Monday
Playing Ball
Dear Fifty-something-year-old Fan Man,
You'll think I don't understand, but I do. Oh, I really, really do. I lived in Massachusetts for more than twenty years. Celtics. Patriots. Red Sox. Bruins. You know them and you love them, or people will throw your ass out of the car somewhere between Sharon and Worcester, at 3 a.m., in late February. During an ice storm.
So, when we stopped, my young children and I, at the In-And-Out burger in San Mateo, I understand that our (opposing team) Red Sox hats jarred you. You had, like us, sat in the sun for some four hours. Perhaps you partook of a hearty $9 draft beverage, or two. And maybe the movement of my eight-year-old son, galloping cheerfully to our car, enraged you, not unlike the way movement upsets a bull. Even though your team won.
When you slammed your team's baseball cap against the picture window as if you were thrusting out your middle finger, I started to laugh. Though the way you exposed it at me, angry and full-frontal, was pure primate behavior (as if showing me that you had huge balls), what really caught my eye was your expensive, silk-screened tee shirt. "Jesus," it read, "Is the Way and the Light!"
It may not have occurred to you, but as spectators and not actually active members of our opposing teams, what each team does only needs affect our lives oh, so tangentially. It's called "playing" and it's called a "game" for a reason. And while we witnessed the game, we were not, you and I, actually involved. At all. We ate ice creams and checked email and stood in bathroom lines and maybe slapped a back or two - and that was the extent of it. Really. Feel free to downgrade that adrenaline level at any time.
And afterwards? We're not required, even if we are the most passionate fans ever, to scare small children with our post-game vehemence. It's still okay to say things like "Good game!" and "What a crowd!" and "Wow. Those twelve dollar garlic fries sure sucked, didn't they?"
Besides, everyone knows Baby Jesus totally hates your team.
Barbara
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3 comments:
Wow, that sucks. I mean, really! The A's swept the Sox, so the guy could have said, "Better luck next time," or something pleasant (with a hint of sarcasm) like that.
Although, who am I to talk. I've gone to A's-Red Sox games with Rich (it was our ritual when I lived in the Bay Area), and I could have easily gotten our asses kicked by egging on the fans around us. BUT, that was AT the game, not afterwards getting ice cream with kids.
Sorry to hear about that nasty experience.
I'm glad you didn't tell me this yesterday. I would have driven to San Mateo, found said man, and given him the beat down of his life. I would have worn my new Mets cap (thank you Lauri!) whilst shoving my foot straight up his ass. He would have been SO confused by it all, too, like "where did this Mets loving bitch come from, and what did I do to deserve this Baby Jesus?"
Wow. What an asshole.
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