How About a Little Respect

I recently enjoyed a great day that revolved around a trip to PetCo Park in San Diego, California.  I was the guest of my long-time friend—and life-long Yankees fan—Vic.  At the beginning of the season Vic went on line and bought two tickets to the first game of a three-game series between the Yankees and the Padres.  The next thing he did was send me a text informing me of that purchase and advising me that I’d be his guest at the game.

Vic is a good friend.

The second day of August was a long way in the future, but, since time keeps slippin’, slippin’, slippin’ in that direction, I knew the day would eventually arrive.  And when it dawned it was born in beautiful Southern California splendor; a perfect day for a game!

Vic and I made a day of it.  We left at about 1:00pm and drove to San Diego.  We pulled off the freeway somewhere south of the I-5 and I-8 junction and turned in to the first gourmet restaurant we came to.  I haven’t been to an Arby’s since the 1970’s so it was a nice treat for me.

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We ate and tried to connect to the Net-O-Sphere to find out how far we were from the stadium.  I’ve had my iPhone for about two-and-a-half years now so it would probably be of better use as a clay pigeon.  When I first got my phone, I was always connected via 3G.  Now I can rarely get 3G’s and, in its place, I am constantly shown a little circle that looks like a tiny sphincter which appears to indicate the corporate attitude of Apple and Verizon concerning my continued business with them.  My phone, could not even load Google Maps.  And it was flat out telling me that it could not connect to the Internet.

After a half hour of frustration he said, “I think there is a way we can park for free and take the Trolley down to the stadium.  I can’t even load a map here, though, so I don’t know where we’d find it.”

“Yeah,” I said.  “I remember a friend telling me once that you could take the Trolley right to the stadium.”

We scanned the dining room to discover that, other than the staff, we were the only patrons.

“You speak Spanish?” he asked.

“No.”

“Wasn’t that Spanish?”

What?!

Within a few minutes another customer came in and waited at the counter.  We gathered up our wrappers and dumped them into a trash can.  “Excuse me, sir?” I said as we approached the counter.  “We’re from out of town and—“

“Ah, going to the game, I see!”  Perhaps our hats and jerseys gave away our intentions.

“Yeah.  A friend once told me that you could park away from the stadium and take a trolley there.  Do you know if that’s true?”

He raised a hand to his chin.  “Hmmm… I have heard of that… but I’m not sure where you—“

From behind the counter we heard, “Jayce.  Jew cayng do dat.”  We turned to Eva who had previously taken our order.

“Is it difficult?” I asked.

“No!  Jew jess go down deece street deyn torn layft on Rosecrans.  Jew go onder dah breech and jew park.  Iss eecy!”

“OK!  Thank you, Eva!”

We waynt dat way and tornt on Rosecrans and saw dah breech.  Ahem…  Under the I-5 overpass was the Old Town Transit Center and, thanks to Vic’s eagle eye, we found a parking place in the crowded lot.  We approached the tracks and for the next couple of hours we studied the easy-to-follow transit instructions which were posted upon a huge sign.

“You wanna just go ask someone?” Vic finally said.

“I was just thinking the same thing…”

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We wended our way along a walkway or two, shadowed some people down a flight of stairs, under the tracks and up on the other side.  At the ticket booth we stepped up behind a man who was speaking to the attendant inside.  He wore a Mickey Mantle T-shirt.  The attendant was quoting him the fares and I said, “Oh, are you charging double for Yankees fans today?”

He turned to me and said, “Oh, here we g— Oh.  You’re Yankees fans, too.  I was wondering what kind of reception I’d get wearing this shirt.”

“It looks like there are plenty of Yankees fans here already,” I said.  And there were a lot of people sporting Yankees gear already lining the tracks, awaiting the Green Line to the Stadium.

The trolley ride was uneventful and the views of the city were quite nice.  People were more than friendly.  Even those few who wore Padres gear!   We arrived at PetCo at 4 o’clock.  It was still three hours before game time and an hour before the gates were opened.  Eventually we went in and looked around the beautiful stadium, before finding our seats high above home plate.

As the seats began to fill, there were way more Yankees fans in attendance than home town fans.  That could easily be explained by the fact that the Padres are about 15 games out of the hunt in their division.  Fans like to come out when their team is winning.  The Yankees aren’t playing any better but the overabundance of Yankees fans was, I’m sure, due to the rarity of them playing in San Diego.  And the SoCal Yanks fans were excited to see a game with their team in their own town.  There were smiles and boisterous greetings from other fans.  That, coupled with the laid back attitude of San Diegans, aided me in feeling I could enjoy the game with my skull un-cracked.

There was a fellow a few rows below us who came to the game with his face painted like a baseball with the interlocking-NY on each cheek.  Even I, who sports Yankees ink on two locations on my body, felt he was overdoing it a bit.  In your own stadium?  Sure.  Go nuts.  But to be that zealous as a visiting fan seemed a little obsessive to me.

And he got worse from there.

