In the comments to this morning's shock Alphonso post, esteemed contributor Local Bargain Jerk left the following detailed account of his harrowing Saturday at Yankee Stadium. In the particulars of his struggle, he bears witness for us all.
Here's my rant.
I went to that miserable, meaningless, torpid, piece of shit excuse for a baseball game yesterday. I went with my girlfriend, who couldn't care less about baseball and a guest of ours from Russia who'd never been to a baseball game. I thought it would keep their heads in the game if I taught them how to score.
That's a good plan, except when you find yourself saying over and over, "Ok, that's a 6-3. Ok that's another 6-3. Ok, now that's a flyout to 7." Over and over and fucking over.
Seated next to us were 3 doughy older people from metro Boston. They were all decked out in their shitbag team regalia. I decided to be polite.
They were 3 of those provincial, parochial, insular, and annoying New Englanders who think their way of life is the bee's knees and all the rest of us don't have a clue. You know the type I mean: the kind who believe that meaningful life doesn't exist outside their stupid I-495 bypass. They showed up with a fucking superior attitude and were dissing everything around them.
Right from the get-go, I knew we weren't going to be able to see anything in front of us that would allow me to make a spirited defense of The Yankee Way.
So I decided I'd just be friendly, versus trying to give them grief. Early on in the game, Pedroia came to the plate and I said "I hope you guys don't mind, but I'm going to stand in front of you during Pedroia's at bat." They looked at me and said, without any hint of levity or friendliness, "Why not? Everybody else is." The bastards were serious.
I decided not to speak to them after that. In the 7th or 8th of the horror show of a game, the patriarch came back with a load of cheese fries. When it comes to ballpark food, I'm not into anything other than a couple of dogs and maybe a bag of peanuts. I'll tell you, however, this guy's cheese fries looked pretty darned good. His wife even said, "Tom, those look good." And, rather than deigning to say ANYTHING positive, this pathetic little Masshole dweeb said, with his pathetic little Masshole sneer, "Well, they'd better be good. I had to walk 16 sections just to get them."
All this from 3 superior-as-all-hell Massholes. People whose team plays in that pathetic little shitbox known as Fenway. You know, the ballpark that looks like it was put together by the Little Rascals. Where, on steamy August nights, if too many guys flush their urinals all at once, they all overflow and sheets of piss run out the door across their uneven promenade. And after walking through the piss back to your seats, you have to sit sideways to fit your legs in. The place where the beer comes in 16-ounce cups only.
It hit me then that these 3 dipshits had no interest whatsoever in watching the game. They had taken their little tour bus down to Yankee stadium and their sole mission was to gather evidence and war stories to bring home to bitch about to their like-minded, provincial, parochial, and insular little Beantown friends. I could just hear the patriarch saying "An I hadda walk SIXTEEN freakin' sections just to get some friggin' french fries and all the people were doin' was standin' up and blockin' our view and it was so bad the guy next to us even joked about it."
And, the whole time, I'm trying to convince the two people who I went with that it's fun to watch baseball.
While we sat in front of a field on which nothing fun was happening.
The game utterly and totally sucked. Three up, three down, no hope, no nothing.
Headley's solo home run in the 8th was "whipped cream on horse shit", as my friend's dad used to say.
It was hot. It was humid. The Yanks are in a torpor but I fully expect the listless bastards to pound the Sox tonight 16-2. Why? Because it will allow that fucking clown Randy Levine to say, "See? We're buyers!"
We went out for dinner after the game and I had way too much to drink.
Grrr.
I went to that miserable, meaningless, torpid, piece of shit excuse for a baseball game yesterday. I went with my girlfriend, who couldn't care less about baseball and a guest of ours from Russia who'd never been to a baseball game. I thought it would keep their heads in the game if I taught them how to score.
That's a good plan, except when you find yourself saying over and over, "Ok, that's a 6-3. Ok that's another 6-3. Ok, now that's a flyout to 7." Over and over and fucking over.
