Some BroSox Adventure weekends are so epic they demand two blog posts – and this ten-year anniversary of the tradition was epic on every level, and a few new ones to boot. We extended it by one day, allowing a more relaxed pace, so by the time Sunday arrived I had entirely eased into the weekend vibe, and had one belated surprise birthday gift to give Skip: a golf shirt to go with a scheduled round of miniature golf at Puttshack in the Seaport. It was designed as the one new element to hallmark this trip, but we had started some other new things, including jaunts where I went off on my own to try more cologne or Skip went out to the local convenience store for a sweet treat.
After a Sunday brunch at Metropolis, we were back at the condo, and Skip wanted to chill there while I went for a walk on my own. The heat of the day was on the rise, and I found myself back at the Boston Public Garden, lost in happy memories of the place where we had recently spent a wonderful anniversary weekend.
I returned in time for an early afternoon siesta and some snacking on the remains of our charcuterie dinner, then it was time to head to the golf course – or in this case Puttshack at the Seaport. Donning a striped golf shirt of my own, I was ready to meet the moment and whatever shredding Skip had planned for me on our first mini-golf match. As someone who’s played real golf many times, he had the edge going in, but the last time I played mini-golf I beat my whole family (including two children, thank you). I can’t take all the credit – I really think the fuchsia golf ball that I selected to play with that day made all the difference.
Nine holes later, a winner was crowned.
Yes, you read that correctly – I won, with 4 holes-in-one. (Including one Supertube, whatever the hell that means – and if it’s sexual harassment, I’ll take it.) While in the Seaport, we had dinner at Pink Taco, which was apparently a euphemism unknown to me. As Skip explained it, I’m not sure how appealing it sounded to my decidedly-gay nature, but the food was stellar, and Skip’s Michelada (a beer-based Bloody Mary that sounded ghastly to my ears) was his favorite drink of the trip.
The evening was still very young, the sun was still out in its golden hour splendor, and we decided to take the long walk back to the condo, stopping along the way to hit some places that played parts in previous BroSox Adventures over the years. We’d already paid respect to a pirate-themed adventure with our stop in the Seaport to honor this sea-themed trip. Crossing the bridge back toward downtown Boston, we weaved our way through a mostly-closed Fanueil Hall and Quincy Market, a nod to this infamous song and dance moment from last year.
From there, we stopped for a drink at the bar that kicked off our 2018 hunt for a serial killer. This time around, as I was reaching into my pocket for my ID, the bouncer just waved us in saying he didn’t need to see it. Rude! And a telling sign of how much has changed in the last ten years. We’ve gone from stoop gazing to wild Chinatown jaunts and back again, and on this tenth anniversary of our very first trip to see the Red Sox we honored our past, while peering slightly ahead to what might come next.
At one point in our talks over the weekend, Skip mentioned candidly and somewhat in passing that he was a bit of a mess – and there was something poignant in this admission, especially coming from someone whom I’ve always sort of viewed with a certain awe in how he managed his children and life (second only, and by a long shot, to his wife). Meanwhile I still wasn’t quite ready to voice aloud how much of mess I could still be, but it didn’t need to be said to be understood – and in our joint failings over the last decade we found some solace in not being alone in being perhaps less than we thought we might one day be.
The next morning, we returned to where we started with a quick breakfast at Charlie’s, and a road trip home. Before we even made it to the Mass Turnpike, I already missed Boston. Until the next adventure…