During batting practice, his continuing chant of “LET’S GO YANKEES!” at the top of his lungs was cute for the first 45 minutes.  But turning to face the crowd to elicit our participation and then berating us for not demonstrating his level of enthusiasm began to even wear on me by the third inning.  Soon I was exchanging exasperated glances with other Yanks fans, each of us saying to the other with irritated expressions that This guy is giving New Yorkers and Yankees fans a bad name!

When the Padres began to build a lead and the few home town fans were cheering loudly, he turned to the crowd above us and gave them two middle fingers raised high into the air as he swept his body in a half-circle rotation like some sort of go bleep yourself radar antenna.  Plus, he did it more than once!

At that point I looked forlornly at Vic, my chin in my palms.  OK, I am a fan of the Yankees.  I’m unhappy that they are losing.  But—and I can’t believe I’m about to say this—it’s just a game.  And we are guests in this stadium!  Have a little class, dude!  Be nice!  Be a good sport!  If a Padres fan had tried the same thing in Yankee Stadium, he would have soon found himself strung up from a flag pole.

A few people taunted him in return.  But everyone who did was nice about it!  I was amazed and proud of the home town peeps.  This guy was beyond being obnoxious and they were still kind to him.  Bravo, people of San Diego!  When they tried nicely to ask him to not be so vulgar in front of their children, his response was, “Hey!  I’m from Jersey!”  (I’ll refrain from comment on that and leave you to fill in your own here…)

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What has happened to sportsmanship in this country?

When I used to go to see the Yankees in Anaheim in the 1990’s, there were more Yankees fans in attendance than Angels fans and we both cheered (loudly) for our respective teams.  But once they won a World Championship, the home town fans now outnumber us “visitors.”  That’s good!  I could be happy for them, except that Yankees fans now get ice thrown at them (me).  And they’re just as bad as fans in Yankee Stadium!

Last year, Angels rookie-phenom, Mike Trout, made his first visit to Yankee Stadium.  Having grown up in New Jersey, he is a huge fan of Derek Jeter.  The two met before the first game and Trout asked for and received a few autographed items (including a jersey) from the Yankees Captain.  Jeter found out that Trout had family and friends unable to attend some of the series due to the unavailability of tickets.  Jeter then gave his private box—a $15,000 value—to Trout for the second game so that his family and friends could not only come and see Trout play, but sit in freakin’ luxury as a guest of Jeter.

Jeter’s generosity and Trout’s gratitude were widely publicized on both coasts.  Yet the next time the Yankees came to Anaheim, the fans booed him.  Personally, I can’t see how anyone can boo Derek Jeter.  He’s played the game with class and humility.  Yes, it’s okay to boo players on the opposing team.  I boo players on the RedSox.  And I applaud players on the RedSox.  Hell, I’d love to meet David Ortiz and shake his hand.  But for Angels fans to boo Jeter after he’d treated their star rookie the way he did demonstrates to me an extreme lack of class.

To demonstrate the other end of this spectrum, about three seats to my left that night in San Diego, sat a young man wearing a RedSox jersey.  At first I was confused by this until I noticed his wife wearing a Yankees Jersey.  How that marriage works, I have no idea, but he was obviously there for his wife, yet needed to display his Sox alliance.

This is the final season for Yankees closer, Mariano Rivera; another great athlete who plays with quiet humility.  On his final visit to each stadium this season, opposing teams have been presenting him with gifts signifying Rivera’s contribution to the game, his charity work off the field and his all-time Saves record.  Presenting the gifts that night (five custom beach cruisers for Mariano and his family) was former saves leader, Padres great, Trevor Hoffman.  While Yankees fans stood to applaud Rivera (and the gift), I noticed some Padres fans standing as well.  Then I looked to Mr. Redsox to my left.  He wasn’t standing but, across the open seats, I saw him applauding Rivera.

When he got up to get a hot dog he met my glance with the wary eye of a rival.  I patted him on the shoulder and said, “I saw you applauding Rivera.  You’re a class act, Bud.”

He nodded, smiled and said, “The man deserves it.”

That’s class.  That’s sportsmanship.  That’s being a true human.

Do I hate it when the Redsox win?  Hell yeah!  Do I hate their players?  Well, in the 2004 ALCS, I did pray that Curt Schilling’s bloody Achilles tendon would explode and blow little tiny ankle bone shards into his ass so he could never sit again.  But, for the most part, no.

Why can’t people root for their teams without hating the fans of the opposing team?  We’re basically the same; we’re just rooting for different teams.  Yes, there are obnoxious people in the world, but I wish people would calm down a bit.  Enjoy the evening!  There are men and women sitting in foxholes around the world so you can have this privilege.  Be happy you are at a baseball game with your friends and family!  Cheer for your team but acknowledge the good play of your opponent.  And if you’ve painted your face and are screaming like a drunken idiot and venting your Yankees-suck-this-year-frustrations by insulting and antagonizing the fans of the home team, I respectfully encourage you to sit the fuck down.

The Padres beat the Yankees that night, but I had a great day.  It’s a beautiful city and it’s a beautiful ball park.  Thank you to all the nice people of San Diego for your hospitality and thank you Vic for being a true friend!