Sitting in my hotel room in Baltimore tonight, after a much needed stiff drink, watching the CNN loops of the Marathon bombing is surreal - because I was just there.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, even Monday morning - either walking through or riding in a taxi through that exact area, staying in the hotel with the Rays team a couple blocks away, and now seeing it as the scene of such horrible chaos.

At the time of the explosions, I, along with several other reporters, was in the visiting clubhouse at Fenway Park, talking to Rays players about the game they had just lost, which obviously now seems so trivial. It wasn't until we got back up to the press box and settled in to start writing that we became aware of the first reports of the explosions.

From the press box, we couldn't see anything, though one of writers who was there at the time said, in retrospect, he may have heard one of the blasts without knowing what it was.

But what I could still hear, loud and clear, was the sad remnant, the horrifying wailing of the sirens from the steady stream of ambulances and emergency vehicles headed to the site.

And I'm sure it's a sound I will remember for a long time.

The Rays were still in the clubhouse watching the news reports on TV, then boarded their bus and made it to Logan Airport, and onto their charter flight to Baltimore before the airport was temporarily shut down, all flights in and out grounded. Though a few, such as New Hampshire native Sam Fuld, had family and friends in the area, none apparently were impacted.

Guessing that the airport would reopen, and my 8 p.m. Southwest flight to Baltimore might be able to leave on schedule, I decided to head out around 5 p.m. and try to get to the airport.

And, to be honest, I felt better about leaving Fenway Park. Not knowing who was behind the explosions and what their agenda was, the thought briefly crossed my mind that the landmark stadium could be an addiitonal target.