Fenway Park has some of the quirkiest seats in baseball.
There are seats in right field that face left field. And one seat beyond Pesky’s Pole called ‘‘the chiropractor’s special.’’ It faces the bullpen in right field.
Because no other ballpark in the big leagues has less foul territory, everything is up close and personal.
Down the left-field line, foul territory is measured in inches. If fans don’t like left fielder Carl Crawford’s positioning, they can tell him, and he can hear them.
There are grandstand seats designed in an era when people were smaller and games were shorter. Now your knees scrape the back of the seat in front of you.
There are obstructed view seats, sold at full fare, like one in Section 23, where you can sit smack dab behind a pole. From there, there is no view of the pitcher, the batter, or the right side of the infield.
There are cushy EMC level seats with heaters to ward off the April chill and lobster rolls delivered by the wait staff.
There are Green Monster seats, where home runs are captured by fans atop the 37-foot wall.
There are seats behind home plate that could get you more face time on television than Bobby Valentine. Just ask Dennis Drinkwater, president of Giant Glass.
There is the lone red seat — Seat 21, Row 37, Section 42 — in the right-field bleachers that marks the longest measured home run hit at Fenway: Ted Williams’s blast on June 9, 1946, that crashed through Joseph A. Boucher’s straw hat.
The one common thread: Baseball is the official language here, and no matter the sightlines, the ballpark is always the star.