Despite the fact that he attends every single Boston Red Sox home game, if you asked Jose Magrass who won at the end of the night, he wouldn't be able to tell you. For the last 19 years, whether a Saturday night brawl with the Yankees, the team's three World Series victories, or even the 1999 All-Star Game, Magrass has been one of the few people in Fenway Park not paying attention to the on-field action. That's because he's one of the ballpark's vendors—in fact, Magrass might be the best vendor in Major League Baseball history.

"I'm a huge Sox fan. That's why I started working there," Magrass tells me. "I used to sneak into games as a kid before security was tight. Someone finally asked me, 'Why don't you just get a job here?' But I just wanted to watch the games, I didn't want to work."

Improbably, the diehard Sox fan became Fenway's best-selling vendor, a title he's held for much of the last decade. Magrass easily sells 300 hot dogs in a night—that's 10 bins weighing 40 pounds apiece in fewer than 9 innings. Working on commission, Magrass is so good he doesn't even need an off-season gig. He's frequently honored as an Aramark All-Star Vendor, the one Red Sox employee sent to work the All-Star Game even when it's at another team's park.

"Vendors are an integral part of the ballpark experience, especially at Fenway Park," says David Freireich, Aramark's head of corporate communications. "Not only is Jose among the best at his trade, but he serves as a mentor to younger vendors working their way up through the ranks."

Jose Magrass easily sells 300 hot dogs in a night at Fenway Park.

Magrass' seniority is a crucial strategic advantage. Before each game, workers select the one item they wish to sell, with more veteran vendors getting to pick first. Since Magrass ranks about 20th in Fenway seniority, some top items are often taken by the time he gets to choose. You'd think beer would be the best choice, but in Massachusetts you're not allowed to earn commissions on alcohol sales. Magrass rarely opts to sell brews. Commissions and tips ("Sox fans are pretty generous") is how Magrass likes to earn his money—which can reportedly surpass $500 in a single night.

"I like the reward of knowing that how good I do each night is how much I'm gonna get paid. It's in my DNA," Magrass explains.

But it's not just about the money. Stadium vending is a fun (and often a funny) job. Just a few hours before the 1st place Red Sox squared off against the Toronto Blue Jays, Magrass called me from the bowels of Fenway Park. From the strange condiment Matthew McConaughey prefers on his hot dogs to Pedro Martinez's favorite in-game snack, here's what he had to say:

Dice-K was better for sales than Tim Wakefield:

Rain delays are really bad for vendors, especially at Fenway. Most of the seats aren't covered, especially the good seats. So people go inside to eat. Video reviews are nice, they take time. Pitching changes are cool. Long games, scoring lots of runs, that's really good for us. Dice K [Daisuke Matsuzaka, a pitcher who worked at an agonizingly slow pace] was great for vendors. Friday night or Sunday afternoon, you see we got Dice K pitching, you knew you got an extra half hour to work. [Knuckleball pitcher Tim] Wakefield was the opposite: 2 hour games. It's 8:45 and you're already done for the night

Making side bets with fellow vendors:

There's a lot of trash talk among vendors, especially the better ones. Then the younger vendors will always say to me, "If I could just sell what you sell, I could make what you make." Some guy wanted to bet me I couldn't beat him selling pretzels or lemonade [low-selling items] all night. I hadn't sold pretzels since my first game ever! I still beat him by a few loads. Like any job, work can get boring and it's fun to spice things up.

The best topping for a hot dog, according to Matthew McConaughey:

Mustard is definitely the most popular hot dog topping. Mustard people have a lot of strange pride in mustard. They will actually yell at the ketchup people. Like, legitimately get upset and make fun of them for ordering ketchup on their hot dogs. Matthew McConaughey once ordered a hot dog and asked me for mayonnaise. We don't offer mayonnaise.

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Knowing your audience:

When it's cold out, hot dogs are pretty much the best-selling item. Maybe hot chocolate. Hot days it's water and lemonade. School just got out for summer? Cotton candy. Day games, lots of families there, lot of kids, Italian ices are gonna be big. I always try to position myself to have the best rows or best mobility. Home plate is good for water. It sells better there than it does in the right field corner. Obviously, you try to go to where the most expensive tickets are. Hot dog sales will stop in the 5th inning or so. But then ice creams sales pick up. By the 7th inning, you're done.

Peanuts are losing popularity:

When I started out, it was pretty much, like, hot dogs, peanuts, Cracker Jacks, ice cream, soda. Now you can get a meatball sub, some sushi, a million varieties of food if you're a fan. Peanuts and Cracker Jacks just don't sell like they used to. But when I go to a game [to watch], I still need my bag of peanuts.

On fans being too shy:

A lot of fans are super shy, which is kind of funny. I'll make eye contact when I feel they want a hot dog. They'll have their money out, but they won't even move. But I'm going up and down the row quickly. "Ah, I missed you last time you came by," they'll say. Then you should yell out, "HOT DOG!" I got bad vision, so I look for movement. Throw a hand up and I'll spot you. The people who train their kids to yell, I love that. "Nice job, little buddy," I always tell them.

Why vendors might have honey in their pockets:

It's tough every year. It's almost like playing a sport. I play basketball, and it's the same kind of thing. You're tired, but the whistle blows and you find the energy. Even after four games in a row, you get out there and feel your heart rate go up. They used to do double-headers more often—those will kill you. Your legs are jello by the end. Continuously yelling all game is probably the most exhausting thing though. It's something you can't replicate at the gym–all the interacting you have to do. At the end of a long homestand, I'll keep honey in my bag [for my sore throat] just in case.

Some guys have been vendors at Fenway for 40 years:

A lot of guys here started in the mid-'80s. This guy Bill Kearney, he's been here since 1976. He's in great shape, it's amazing. He sells Bud Light behind home plate. Still does 65 to 70 games a year or so.

The time Pedro Martinez got hungry in the dugout:

My buddy who got me the job, he once sold Cracker Jacks to Pedro in the dugout. He was working and Pedro gave him a whistle. "You want a bag?" He nods. So Danny throws him the bag and Pedro catches it. "Now where's my $4.25?" Pedro jokes: "Duquette will cover you" and points to the press box [referring to then-GM Dan Duquette]. Pedro laughs it off, tells my buddy to come back in the 6th inning—he obviously doesn't have his wallet on him in the dugout. So the 6th inning come around and Danny goes back. Pedro's looking for him, calls him over, throws him 20 bucks!

You could be buying your beers from an attorney:

Most of the other guys have primary jobs. Generally, most people wouldn't be able to do just Fenway [vending] as their job. But I'm single, I don't have kids. So I'm able to. My roommate works at John Hancock, then goes to Fenway after work. There are lots of finance guys. One vendor is a senior VP at the YMCA. It's a great job if you're a teacher. You have the summers off. We have guys that are lawyers now—I started working with them when they were in law school trying to earn extra money. It's a great job. You get to see your buddies and your friends every night. Pretty much a third of the vendors hang out in the off-season. We have a vendor Thanksgiving, Christmas parties, birthday parties. It's a hard job to ever give up.

The craziest days have already passed:

Fenway is a much tamer crowd than it used to be. Back in the day? Raucous. I wouldn't work Sox/Yankees in the bleachers back in the day. Too raucous. Fights, yelling. You couldn't sell anything. That doesn't happen any more though. Maybe it's because of the World Series wins. People are less angry. You just don't see that crazy behavior any more.

Aaron Goldfarb is the author of ,The Guide for a Single Man, and The Guide for a Single Woman.

Aaron Goldfarb Aaron Goldfarb lives in Brooklyn and is a novelist and the author of 'Hacking Whiskey.'

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