THE SPORTING LIFE There’s no place like Fenway Park BY IAN DONNIS

There’s a poetic irony in the Boston Red Sox’ recent move to seek landmark status for Fenway Park while simultaneously employing David Wells, the cantankerous hurler who once — prior to joining the team — volunteered to blow up the old ballpark. Many Sox fans, after all, have a measure of mixed feelings about whether Fenway constitutes a remarkable 93-year-old gem or a fading relic in need of replacement.

Anyone who has visited the deck over the Green Monster, savored the pre-game atmosphere on Yawkey Way, or returned to their seats in record time after buying a beer at the expanded concourse behind the bleachers, appreciates how the Henry-Lucchino-Werner ownership has used vision and a little creativity to considerably enhance the Fenway experience. And though Sox tickets are increasingly hard to acquire at reasonable prices, fans patient enough to spend a few hours in the team’s online waiting room in the off-season can generally get some decent stuff.

Then again, for those who wind up in some of the least enjoyable sections of the park like, say, the rear of the outfield grandstand in the right field corner, Fenway’s history and sense of authenticity — and the lottery-like odds of getting a primo seat at face value — are distinctly less impressive. "I think that the new ownership romanticizes the park, and a lot of people, possibly the press, buy into that notion," says Providence Journal political columnist M. Charles Bakst, a weekend season-ticket holder. Despite possessing a terrific seat, Bakst backs building a new ballpark.

The Henry-Lucchino-Werner triad, which cited an early desire for preserving Fenway and ubiquitously calls it "America’s most beloved ballpark," stands to save millions in renovation costs if the landmark designation is awarded. Usually unmentioned is how the new ownership, which bought the Red Sox for $700 million in 2002, could be keeping the team at Fenway more because of necessity than anything else. A similarly princely sum would be needed, after all, to acquire land on the Boston waterfront and to build a stadium there.

Sox spokesman Charles Steinberg told me earlier this year that the fiscal necessity of staying at Fenway "may have found to be a contributor had we gotten that far, but that’s not the origin of thought. This origin of thought is, this ownership group — perceived as outsiders — was blessed with the perspective to say, ‘This is Fenway Park. It is a jewel.’ . . . This ballpark is special, this ballpark is ancient by American standards, this ballpark is full of stories — not just history — but ongoing historical features, and elements, and nuances, and quirks." (Not coincidentally, the Yankees’ plans to build a new $800 million stadium in the Bronx, targeted to open in 2009, conveniently plays into the Sox ownership’s storyline of the intrepid Red Sox, proud keepers of baseball’s oldest ballpark, battling an Evil Empire of grasping New Yorkers.)

It’s hard not to be impressed by some of the neo-retro baseball temples, like Baltimore’s 50,000-seat Camden Yards, which features waiter service on the second tier and good views even from the upper deck. When it comes to Fenway Park, though, count me with the preservationists. If you’re motivated enough to get to the place with any regularity, its charms far outweigh the imperfections.