Police handing out hugs and helmets to cyclists in Denmark? 


4/16. If there are any streets people outside of Massachusetts know by heart they are Yawkey Way and Lansdowne. In a sentence, either one of these streets - when spoken by a Boston sports fan - usually concludes with “guy” or “kid.” For whatever reason, Lansdowne will be pronounced Lands-down, and kid is spoken as it would be spelled phonetically, guy. Inside the walls of Fenway, Jerry Remy or Dennis Eckersly will spout off facts and statistics about what they consider to the most beautiful game. At sundown, near the end of summer, the outside of the ballpark hosts the beauty of what Boston offers. Backlit, silhouetted, and crowded shoulder-to-shoulder, Yawkey and Lansdowne fill with vendors yakking about Fenway Franks, sausage and peppers, and how the boys will beat ‘em next time, kid. The mainstream, over-marketed, highly-branded, merchandise consuming fans walk through this gauntlet spouting off how the boys could have done it better, and that the one hit from Big Papi was wicked sick, guy. What they won’t see is that the sun’s angle, as it approaches autumn, has illuminated the streets in an orange veneer, or that the humidity has been blanketed by an early harvest chill. They won’t recognize that the days are getting shorter, and the water in the Fens has fog hovering above it during the morning hours, nor will they notice Lansdowne is actually a one-way, and there is no need to look towards Jillian’s when crossing the street, kid.