That Wimpy Deer?

22 06 2010

For over a hundred years, Americans have looked forward to summer.  It’s the time of picnics, barbecues, and keeping your neighbors up late because the sun just went down and there’s no way it could possibly be 11 o’clock already.  But even more than these things, summer is the season of America’s pastime: littering on beaches.

Ok, also baseball.  And while it makes about as much sense to the rest of the world as cricket does to us, this great sport is an icon of our nation.  People still speak in hushed whispers about how great Willie Mays was, and it’s not just because their voices are hoarse from screaming at their idiot of a manager who pulled a double switch in the eighth inning just to get a lefty-lefty match up.

This is Serious Business.

We love our teams, and we root them on with rabid enthusiasm (or perhaps gangrenous enthusiasm, depending on who’s in the left field bleachers today) no matter what happens.  Win or lose, a true fan will always support his team even when they can’t hit or pitch to save their lives.  This is one of the main reasons baseball fans are morons.  Any sane human being would eventually get tired of spending money and time and energy supporting a bunch of people that can’t do their job.

But these are not average people.  These are “fanatics”, which is a long version of the well-known word “idiots.”  These people are not fazed by failure and futility.  To put it another way, these are people who pay money to park in a huge lot so they can walk for a while to a place where they’ll pay more money to join a crowded, noisy, beer-sodden group of fellow idiots in the dumbest activity scientists have observed in humans outside of Las Vegas:  The Wave.

If you don’t know what The Wave is, I will describe it for you in layman’s terms.  The Wave is where, in a big game with a close score, some of the fans get bored.  This is because they think of baseball as something they deserve to enjoy no matter how little they understand what is going on.  They paid money to get here.  Good money.  They’re not exactly sure how much money, because by this time they’ve mortgaged their house to buy another beer for their bros (who drank all their beer back in the parking lot as everyone knows you are supposed to do) and the finances are getting a little murky.  Either way, these fans knows that they should be having fun, and the stupid pitchers are certainly not helping.  It’s time someone did something about this stupid score that has stayed in single digits, so it’s time for The Wave.

First, a fan (or “idiot”) might stand up and start shouting in the ears of the naive fools who bought tickets in the outfield seats but expected to enjoy watching the game.  They’ll shout, “HEY EVERYBODY, LET’S DO THE WAVE!”  This might cause some murmurs, but it usually doesn’t work initially.  Then, this same fan will stumble out of his row, knocking over sodas onto those same naive saps who were trying to keep score.  The fan will then start running back and forth in front of some more naive saps who just expected to be able to watch the game without seeing a shirtless (he ripped off his tank top on the way down the stairs) fan screaming and running back and forth in front of your view.  “HEY EVERYBODY, WHEN I RUN, WE DO THE WAVE!  READY OK GO!”  The idiot (or “moron”) will then run, waving his hands, and most of the people will then stand up as he passes, either to participate in this vaguely interesting communal activity, or in order to keep watching the game, which has been obscured by a bunch of people standing up for absolutely no reason (it was a nice diving stop by the shortstop, according to the replay).  The rest of the stadium will then join in and keep The Wave going all around the ballpark, either because they are enthralled by the sudden commotion (much like wild geese) or because they are also trying to stick their heads over the stupid people in front of them (much like wild geese at a giraffe convention). In this way, The Wave has become one of the staples of enjoying a baseball game, right alongside peanuts, the 7th Inning Stretch, and parking lot knife fights.  (Watch out for the 7th inning stretch, though.  Teen pop stars can cause some major harm.)

But really, baseball is something to be enjoyed, no matter how you choose to do it.  Whether you’re cheering on a star pitcher who’s striking out ten batters a night, painting your face the color of your favorite team, or doing the wave alongside your best buddies (and in front of your new worst enemies), this game is something wonderful.  Something special.

And I’d like to keep watching it if you don’t mind.  Sit down, or we’ve got a Cutco date in the parking lot.

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5 responses

22 06 2010
jet

You had me until Cutco….unless Dodger Stadium is now renamed Cutco Park…………

26 06 2010
vagariesandvelleities

He means he’s going to shank you… in the parking-lot… with an overpriced yet demonstrably sharp knife… Either that or he’s going to try to sell you something out of the back of his car: either a knife set or some empty beer bottles most likely.

28 06 2010
Tiffin

Eric, don’t talk to my aunt that way. (Although if the said sentence were interpreted as a threat, I suppose I would be talking to everyone that way, if the speaker of this piece were me. It’s not supposed to be. At least, not really.)

No, it’s actually a (somewhat vague) play on words — Cutco demonstrations can be as painful (boredom-wise) as an actual knife fight.

Let the record show, I threaten no one.

5 07 2010
jet

I rather like the name Cutco park…..

5 07 2010
jet

I rather like the name Cutco park…..just sayin….

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