Seated next to us were 3 doughy older people from metro Boston. They were all decked out in their shitbag team regalia. I decided to be polite.
They were 3 of those provincial, parochial, insular, and annoying New Englanders who think their way of life is the bee's knees and all the rest of us don't have a clue. You know the type I mean: the kind who believe that meaningful life doesn't exist outside their stupid I-495 bypass. They showed up with a fucking superior attitude and were dissing everything around them.
Right from the get-go, I knew we weren't going to be able to see anything in front of us that would allow me to make a spirited defense of The Yankee Way.
So I decided I'd just be friendly, versus trying to give them grief. Early on in the game, Pedroia came to the plate and I said "I hope you guys don't mind, but I'm going to stand in front of you during Pedroia's at bat." They looked at me and said, without any hint of levity or friendliness, "Why not? Everybody else is." The bastards were serious.
I decided not to speak to them after that. In the 7th or 8th of the horror show of a game, the patriarch came back with a load of cheese fries. When it comes to ballpark food, I'm not into anything other than a couple of dogs and maybe a bag of peanuts. I'll tell you, however, this guy's cheese fries looked pretty darned good. His wife even said, "Tom, those look good." And, rather than deigning to say ANYTHING positive, this pathetic little Masshole dweeb said, with his pathetic little Masshole sneer, "Well, they'd better be good. I had to walk 16 sections just to get them."
All this from 3 superior-as-all-hell Massholes. People whose team plays in that pathetic little shitbox known as Fenway. You know, the ballpark that looks like it was put together by the Little Rascals. Where, on steamy August nights, if too many guys flush their urinals all at once, they all overflow and sheets of piss run out the door across their uneven promenade. And after walking through the piss back to your seats, you have to sit sideways to fit your legs in. The place where the beer comes in 16-ounce cups only.
It hit me then that these 3 dipshits had no interest whatsoever in watching the game. They had taken their little tour bus down to Yankee stadium and their sole mission was to gather evidence and war stories to bring home to bitch about to their like-minded, provincial, parochial, and insular little Beantown friends. I could just hear the patriarch saying "An I hadda walk SIXTEEN freakin' sections just to get some friggin' french fries and all the people were doin' was standin' up and blockin' our view and it was so bad the guy next to us even joked about it."
And, the whole time, I'm trying to convince the two people who I went with that it's fun to watch baseball.
While we sat in front of a field on which nothing fun was happening.
The game utterly and totally sucked. Three up, three down, no hope, no nothing.
Headley's solo home run in the 8th was "whipped cream on horse shit", as my friend's dad used to say.
It was hot. It was humid. The Yanks are in a torpor but I fully expect the listless bastards to pound the Sox tonight 16-2. Why? Because it will allow that fucking clown Randy Levine to say, "See? We're buyers!"
We went out for dinner after the game and I had way too much to drink.
Grrr.
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7 comments:
Mustang, thank you for bringing this front and center.
Because I discovered while writing this that blogger.com has a 4K-character limit to posts, I found that I needed to clip my conclusion.
My conclusion was this: This team is so bad that Yankee fans going to games actually need to sit there and take a load of shit from know-nothing Bostonians. Oh, sure, we can argue and say, "Wait, just which team is it that has the 27 Rings?" and things like that. But, as I found out Saturday, as soon as we say things like this, Sabathia serves up a 3-run bomb to Boston's #9 hitter and the Yanks are confounded by a guy who was just called up from Triple A Pawtucket.
(Oh, by the way, the Red Sox pitcher had been sent down to the minors because he was tipping his pitches and his ERA had ballooned to 8.59. While at Triple A, he went 0 for 4. But he was called up to face our boys, and they made him look like the second coming of Walter Johnson.)
I'll write my conclusion again: This team sucks so hard that we have to sit there and take shit from friggin' Massholes. This is NOT the Yankee Way.
