play ball

I'm a little bit concerned about the random sampling of society that I've been encountering at Fenway recently. And I think it's fair to say that it's a random sampling because when you live in and around Boston, being a baseball fan is basically a part of your DNA, so it's not like there's only one kind of person you'd see there.

Now, I don't have many requirements or expectations for you, the stranger sitting next to me in the ballpark. But I've been noticing that many of my new friends seem to fall into specific categories:

The Idiot. This guy yells, "Hey, Chop Suey!" at Matsui and "What's up, Gay Rod!" at A-Rod. Over and over. First of all, not even funny. Second of all, pretty offensive. Third of all, NOT EVEN FUNNY. If there's one thing that irritates the hell out of me, it's when people with no sense of humor, or else the most generic sense of humor in the world, think they're clever. And who are the people with this guy? Are they mortified, or are they just quieter Idiots themselves?

The Beer Thrower. I don't see much of this guy anymore since I upgraded from the bleachers, but he's still lurking around now and then. When did throwing stuff at each other become a legitimate outlet for expressing anger? I thought we all learned that lesson in the sandbox, somewhere between our education on indoor voices and flushing. I just wonder if he's the kind of guy who gets mad at work and hurls a stapler at Joanie from Accounting.

The Pink Hat. Like a Pink Hat herself, I have very little to say. I just can't give this girl any press. You all know how I feel about this one.

The Fighting Couple. The best example of this was a couple sitting next to me at a game last year who had about thirty seven beers each, screamed at each other, and took turns storming out. Are couples like that horribly matched or made for each other? I'm never sure.

The Insipid Commentator. "Wow, that pitch was 86 miles an hour! That's fast! Wow, that one was 84! How fast was that one? Can you see? I can't see it, pretzel guy's in the way. Can you...oh, wow, 92! That's the fastest one yet! Wow, 90. Holy cow! Wow, 92 again..."

The Drunk Guy Who Drunkenly Pontificates on My Dad's and My Hats While Drunk. I know, it never really gets old to see a guy with a Yankees hat sitting next to a girl with a Sox hat. But when you get drunk, your thoughtful commentary on the situation gets a little tiresome. You say pretty much the same thing to us that everyone else does, but it takes you longer and you swear more. You also kind of smell.

The Crying Woman. Last night was a first for this. Shortly after sitting down I noticed the woman next to me was sobbing. Now, I'm a pretty nice person, but this does pose a predictament...do you say something to her or not? And maybe something terrible happened to warrant the crying...maybe she and her husband had tickets to this game but then last night he was eaten by a bear. No wait, that's her husband next to her, and he doesn't seem concerned that she's a mess. Well, okay, maybe it's allergies...really, really bad allergies. Or maybe she's a LUNATIC. (In the end, I did ask her if she was okay. She smiled and said she was and thanked me for asking, but shortly thereafter became the Crowd Agitator...see below.)

The Crowd Agitator. Once she stopped crying, she decided that all the high school boys sitting behind us were clapping too loud, so she screamed at them. Yelling at someone for clapping too loud at a game is sort of like yelling at someone for eating popcorn too loud at the movies...they may in fact be kind of on the loud side, but you've just got no case. So, naturally, these kids laughed at her. The more they mocked her, the more furious she became, which is a pleasant dynamic to be able to witness firsthand. It went a little something like this:

CA: You CHILDREN need to STOP CLAPPING in my EARS! This is your FIRST WARNING!
Children: Shut up! Whatever, lady! We're at a GAME!
CA (stands up, hands on hips): DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANT TO SAY TO ME? DO YOU? HUH?
Children: Sit down, bitch!
CA's Husband: DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT SPEAKING TO MY WIFE LIKE THAT, YOU ADOLESCENT PUNK ASS BITCH MOTHERFUCKER!
CA: IF YOU LITTLE ASSHOLES HAVE SOMETHING YOU WANT TO SAY TO ME THEN I SUGGEST YOU SAY IT TO MY FACE!
CA's Husband: MOTHERFUCKING FUCKERS, ALL OF YOU!
CA (sits down and turns to me): Can you believe them?!
Me: (bursts into flames)