Take me out to the Ballgame

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

As a preface to this post, there are two things you need to know about me:

First: I have a big family in South Jersey. South Jersey = Philly fans. Phillies, Philadelphia Eagles, Philadelphia Flyers, you name it. And I LOVE LOVE LOVE my Jersey family. What you are about to read is in no way a generalization of Philadelphia fans. It is a specific account of (what I hope) was a specific and limited occurrence.

Second: I have a hair-trigger temper. And I mean that in the most literal way possible. I have patience - to a point. And once you've crossed that point, you might as well bend over and kiss your derriere goodbye because you've just released a fury like no other. Anger issues? No. Just boundaries. That shouldn't be crossed.

This past weekend the Phillies were playing the Nationals in a three game series in DC. In a good spirited effort, the Nationals tried to "Take Back the Park" and sold early/discounted/packaged tickets to Nationals fans to fill the seats with Nationals fans. My husband and I, enjoying a good day at the ballpark, bought a block of tickets. So, on Saturday, we rolled up to Nationals Park in our best Nationals gear with family in tow, fully expecting to enjoy an afternoon of beers, hotdogs and baseball. What could be more American that that?

Our seats were right in front of a HUGE block of age twenty-thirty something Phillies fans who had probably been pregaming the 1pm game since the night before (I'm all for a good pregame, but at least be able to conduct yourself with some dignity in public). After I kicked one of them out of our seats (apparently reading the letter of the row on his ticket wasn't something he was taught in school), we all sat down. My husband was on one side of me and my father, a retired Army Ranger, on the other side. We were subjected to endless, mindless vulgar jeers aimed at the Nationals - each one including a word more vulgar than that prior (and not fit for any audience). The jeers didn't stop when they were down 7-1. The best (nonvulgar) jeer was that "the nationals stole their music from Philly." because of course, Philadelphia owns the rights to all sporting arena music. My goodness, they even heckled the 12 year boy who participated in the mid inning 'stealing second base game'.

Hearing a drunken fool scream "Werth-less" in my ear for a solid half an hour straight pushed me closer and closer to my limit. The sound of an inflatable maraca pounding behind my head almost sent me reeling. A steady stream of drunken kicks to the back of my seat almost sent me over the ledge. And finally, when said drunken fool accidentally hit my husband, I came close to full on losing it. I got up, turned around and screamed at him for being an inconsiderate buffoon. When the same drunken fool accidentally hit my father, I full on lost it. I got up again, turned around and screamed at him and his girlfriends to move him (for his safety, and to prevent me or my father from assaulting his fool self). My father was also screaming at him - in the same tone of voice he screamed at me when I was 12 and let my friend give me a second piercing in my ear.

Lessons learned? You never, never defy an Army Ranger. And you never, never piss off an Army Ranger's daughter.