The stadium erupts. The stands above me begin to rumble again and the thundering roars from all around deafen me. Teixeira strolls back to home plate while Jeter follows, jogging at a calm pace. There’s no rush. The Yankees have just gained two more runs, and have inevitably won the game. Somewhere in the excitement and mayhem of it all, I find myself jumping and cheering in celebration. Beside me, Tyler is grinning as he whistles, and when he catches me looking at him, he throws an arm around me and pulls me in close. I can’t stop smiling, either. The atmosphere is electric and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something so energetic. It feels so incredible to be here at Yankee Stadium in New York City celebrating a Yankees win over the Red Sox, with the crowds so thrilled and with Tyler right by my side. Derek Jeter got his home run. My deal with Tyler still stands, and in this exact moment I don’t think my summer can get better.
I steal a glance to my left. Snake’s on his feet, too, but he’s not celebrating. He’s arguing with the Yankees fan sitting directly behind him, his words slurred. Tyler’s still cheering next to me despite the fact that I’ve stopped, and I quickly throw Snake a warning glance, but he doesn’t take notice. Instead, he jabs his finger into the chest of the Yankees fan. And that’s it. That’s all it takes.
The Yankees fan retaliates by throwing his beer at Snake, and Snake immediately throws a punch. Before I even get the chance to move out of the way, the Yankees fan throws himself over the row and tackles Snake to the ground, knocking me sideways. I fall into Tyler, who promptly catches me by my waist. I glance up at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s glaring at the fight that’s broken out right next to us, his jaw tight, eyes narrowing. Hands still on my waist, he moves me over to the right.
Snake and the Yankees fan are on the ground, fists spiraling through the air, all while everyone else around us switches from cheering to oohing. The girls in the row in front of us let out screams as they try to get out of the way, but everyone else seems to encourage the fight. When I fire my eyes back down to Snake, I realize he’s on top of the Yankees fan, repeatedly hitting the guy’s jaw before catching his nose. Tyler jumps in at that point. He grabs at the back of Snake’s jersey, attempting to pull him away, but before he even gets the chance to, another Sox fan jumps over the row of chairs and punches Tyler square in the face out of absolutely nowhere.
“Hey!” I yell. I reach out for Tyler, but he jerks away from me and throws a punch back. It doesn’t make sense at first why some random guy has decided to hit Tyler, but once I notice all four jerseys, it becomes clear.
Snake’s a Sox fan fighting with a Yankees fan. Tyler’s a Yankees fan, too, and I highly doubt anyone would believe he was trying to help Snake. It’s not surprising why another Sox fan would get involved. He’s backing up Snake, a fellow fan, while believing that Tyler is backing up the other Yankees fan. It’s messy, with punches being thrown all over the place, and Tyler gets clipped on the corner of his eye.
My temper heats up at the mere sight of seeing Tyler get hit, so I do my best to intervene. I reach for his jersey and try to tug him away from the Sox fan’s punching range, but someone tosses their drink into the brawl and it hits my shoulder, soaking my shirt. I gasp, releasing my grip on Tyler as I’m knocked backward. I land on the ground with a painful thud and I hit my head against the seats. For a moment, I sit there, slightly dazed and unable to get back up. All I can think is that Snake’s an asshole when he’s drunk.
When I glance up, there seems to be a lot of yelling, and I realize security are breaking up the fighting. There are around four security guards and two cops, and it takes four of them alone to split up Snake and the Yankees fan. Tyler and the Sox fan break it up themselves, but they’re still grabbed and dragged out onto the stairs, nonetheless. One of the security guards even reaches for me, yanking me up from the ground by my elbow without much consideration for the fact that I’m in pain. He almost dislocates my shoulder as he pulls me along the row, twisting my arm in ways unimaginable.
The five of us are escorted away: me, Tyler, and Snake, plus the Yankees fan and the Sox fan, lips busted and eyes swollen. Section 314 starts to chant “BOSTON SUCKS!” as we’re led away, and they’re all cheering. Public fights are always entertaining unless you’re part of it.
We’re guided back down the stairs until we’re inside again, and the security guard holding on to me seems to trust me enough to finally let go. Snake’s yelling and muttering as we all walk, and I’m mentally daring him to shut up before he makes the situation worse. My stomach twists at the realization that we’re most likely going to be arrested for assault or battery, and I’m starting to wonder if perhaps I should take the opportunity I have right now to inform the security guard by my side that, in fact, I didn’t do anything wrong.
For some reason, however, none of us ends up in cuffs and in the back of a cop car. None of the security guards or the two cops says a word as they take us down all the flights of stairs, straight back down to the Great Hall. All they do is promptly shove us outside, turning their backs on us and heading away.
It’s growing dark by now and as we take a moment to realize what’s happened, the Yankees fan calls Snake an asshole and I think they might just break into a fight again, but they don’t. Snake only shakes his head and walks over to join me as both the Yankees fan and the Sox fan head off, their heads hung low.