The movie “Bucket List” prompted many to think about enjoying life before it’s too late. Perhaps it prompted a few to formalize a list and convert the items on it into reality sooner, rather than later.

There seem to be categories of things we want to experience and achieve. These include career, family, friends, sports, travel, purchases and adventure.

Sports, perhaps more for men than women, are a major category. Some of the events on our to-do list are to attend such big-time events as the Super Bowl, Final Four, the Masters, the World Series, Kentucky Derby and the Triple Crown, play Augusta National Golf Club and polo, shake hands with Muhammad Ali, and meet Michael Jordan.

For some, polo is a reality. These include the few gentlemen who played in the Ivy League Polo Cup in Greenwich, Conn.

When asked if there were similarities between golf and polo, Bruce Colley remarked, “It is a lot like golf except in golf you wait for the perfect conditions, silence from the crowd and no movement. In polo you are moving at 20 mph, you have a mallet in one hand, the ball is bouncing and some jerk is trying to knock you off your horse. Draw your own conclusions.”

A polo-playing Italian friend of mine named Massimo told me, “Polo is the most exciting sport a man can do with his clothes on.” I only suspect this is true because he hasn’t played golf naked.

While playing August National or watching baseball may not be on top of the list for Bruce or Massimo, I, a self-proclaimed “Gidget” at heart, had a burning desire to visit Fenway Park, home of the Red Sox. A visit to Fenway to watch a game is a must-do for both baseball fans and those who could care less about the sport.

My first Fenway experience was a Friday night game. To get “warmed up” for the game, my cousin took me to Caskin Flagin, the famous bar across from the stadium. Although it may sound as if I was preparing to play the sport, going to this establishment for some libations is like a cult ritual where everyone meets and drinks their own brand of Kool Aid before heading into the temple.

Not a beer drinker, I convinced the bartender to put a lime in a Coors Light; remarkably, after two mugs they tasted great. Not a meat-eater either, I was somehow convinced to try a “Fenway Frank” once inside the park. Chalk this one up also to religion.

There are so many nuances that make Fenway special. Besides a beautiful old ballpark, the main focus is the actual game; a JumboTron hasn’t made it there yet. A vendor walks the aisles, you raise your hand for some peanuts, and a bag will be hurled with such speed that you wonder if he missed his calling and shouldn’t have tried out for a major league team. You pass your money down the row and the change is passed back.

The fan participation here is real and raw. While watching the Sox play the Mets, every so often I heard a chant of “Yankees Suck!” Like every religion, there are the devotees making the Fenway pilgrimage – like two guys from Utah on a three-day baseball binge.

Sitting there watching the game wearing my Titleist hat, seduced by the lights and verdant field, I soaked it all in and allowed Fenway to enchant me. I could almost hear Kenny Chesney singing “She’s from Boston.”

For a moment during the game I could have sworn Boo Weekley was in attendance as I kept hearing the crowd call his name. While it quite possibly could have been the lemon in the Coors Light that affected my hearing, what was being heard was Boston’s version of “Boooo” for infielder Kevin Youkilis – “Yoooouk.”

After the Sox won I floated back to Caskin Flagin, but not before a quick high-five to the Green Monster on my way out.

“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
Guard me Jesus through the night,
And wake me with the morning light
Oh, and please keep the World Series in sight.”