If you don't believe any of the above, you can check my girlfriend's and the Russian's scorecards.
Grrrrr.
Thank you for posting. Reinforces so much of what we know to be true about both the Yankees and about the fucking assholes who are devoted to the Red Sox.
I LIKED THE "WHIPPED CREAM ON HORSESHIT" QUOTE.....SO ACCURATE....... AND EVER SINCE 2004, EVERYBODY IS A FUCKING MASSHOLE...... MATT DAMON, BEN AFFLECK, FUCKING MARK WAHLBERG...ALL MASSHOLES...AFTER 2004, THEY ALL CAME OUT OF THE WOODWORK LIKE ROACHES WITH THE BULLSHIT BOSTON HAT...... ..MASSHOLES, AND THEIR EVEN WORSE COUSINS, METASSHOLES ARE RUNNING RAMPANT....AND WHILE ALL THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON, WE STILL GOT GUYS LIKE NICK GOODY, RICHARD BLEIER, AND RONALD TORREYES ON OUR ROSTER.....YOU ARE SO RIGHT LBJ....THIS IS NOT THE YANKEE WAY!
Absolutely great comment.
My cousin and her husband love Boston, love the Red Sox. Otherwise very nice people.
We all grew up in the same area. I don't know where they went wrong.
John M:
I have a number of good friends who are Boston fans. One of them has been a season ticket holder since 1983 with his brother. He was a classmate of mine in college. He is a professor at Harvard Medical School. He's got a record collection that's unbelievable. He's not a dick. It sounds like your cousin and her husband aren't either.
When my friend and I go to the game, we talk about our teams' respective issues. Sometimes we talk about the Rolling Stones. He often asks me to go when the Yanks are in Fenway. We pine for the 1990s/2000s when the rivalry was fun.
Unfortunately, I find that my friend and your cousin are different than many of the others up there. I wouldn't go so far as to say the good guys are in the minority, but I would say that a full third are like the Massholes I sat next to in Yankee Stadium. Like the douche bag who punched Gary Sheffield when he went over to catch the ball. Like the ass hat Red Sox employee who climbed into the Yankee bull pen and started whipping up the crowd until Jeff Nelson and Karim Garcia took matters into their own hands and kicked his sorry ass.
When I moved out of NYC, I lived and worked in Metro Boston for two and half years. Two and a half miserable years of dealing with their insular outlook, their malevolent driving habits, and their disdain of anything having to do with New York City, including and especially the Yanks.
I used to give my coworkers grief because the Boston "All News All the Time" radio station isn't that. It's all news, all the time, except when the Celtics are on, because then it's the Celtics station. In NYC, we have 1010 WINS and 880 WCBS. You don't just get the scores twice an hour on those stations, you get intra-game, mid-inning scores of all 15 games being played on any given night. I used to say to my co-workers, "It's what other cities call a 'sports report'."
On Boston's "All News" radio station sports reports during the baseball season, you get the Red Sox score, news about the Celtics, news about the Bruins, and news about the Patriots. The sports segment is finished off by a sentimental puff piece about some kid with cancer who was visited in Southie by a backup Pats offensive lineman. Twice an hour. Every hour.
When I travel on business to other cities, I love seeing everyone wear their colors and hats and stream into the stadium with their kids where they root, root, root for their home teams. When they find out I'm a Yanks fan, they say, with big grins on their faces, something like "Uh, oh, watch out for THIS guy!" or they say "My mother's brother was the biggest Yanks fan on the planet", or they say, "Jeez, you guys are having a tough couple of years. What's happening over there?" In other words, going to a baseball game out of town is fun. You get to talk to the other fans and find out what their take is on things.
What they DON'T say, EVER, is "These people are standing up in front of the batter while I'm trying to watch. I can't believe this place. I can't believe these people. I can't believe I just had to walk 16 sections to get cheese fries."
I have never been the same since living and working in Boston all those years ago.
I come by my venom honestly.
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