Twin Peeks Revisited

Dave Paisley

A couple of weeks ago I was sunning myself down in Phoenix, AZ watching a little spring training baseball. There's nothing quite like it, really, for laid back fun in the sun. Except that somehow, I seem to be a magnet for boorish fans. Every year it's a different type. This year it was an elderly couple that pissed me off royally. During a break between innings the folks in charge of music at the Mariners/Padres complex in Peoria like to bang out oldies rock, and somewhere around the seventh inning they played Rock and Roll Part II by Gary Glitter (you'd recognize it if you heard it, I'm sure.) Well, the female half of the elderly couple began tapping her toes rather violently against the back of my seat. I turned around and asked her to refrain, as it was really quite annoying.

What I didn't expect was the childish argument that she wasn't kicking the back of my seat. No, you see she was kicking the back of the empty seat beside me. It was all of six inches to the right of my shoulder blade, but somehow that didn't cut any ice with her. Apologize? Forget it. Meanwhile, her husband was busy scratching himself and opined that I ought to just shut up and watch the game. Easy for him to say -- he didn't have anyone kicking the back of his seat.

Well, it turned out that Bitchy and Scratchy left in the eighth inning, and they managed to bang their bags off my head on the way out, which prompted a few choice words from me. What I didn't expect was that all the remaining fans around us had an equally hard time with Bitchy and Scratchy. B&S had apparently made several enemies, as we wished them well on their way out. Actually, about ten of us hurled insults at them. Hey, it may not have been the mature thing to do, but it was fun.

This all put me in mind of an article on fan etiquette that I wrote a couple of years ago. The result was a top ten list of boorish fan behavior, which B&S could no doubt extend. The article struck a chord with several readers, and prompted one fan in particular to share her experiences at her home town park. I thought her story deserved to see the light of day one more time, so here it is. (And it doesn't hurt that the Twins haven't got any better in the intervening years...)

Karla writes:

Dave- great list!  I'm wondering if the posse is a traveling one; there's a particularly annoying woman plaguing fans at the Metrodome (as if it isn't annoying enough just being in that atrocity of architecture -- and I won't even mention the team.)

Well, I've been to the Metrodome, and it amazes me that such a monstrosity could spawn two World Series Champion teams. On the other hand, that positive airflow helps get you out of the building a little quicker -- that's got to help on those awful "Twins sucked again" days...
 
Karla continues:

I think her take on fan etiquette should get an honorable mention. Here's her method:

Consume seven (7) Miller Lites (not Bud Light; you should have a more discriminating palate!)

Well, I hate to tell you this, Karla, but neither Bud Light nor Miller Lite are technically beer. Nor are any products from those "macro-breweries". When I think of Budweiser, I think of those Clydesdales. And when I think of the Clydesdales, I wonder if all they are used for is pulling the beer carts. Perhaps Anheuser Busch is really into recycling, if you get my drift.

But I digress. Back to Karla:

Then proceed to talk to everyone around you as if there were nothing else to do there.

This is a well known tactic of the boorish nineties fan. Next thing you know, they've started the wave while the opposing team is at bat, and before you know it, your team is down seven runs. Happens every time.

And she continues:

Repeatedly refer to Kenny Lofton as Kenny Loggins.

Another common mistake. It can also take the form of mistaking Ken Griffey Junior for Kevin Costner, Barry Bonds for Barry White and Greg Maddux for a history professor. Oh, wait, scratch that last one. Everybody mistakes Greg Maddux for a history professor.

And then we get to:

Repeatedly put up bunny ears in front of the binoculars of the people behind you.

Now we're getting down to the heart of the matter. I hadn't heard of this tactic -- it must be peculiar to the wilds of Minneapolis-St. Paul, and it seems particularly brutal. There's nothing worse than trying to focus in on Brad Radke's delivery, only to have your view obscured by some mutant Energizer bunny parts.

And here's where we get to the real crux of the matter:

Offer to bare your breasts for said binoculars.

Now Karla, I hate to say this, but from your average male fan's perspective, this isn't necessarily a bad thing. Of course, a lot depends on the quality of the, er, goods in question. If this is Elle McPherson, Claudia Schiffer, the Doritos girl or Tyra Banks then there is no problem whatsoever. If, however, it's Rosie O'Donnell, Roseanne Barr, Judge Judy or Ru Paul, then I'm going to have to call foul on the proceedings. But even then, there's no accounting for taste, so I can't even categorically rule out the last bunch.

And it does give a whole ne wmaning to the phrase, "So, does anyone want to see the Twins tonight?"

You seem to have some adventurous gals out there in Twin-land. (So, does anyone think this might spice up ticket sales at the Metrodome?)

Karla finally nears the end of her tale:

Finally, try to play matchmaker between the drunk Iowa farmboys screaming "Yeeeaaahhhh!" every time a Twins' batter takes a ball and the women in obvious pain sitting next to them.

Well, obviously the farm boys are big fans of On Base Percentage, so I can't really fault them there. And, as I said before, if they've also taken up the whole breasts/binocular deal, I can't blame them either. However, if they've been drinking Miller Lite in large quantities, then we may have, as our law enforcement types might say, a situation developing.

Karla ends with:

If you haven't guessed, I was one of those women. Please send help.

Oh, my God! You have my sympathies. Please, someone get this woman an ambulance. Or at least a can of Mace. What a sorry tale, indeed.

So there you have it, strikethree fans. This is what happens when bad fans go really bad. I'd also like to point out the harmful effects of drinking Miller Lite. If you must drink, please do so responsibly.

Buy Redhook.

about the author

Wanna get on Dave Paisley's good side? Buy him a six pack of Redhook ESB and you've got a friend for life. Which m,ay or may not be a good thing. Why not ask him how things may work out friendship-wise, by dropping him a line at drdjp@strikethree.com.