne Street seemed reasonable at the time; I proudly rode that hog through the crisp days of October. 

Were my decisions shortsighted? Sure they were. Would I trade those memories for more plush accommodations? Hell no.