BOSTON — David Ortiz, the beloved “Big Papi” whose booming bat and infectious grin helped define a generation of Red Sox baseball, stood behind the batting cage at Fenway Park Tuesday evening with a lump in his throat. The crowd of early arrivals buzzed as the three-time World Series champion greeted fans, but his focus was on one tiny voice—five-year-old Mason O’Donnell, a Red Sox diehard who has become the heart of Boston’s baseball family this week.
Mason, who has been battling a rare congenital heart condition since birth, whispered a dream to Ortiz during a private pregame meeting arranged by the Red Sox Foundation. “I just want to see a home run,” the boy told him, clutching a miniature bat nearly as big as he was. Ortiz, usually larger than life, bent to eye level and promised, “We’re going to make that happen, buddy.”
When Mason was wheeled to a special seat near the Sox dugout, Fenway’s normally raucous pregame chatter softened. Players from both teams stopped to say hello. Fans held up handmade signs: Mason Strong, Dream Big, Little Papi.
But baseball has a way of mixing magic with heartbreak. Despite an electric atmosphere and a lineup primed for fireworks, Boston’s bats went quiet against the visiting Yankees. No ball reached the Monster seats. Ortiz, long retired but still Fenway’s spiritual heartbeat, watched intently from the broadcast booth, occasionally placing a hand over his face. By the ninth inning, the dream of a Mason-inspired homer had faded.
Yet the night’s power came from something deeper than a scoreboard. After the final out, Ortiz walked to Mason’s seat as fans rose in a spontaneous standing ovation. Kneeling again, he handed the boy an autographed jersey and whispered something only Mason and his parents could hear. The child smiled—weakly, but unmistakably—and hugged Big Papi with all the strength his tiny arms could muster.
“It’s bigger than baseball,” Ortiz said afterward, his eyes glistening. “This little guy showed more courage tonight than I ever did in a World Series. He’s the true champion.”
Mason’s parents, Erin and Kyle O’Donnell of Quincy, said their son’s health battle has been grueling, but moments like Tuesday night fuel their fight. “He talks about David Ortiz all the time,” Erin said. “To see Mason light up like that—it’s something we’ll carry forever.”
Red Sox manager Alex Cora called the evening “a reminder of why this game matters,” noting that players were visibly moved. “We all wanted to hit one out for Mason,” Cora said. “But what Big Papi gave him is worth more than any home run.”
As the crowd filtered into the cool Boston night, fans lingered to sing “Sweet Caroline,” their voices mingling with the quiet hum of Fenway’s lights. The scoreboard showed a loss, but the city felt a different kind of victory—one defined by empathy, community, and the enduring magic of baseball.
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