I recently got my hands (and my arteries) on The Sausage Guy’s Ballpark Grill Box, known affectionately—or threateningly—as the “Third Base” package. For the uninitiated, this is a 9.45-pound commitment to meat, nostalgia, and what I can only assume is a gentle dare from a Boston legend. Because nothing says “I love myself” like vacuum-sealed links that show up on your doorstep with a passive-aggressive note from the dry ice saying, “I tried.”
Let’s start with logistics, because nothing gets me going like shipping details. The sausages arrived precisely two days after ordering, just as promised, wrapped in Cryovac, as if they were being prepped for sausage space travel. The dry ice had mostly vanished into whatever dimension dry ice disappears to—but the meat was still cold, and more importantly, not actively plotting revenge via salmonella. Small wins.
The “Third Base” package comes with seven vacuum-sealed bundles, each carefully prepared raw so you can experience the thrill of cooking without the joy of deciding what to eat. You get:
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Chicken sausage (for when you want to pretend you’re making a healthy choice)
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Asian sparerib sausage (a chaotic fusion that works)
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Hot sausage (mercifully labeled as such)
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Sweet sausage (for balance, I guess?)
All links are 8 inches long, which is somehow more than I needed to know and yet exactly the kind of marketing bravado I expect from a guy who started grilling outside Fenway Park in the ’90s.
Now, let’s talk flavor. I cooked mine on the grill, because if you’re going to pretend you’re tailgating in your backyard with a box of Boston’s finest, you might as well do it with char marks. The hot sausage had a spicy kick and a whisper of regret—exactly how I like it. The sweet sausage tried to charm me with its mild manners, while the Asian sparerib was surprisingly complex, as if it had read a book or two. The chicken sausage was fine, which is the nicest thing I’ve ever said about chicken sausage.
The entire box is a meat lover’s fever dream—available here for $99.99. That’s right, folks. For the price of a modest grocery run or one-and-a-half Red Sox tickets (in the bleachers, in the rain), you too can spend a week eating like a concession stand operator during playoff season.
Of course, no review is complete without a nod to The Sausage Guy himself—David Littlefield, who turned a pandemic business pivot into a full-blown carnivorous empire. What started as a noble effort to feed frontline workers has now evolved into a nationwide sausage shipping operation. Because when life gives you a global health crisis, clearly the answer is pork.
Would I order again? Sure—once I can feel my face again and my grill recovers from whatever just happened. If you’re feeling nostalgic for the ballpark or need to assert your dominance at a weekend BBQ, this box might be your answer. Or your cholesterol’s final exam. Either way, worth it.