Monday, September 27, 2004

Down In Front!

There were 40,000 people at the Angel game last night and I think every one of them stood in front of our seats and obscured our view at some point during the game. It’s shocking how oblivious people are to the fact that there are people sitting directly behind them, more interested in watching baseball than witnessing their purchase of an ice cream sandwich or telling their friends (via cell phone) to look for them on TV.

We have become pretty adept over the years at barking at people to move out of our view. We were particularly boisterous last night because a) the game was loud, b) the game was exciting and we wanted to see it, c) there was an inordinate amount of human obstruction, and d) the ushers in charge of keeping people out of our way were too busy passing out thunder sticks.

The secret is saving the most inspired admonitions for the people who can’t kick our asses. Old ladies with walkers are prime targets.

In the second inning, Neighbor Jim was two or three beers in and, god bless him, he hollered at the wrong person. The offender was a little on the portly side, gruff, numerous tats. We’ll call him Jose.

Jose and his party of three stopped right in front of us and were examining their tickets. They stood there for three or four pitches, looking left, looking right, looking down at the ticket again. Can it really be that hard?

We can’t see a thing.

“Find a seat!” Jimbo screamed at him.

Jose didn’t like that. He turned around to see who had the gonads to yell at him, spotted Jim and approached in a highly confrontational way. His speech was filled with derivations of a particular expletive meant to describe conjugal relations.

“I’m trying to find my [conjugal] seat, mother[conjugator], alright,” Jose yells, now practically nose to nose with Jimbo. “I just [conjugating] got here so why don’t you shut the [conjucation] up.”

They went back and forth a bit, Jimbo trying to avoid a brawl with the younger, bigger man and me, with a front row seat for the altercation, trying to avoid wetting my pants.

Finally, Jose must have noticed that his blood alcohol level was dangerously low and he turned and walked away, toward the beer cart. No good-byes. No “nice talking with you.” He just leaves.

Can you believe the gall of some people?


At 5:49 PM, Blogger Mister Underhill said...

You have to be extra careful on bat night, that's for sure.

At 6:06 AM, Blogger Fadedpaperdoll said...

His speech was filled with derivations of a particular expletive meant to describe conjugal relations.

I love that.

At least it made for an interesting night.


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