Teh internets is truly an amazing place.

I get a daily update from History.com telling me what happened on this date in history. I've learned about Genghis Kahn, Watergate, Henry Ford and Kingsford Charcoal, and all kinds of other stuff.

Anyway, this morning I opened the update and it said that in 1997, Princess Diana was killed, and in a snap, it seemed like yesterday.

In the summer of 1997, we decided to go to Boston for Labor Day weekend. I've loved Boston since I was in my teens and I figured any town that made that kind of impression on a 13 year old was worth visiting as an adult, and boy was I right.

At that time in our lives, we were young(er), childless, and were moderately adventerous. We would also vacation so it would coincide with that city's baseball schedule so we could take in a game while out of town. I always enjoy visiting new major league parks and getting to see Fenway, even from the outside, was on my list of things to do before I died.

We were very excited to learn that Labor Day weekend was the innaugural weekend of Bud Selig's inter-league play, and that our own Atlanta Braves would be visiting the hallowed ground at 4 Yawkey Way, between Van Ness and Lansdowne Streets. Man, were we psyched.

Using most of her then travel industry clout, the wife got us a deal on a corner room at the Marriott at Copley Place. Our room overlooked the Charles River and the Prudential center as well as all of the Back Bay area of Beantown. As I said, we were in our mid to late 20's and looking for fun.

Oh, did I forget to mention that Boston has over 48 colleges in the city, and all of them started the week after Labor Day?

That meant that there were a bo-zillion kids with their parents parked everywhere unloading. It made a mess of traffic, but the socializing was great.

Anywho, we flew in, checked in and immediately hit the bar in the lobby of the Marriott. It had been a long day and we got in pretty late since we left after work on Thursday August 28th and were to return on Monday September 1st.

I did have a Peter Griffin moment after we went back to the room. The wife was getting ready for bed and when she came out, I was wrapped in the drapes with my ass pressed against the window and said "I'm mooning Baaaaaston, baby!!"

She was not impressed.

Over that weekend, we did everything you're supposed to do in Boston, including the Duck Tour, visiting Harvard and U. Mass., eating at Legal Seafood and drinking in the Back Bay. We also spent an evening at Fanueil Hall drinking beer with some nice college kids who'd driven from Milwaukee to see the game and were staying in a campground about 40 miles outside of Boston propah.

We took the five dollah tooah of Fenway, which kicked total ass. You got a 45 minute tour that included visiting a luxury suite, roaming thru the press box, sitting in the visitor's dugout and walking around on the dirt (not the grass) on the field. I've got pictures of me all around the field at Fenway and sitting in the dugout.

We also had arranged tickets thru a friend of my dad's for a game or two. The first night, they didn't work out and we were left at the will call box on a sold out Friday night, 15 minutes before the national anthem of the first interleague game. The lady in the box felt bad for us however, and moments before the anthem started, she said I could buy two grandstand tickets if I wanted them. I didn't care how bad they were as long as we got into the game, so i said yes. I think they were either $16 or $20 a piece face value. We walked in, asked the usher where to go, and this was the view from our seats:

Yeah, that sucked plenty.

We then saw the Braves spend the weekend kicking the the bejesus out of the Sox. Fred McGriff was so good that on Sunday, after hitting two homers and driving in 6 or so runs, he was given a standing ovation by the Red Sox Nation. That was a classy moment.

We had just an amazing time. Beers were flowing, folks were laughing, we met nice people, ate amazing Italian sausages outside Fenway, drank my first ever 22 ounce Miller Lite in a plastic wide-mouthed bottle at the Cask and Flaggon, and had a blast.

Oh, I did forget to mention that at our Friday night visit to the Fens, we had many beers, and many afterwards. I'm sure that goes without saying, but I wanted the context to be right for the following story.

The next morning, I woke up around 9:30 or 10:00am, and decided I'd head down to the lobby for some sodas, a couple of bagels from the free continental breakfast, and possibly a paper. So I threw on some raggedy shorts, a t-shirt, no shoes or hat, and headed for the elevator with my key.

I hit down, the car stopped, I got in, and as I looked at my reflection in the doors, I realized that I was riding with John Smoltz, Mark Wohlers, and Jeff Blauser. I had not realized that the Braves were staying in our hotel.

When I got to the lobby, there were velvet ropes and security everywhere to keep the autograph hounds and lobby whores away from the players, and me in my glorified pj's, barefooted, and having not brushed my teeth.

We all rode the escalator together, then went our seperate ways as they got on the team charter and I got some bagels.

Nice.

So, that Saturday evening, after some cocktails with those very funny college kids from Wisconsin, we were riding back from Faneuil Hall to our hotel in a cab at about 3am. The cabbie had the radio on and we were talking with him, and he said "by the way, did you hear that Princess Diana was killed?"

No. we had not heard that.

Apparently, at around 7:30pm EDT, she had been killed in a car crash in France.

We went back to our room and stayed up watching CNN until 9am or so on Sunday, not believing what we were seeing.

I don't know why I was so mesmerized by the story. I didn't know her. She was royalty and famous for nothing initially but marrying a title carried by a cheating dolt.

But she had done so many good things for the less fortunate, and her efforts to rid the world of landmines had always impressed me. You didn't see princesses out wearing bomb jackets and helmets. You also didn't see anyone spending so much time with AIDS victims in Africa, not afraid of a disease that was still mysterious to many.

She was a great woman, flawed like everyone else, but in the end, she had made a difference.

I was sad that day. More than I thought I could be for someone I didn't know. I hope her life motivated folks to better themselves by doing nice things for others.

I also hope it made people think just a little about the cost of hero worship, celebrity, and the paparazzi that stalk them.