San Francisco Giants vs. Seattle Mariners
Safeco Field, June 17, 2006
You begin to hear the rumblings in the third inning. Maybe it's just a singular outburst and it won't occur again, you rationalize. After all, this is a ballpark and we're all adults. Surely people know when that they've had enough. Their mind will say, "OK, this my fifth beer here at the park and I do think I am being a bit vocal." They will think that, won't they?
"That guy in accounting is such a fuck! He had to fuck somebody to get that job!"
"Hey, watch the language, man. We're in the 100 level. Mind yourself."
"What, they haven't heard the word 'fuck' before?"
My friend, Chris Brooks, took me to the game and we were enjoying it. Well, not the fact that my Giants were getting swamped, at that point in the third it was 4-0 on the way to a 9-1 victory for the Mariners. We were swapping stories, talking baseball, having a good time. And then the above exchange happened two rows directly behind us. And like most Seattle crowds, everybody went silent either hoping the loudmouth would behave or pass out. It seemed as though his friends did quell the on-job commentator for the time. There would be an over-extended "Go Mariners" and a silly "Ichiro" chant from him for the next two innings but nothing that required a stare or comment.
Until the sixth inning. The lightning rod came up to bat again. Barry Bonds. Barry coming to the plate, as he does everywhere this season except in San Francisco, causes the crowd to boo lustily or clap vigorously. The lodmouth awoke and he had pure vitriol for number 25.
"Hey, hey, Bonds is coming up! HEY BONDS! YOU'RE A LOSER! YOU'RE A GODDAMN CHEATER AND A LOSER! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! BONDS, YOU'RE A BIG FAT LOSER AND CHEATER! HEY BARRY! BARRY! YOU'RE A BIG FAT NIGGER!"
Chris and I looked at each other. "Did he just say..." I asked with Chris giving me no time to finish. "Yes, he did."
Both of us turned to face the man and told him to shut up. There was a stout man sitting next to me putting mustard on his hot dog. He also had had enough of the neanderthal. He turned around a moment after Chris and I and he went a few decibels louder than us.
"Listen, you jerk. I've been hearing your crap throughout the game and I've had enough. I'm trying to enjoy the game with my wife and you have succeeded in ruining it for us."
The loudmouth took the "who, me?" approach. How did he offend, he kept asking. The stout man kept telling him to shut up. The stout man's wife was imploring her husband to let it go. A person on the aisle left to go get an usher. It quieted for just a second. All turned back their attention to the game. We didn't see how, but Bonds got on second base. Loudmouth had to say something.
"HEY BONDS! YOU'RE A FAGGOT!"
Well, good, he had to go full circle in offending everybody, I guess. Chris, myself, and the stout man turned around again. Even his friends were telling him he was an idiot. The loudmouth couldn't understand how he was making everybody angry. He knew what this was. This was a violation of his rights!
"Can't a guy get a beer and enjoy himself at the ball game? Golly gee." He really did say "golly gee".
Why is it that when guys get too wasted, does something stupid, aand gets called on it, it's an infringement on their rights to have a good time?
When I went to Fenway Park in Boston in 2005, three times security had to be called in to this two row section in right field. I couldn't see what was happening, but there were a bunch of shirtless men jeering security and all around them. One was draped in an American flag. The fourth time security was summoned, the Boston police came also. Eight gentlemen were removed and led down the steps. Some around them applauded. The last of the crew being ejected was shouting like a throw back to campus disturbance days. "I thought this was America!", he kept chanting as he disappeared from sight. Was he expecting someone to start chanting, "The whole world is watching!"? Or maybe just "ESPN is watching!"?
"We have the right to get drunk and act like assholes. I'm an American, dammit. You owe me!"
Something like that? Add that to the constitution, perhaps?
I keep thinking of the keg scene from Dazed and Confused when the tough guy, Clint, sums it all up for us: "I came here to do two things; kick some ass and drink beer. And we're almost out of beer."
After his friends had literally held him down, the loudmouth hushed a bit. His main purpose was now to apologize to the stout man. He offered his hand in friendship. He asked if he could look him in the eye to sincerely apologize. The stout man wouldn't budge. Wouldn't talk to him, shake his hand, nor look at him. The loudmouth insisted that he shake his hand. I turned to him.
"Look, the man doesn't want to talk to you. Give it a rest, willya?" I said somewhat diplomatically.
"No ones's talking to you, Bonds lover."
I laughed.
It was at this time when Alcohol Enforcement showed up and escorted the now silent loudmouth up the steps. He actually looked sheepish. His friends begrudgingly went with him, probably to take him to a bar and tell him what a redneck, backwards jerk he is. You think?
The game was still going, our viewing had resumed. The beer vendor went by. "Last call!"
"You want one?" Chris asked.
"Sure."
posted by paul shipp @ 4:26 PM
1 Comments:
My favorite post so far, right here.
Post a Comment
<< Home