When I close my eyes, I can still see it: expansive foul ground, a barn-looking building in the center field, metal bleachers in the right field, a grassy berm in the left field, all of the local advertisements and the color-coded seats. I can still hear it: chants of “Let’s go PawSox!” from the enthusiastic crowd and the upbeat music in between innings. And I sure can still smell it: freshly cut grass, the faint metallic smell from the support beams holding the overhang and – somewhat stressful for a peanut-allergic individual such as myself – the ballpark staple of peanuts and cracker jacks.

McCoy Stadium in Pawtucket, Rhode Island was where I spent most of my time for the first 14 summers of my life. McCoy was the home of the Pawtucket Red Sox (affectionately known as the “PawSox”), Boston’s Triple-A minor league team for nearly 50 years. When the stands were full, it was a vibrant, lively and joyful place. Getting to see top prospects and rehabbing stars was an amazing experience for any baseball fan. Personally, it was an incredible place to fall in love with the game. For six dollars, you could get a general admission ticket and have a fantastic view of the entire field. It was a formative experience, getting to sit in the sun, share a game with my dad and grandparents and learn the game from them that I would grow to love so much.

Despite my lingering love for McCoy, the ballpark was not in good shape: metal spikes were coming out of the ground next to the seats, parts of the grandstand were falling apart and the area surrounding it was not in good condition. PawSox ownership wanted a taxpayer-funded stadium, likely in Providence. But Rhode Island’s state government had no desire to give millions to an already rich group, so the ownership began to look elsewhere. In 2018, they announced that they would move to Worcester, Massachusetts.

I was absolutely crushed, as the staple of my summers would soon be gone. While Worcester is only about an hour away from my hometown, part of the magic of Pawtucket was that I could drive 20 minutes, see my grandparents on the way and hop over to McCoy.
Hearing that the PawSox were leaving, I planned on attending as many games as I could before their departure. I had no clue that when I left the stadium on Aug. 16, 2019, it would be my final time inside the place that shaped my childhood.

The team’s final season was meant to be 2020, and the entire season was supposed to be a celebration of 50 years of PawSox baseball and 80 years of McCoy Stadium. That year, COVID-19 robbed me and thousands of other baseball fans of a chance to say goodbye. Comparatively, losing a minor league baseball team’s final season was small potatoes compared to what was going on in the world, but it was still devastating to not get the closure of a final celebratory season.

I don’t think it’s possible for me to put into words how much McCoy Stadium and the PawSox meant to me. Going to games as much as I did started a lifelong love affair with baseball that has inspired me to pursue a career in sports media. The stadium’s impending demolition has made me immensely nostalgic and has offered the chance to reflect on the impact that it had and still has on me.

Not getting a final season will always hurt, and I will definitely shed a few tears when the ballpark is brought down. But I will always look back, not with anger and sadness, but with joy and gratitude that I had an opportunity to be so strongly impacted by having a professional baseball team in my backyard.