July 31, 2008

10 Reasons You Should Stop Being a Sports Fan

You wear fashionable sports merchandise.
Why wear what everyone else is wearing? You have to be different and cool. You want to stand out in the crowd and let everyone know that you set the trends.

You attend games in a suit, in the lower sections, and spend more time talking to a client or on your cell phone.
Real fans hate you. You get the good company seats, show up whenever, and pay more attention to selling your shit service to a client than to the incoming line drive at your head.

You are more interested in the food selection than what's going on in the game.
Your typical game day attire consists of sweatpants or basketball shorts so that your elastic waistband can expand as your gorge on your third sausage and pepper sandwich. Everytime a vendor is in your section, you quickly scan what they're selling and decide whether or not you want to pay $7 for another hot pretzel. You do, of course.

You spend the entire game bitching about the food prices, how boring the game is, or anticipating what you're plans are after the game.
You're the type of person that's only happy when you're miserable. Nothing makes you happy so you take it upon yourself to let everyone know that you're unhappy.

You come late, leave early.
You know what time the game starts, yet you still show up an hour into the game. After a while, you decide to head home before the game is even over and it doesn't matter if it's a close score. You've got to beat the traffic! Surely worth the $90 ticket.

You speak loud enough so you think the people around you will believe you're some sort of expert. And you also look around after each shitty joke.
You know it all. You bring three friends with lesser knowledge of the game and spout obvious statistics to make yourself sound smarter. You want everyone in your section to think of you as some sort of guru, so you make sure to raise your voice when answering an inane question from one of your friends.

You bring a baby/young kids to a division rivalry game.
You decide to bring a baby/young kids to an environment that's going to be hostile, yet you're still appalled when the expletives fly. You try to be a hero to your kids and stand up and tell those around you to keep the language clean because there's kids around. You quickly sit down after the fourth beer stains your "World's Best Daddy" t-shirt.

You get more animated during the Kiss Cam or t-shirt toss in-between play.
Your team is winning or needs some vocal support from the crowd, but you decide to save your energy when the teams interns shoot t-shirts into the crowd or when you finally notice you've been located on the Kiss Cam, and you're sitting next to Joe Tough Guy and Willie Old Dude.

You show up to the game just for the gameday promotion.
You've got the Beanie Baby collection to show for it.

You grow balls when the big, opposing athlete is 100 feet away.
Tough guy when an opposing player is on the field/court/ice and you're sitting up in the stands, protected by many seats and security guards. While you're dining on wings at the local Hooters afterwards and said opposing athlete shows up for a post-game meal, your anus tightens quicker than Joan Rivers' face.

Ballhype: hype it up!


wrap around curl said...

You described perfectly every person I hate. Thank you.

Stevens8204 said...

My favorite is the last one no doubt about it. Great list!

Scotty Hockey said...

Great, quick story: I'm covering the BC Icemen of the UHL for the SUNY-B newspaper and they play the Flint Generals in the playoffs. A brawl breaks out at the end of the game, which Flint won handily, 10-2 or something, and the fans go nuts. I'm sitting in the crowd with my friends yelling and screaming with them at the goons on the Generals (namely their goalie, who wanted no piece of the Icemen's). Remaining time gets wiped out, the Generals staff walks off to a shower of beer and popcorn (with the trainer wearing a popcorn bucket on his head for defense). I go down and do postgame locker room interviews. I walk over to the Generals goalie and my first question is 'not a big fighter, huh?' As he jumped up to get in my face the coach came in so he sat back down. I laughed and joined the 'scrum' around the coach. Ah, to be young and stupid ...

Hat-Trick Haley said...

hahaha, perfection!
I hate ALL of those guys.

Doogie2K said...

Where do you lump in the douchebags who come to the game and spend the entire thing talking loudly behind you about everything but the damned game? I swear, I encounter that at least once every six Hitmen games, and one of these days I'm gonna throw my pizza wrapper at them.

And I'm pretty sure when I have kids, they're going to hear enough swearing from me during division games on TV that if I ever took them to the game, they'd be entirely unfazed. I know when I was a baby, during the height of the Battle of Alberta, I quickly became oblivious to any and all shouting from my dad during hockey games.

Doogie2K said...

Oh, my mom just pointed one out to me I forgot from Hitmen games: parents who check their kids at the game and let them run amok, up and down the aisles. Now, I don't mind letting them through to high-five the players on the way on and off the ice at the beginning and end of each period, but come on. This isn't a bloody playground; the fact you want to chat with your friends in peace does not mean that your kids can spend three periods piss-assing around, sitting in every unoccupied seat in the section, shrieking loud enough to be heard in the press box, and generally making it difficult for me and everyone else in the lower bowl to enjoy the damned game.

gonz said...

Sean and Doogie, you have adequately describe almost all of my experiences here in Cincinnati -- at the Gardens, the US Bank Arena, Riverfront Stadium and Great American Ballpark.

I would also add the shitheads who have to walk up and down the aisles several times during a game. It could be either baseball or Hockey, doesn't matter. And to think that those fucks look at me queer when I tell them to sit their shit down.