Recollections from Opening Day 2002 at Fenway Park:

• Boston’s Finest were indeed a more formidable presence in Kenmore Square and the area surrounding the park in their efforts to foil scalpers, but whether that was a one-time deal for the media cameras or a season-long detail remains to be seen. Make no mistake: those scalpers are still out there, in plain view, and any police-undercover effort could conceivably nab many of them quickly and easily. The quicker, the better, I say, because the two-bit hoods even had the nerve to try cutting to the front of the line of patrons waiting to buy tickets Monday morning, nearly causing a riot among those legitimate fans who had been camped out all night.

• There were no real security checkpoints entering the park, and perhaps that was a good thing for the fans, who all seemed to be arriving at the park between 12:30 and 1 p.m. that day. Random pat-downs were the most intrusive measure anyone had to tolerate, and food and beverages were confiscated at the gate. (Sadly, the team’s attempt to have players greet fans at the gates for Wednesday night’s game was sullied by selfish fans who begged the players for autographs and pictures, creating a massive traffic jam at the entrances and forcing the team quickly to put the kibosh on this meet-and-greet event.)

• The five-minute period on Monday that included René Rancourt’s Canadian national anthem, Steven Tyler’s "Star-Spangled Banner," the Green-Monster-width flag being unfurled, and the strut into the infield by the New England Patriots was the single most stirring (and loudest) sequence of events I have ever experienced at the ol’ ball yard. Kudos to the marketing geniuses who came up with these memorable moments, and a hearty good riddance to the stagnant ideas of the old regime. It took the demise of Dan Duquette and his cronies to help Boston fans recognize the singular lack of creative effort put forth by previous management. Wally the Green Monster was heretofore the most imaginative marketing idea introduced to the Fenway Faithful, but Monday’s explosion of patriotism and pride in the team helped us all realize that we are no longer, from a public-relations standpoint, in sepia-toned Kansas.

• I have found the perfect Fenway Park seat. It took numerous visits to the box office in my quest for a single seat for Opening Day, but my patience paid off when I lucked into the only seat available on a nondescript March day, and it turned out to be a dandy. I expect that normally it’s a season-ticket holder’s seat, but I will cherish my experience there: Section 17, Box 122, Row NN, Seat 5. Why was it so good? Well, partly because of the park’s quirky set-up, as the infield grandstand includes several sections with rows that go only halfway up the grandstand. My seat was at the very top of one of those rows, so there was no one sitting in front of me, and I had incredibly easy access in and out anytime I left my seat. In addition, its location along the first-base line offered an almost-perfect sight alignment up the third-base line, yet was outside the boundaries of the screen behind home plate, so a foul ball off the bat of a right-hander always seemed a delightful possibility. Yeah, that ticket cost me 60 bucks, but for that day, and that game, and that seat, it was worth it. And I liked it so much that I didn’t give in to the chill or the four-hour-12 minute length of the game, choosing instead to enjoy this marvelous view until the bitter end. It almost made me feel as if Fenway should indeed be renovated.

• Twenty-three runs, 27 hits, and not one ball hit off or over the Monster that day.

• I am not naïve enough to think that cell phones are just a fad, or that they are not crucial to some people’s everyday routines, but I swear that everyone in the Fenway crowd that day had one — and used it at least once. I will grant that many in the crowd were probably checking in with their offices to make sure that the poor slugs stuck there were handling the workload in their stead, and many more lucky folks were just calling friends to rub it in — "Guess where I’m calling from!" — but God almighty, the sounds of ringing tones and the buzz from myriad conversations to far-off lands was totally out of place and inappropriate for the setting. Yes, that’s a boring old baseball aficionado talking, and perhaps had I not been alone that day I wouldn’t have noticed it as much, but I think people could have switched the goddamn things off for a few hours and not really have missed it — as it was before the blasted things were invented. Can we agree on this? Can we?

• Fenway is promoted as smoke-free, but I think that the new ownership might want to hire some hall monitors so that "Smokin’ in the Boys’ Room" remains a Brownsville Station Lost ’45 and not the dominant theme for the men’s (and I presume women’s) lavatories. Back to homeroom, you rapscallions!

• I’m sorry, Jose Offerman, but you deserve to get booed if you’ve been in the big leagues for 12 seasons, make $6 mil a year, are lucky enough to be batting second behind a speed demon, get an opportunity to contribute to the winning rally in the eighth inning, and then can’t get a bleeping bunt down. Don’t they work on this in spring training? And by the way, Jose, how about being man enough to face the media after the game? Pouters and arrogant buffoons have no place on this team. And that goes for you too, Ugueth Urbina.

• Despite the addition of 10 new concession stands, the lines for food and drink were still ridiculously long. This may have resulted from the fact that the interminably long innings in the early going led to a rush for relief after the third outs were finally made, but there is no excuse for running out of food or hot chocolate, as several stands did in the late innings. However, the concourse underneath the stands seems much wider, and it was nice to see the gates between sections removed, so those in the bleachers can stop feeling like caged animals and actually sample some of the culinary delights previously available only to the box-seat and grandstand ticket holders.

• Great to see Pedro, Nomar, Manny, and Jason all in the same line-up, in spite of the outcome. This team is going to score runs and won’t always give up eight runs in the first three innings.

• Five seventy-five for a large bag of peanuts? Four seventy-five for a beer? Four bucks for a bottle of Coke? Are you kidding me? I will not blame John Henry et al. for this; I will blame John Harrington and the previous administration’s awarding of the food-services contract late in the team-sale process to Aramark, a situation not unlike Clinton’s last-minute pardon of Marc Rich. Granted, the food selection at Fenway has improved by leaps and bounds, but the prices are wholly unacceptable and at this rate soon will be prohibitive.

• Seventeen straight opening days for me, and this one was like no other. For those who were there, it was indeed an instant classic, and we can only hope that the gloom of 84 championship-less seasons is lifting, if only gradually, thanks to the team engineered by John Henry, that Steel-Drivin’ Man.

Sporting Eye runs Mondays and Fridays at BostonPhoenix.com. Christopher Young can be reached at cyoung[a]phx.com