“Loved that team,” said Wells. “Those guys were phenomenal. I had a lot of fun at the ballpark.
“Outside the ballpark, it was hard. You can’t go anywhere, especially if you’re not pitching well. You get the business from [fans]. You can’t enjoy your family time. Your alone time is gone because you’re subject to photographs nonstop. It was the worst. You go to a mall with your kids and you have people always wanting to take pictures. They should call it ‘Picturetown’ not ‘Beantown.’
“Listen, I know the people are Red Sox-friendly. They love the Red Sox. I understand that. They have to understand that when we’re not at the ballpark, we’re not subject to autographs and pictures and we need to be able to enjoy ourselves. I don’t think they see that and don’t get it.”
New York, where Wells spent four seasons, “is a cakewalk compared to Boston,” he said. “But you know what? Boston is a great town. When I was playing against them, it was great coming in. Great stuff in that town. Great restaurants and nightlife. Historical stuff.”
First things first. “Picturetown”? I refuse to believe that that’s the best any friend of Tom Arnold’s could come up with. Further, you gotta love the laundry list of things Wells dug: “Great restaurants… historical stuff.” Clearly the guy didn’t spend enough time walking up and down Commonwealth Ave., where there’s so much hot college chick eye candy per square inch you almost feel like you’ve been transported to some sort of Russ Meyer fever dream. Once they lift that restraining order on me, motherf-ker, you can bet your sweet ass I’ll be back down there, leering with the best of ’em. Because that’s what I do. Leer.
Anyway, I dug having Wells around. He’ll always have a friend here in Picturetown.