I hardly qualify as an expert on baseball — it is only recently, for example, that I figured out the infield fly rule had nothing to do with pesticide regulations — but I must say, I'm not in love with Fenway Park.

When historic preservationists talk about saving some particularly unique or important structure, they usually concentrate their attention on the external walls of the building. Fenway Park has little to recommend itself in this regard. Indeed, only one small part of the original structure, a section along Yawkey Way, dates back to the park's original construction. The rest of it is newer.

The park itself is built like a fortress. Huge green roll-down doors create a sense of desolation. The surrounding streets, dark and (on non-game days) lifeless, reflect that. Try this experiment. Walk along Yawkey Way or Ipswich Street some summer weekday when the Sox aren't in town. The streets are empty of pedestrians (or even automobiles!). There are virtually no open retail stores. This should be an area that is bustling with activity.

The interior of the park is hardly better. The promenades are dank, the rest rooms stink, and if your idea of a decent meal is anything more than a hot dog that's been sitting in water for five hours, you're out of luck.

Fenway's seats are small, cramped and inaccessible to those in wheelchairs. Views of the field are often obstructed. If you are so unlucky as to sit along the third base line, there's a whole chunk of the left field outfield that becomes invisible. And if you're sitting in right field, you have to turn ninety degrees to see the pitcher.

So what's to like?

The field itself. As one emerges from the gloom, the green can be breathtaking. Fenway's odd jigs and jags make the "lyric little bandbox of a ballpark" about which John Updike rhapsodized a place that delivers a special and exciting brand of baseball.

In a perfect world, I would tear down everything, keeping only the field and building the rest anew.

The Red Sox argue that can't be done; they say the cost of such on-site construction, including the loss of seats while the park is being rebuilt, make that course of action prohibitive. So they have instead proposed a new ballpark adjacent to the old.

The new plan moves home plate southwest by 206 yards. The field has the same orientation as before; if the sun's in your eyes now, it'll be in your eyes in the new park. And the new park keeps all that's of interest in the old while improving seating and common areas. Indeed, except for the fact that the park isn't at the same longitude and latitude, it keeps Fenway Park pretty much the same way it is now.

All of that's to the good. But there are problems as well. One is that the new park is bigger by 10,000 seats. The second is that the new park is a lot closer to the West Fenway residential neighborhood. Indeed, it borders on Boylston Street, the traditional boundary between the residential and commercial sections of the Fenway.

Residents are understandably nervous about all of this. One of the beauties of the proposals to save Fenway Park is that it keeps the ball field where it is now, with a large buffer between the stadium and the community. But the new ballpark — with 10,000 more patrons — is right next to the residential community and the buffer is gone.

A second concern is Boylston Street itself. That street, a main boulevard, is problematic right now. Residents had hoped that with the redevelopment of the old Sears warehouse, the street itself would begin to spring to life. The goal was to create a street like Newbury Street in the Back Bay or Tremont Street in the South End — one that mixes retail and residential uses.

But the current plans for a new Fenway Park seem to run counter to this dream. The exterior of the new park is admittedly better than the old one — the roll-down doors are gone and the new structure has a lighter, more airy feel. But it still threatens to create a dead zone along Boylston Street that would make it more reminiscent of Yawkey Way.

With some effort, some money and some changes, these problems may be resolvable. But while baseball fans thrill to the promised new park inside Fenway's walls, remember:  What happens outside those walls matters too.