Your margin for error with today’s crowd is slimmer than ever. Being a fan used to be easy. You could walk to the stadium in your bowler hat, throw down half a shilling for a box seat, and kick back with a Coca-Cola that had real cocaine in it. Not anymore. Seeing you in person now means sitting in traffic for God knows how many hours because the new stadium was stuck in some shitass suburb without proper infrastructure surrounding it. Then, fans have to negotiate the parking lot, where a fifteen-year-old parking attendant directs them to the farthest corner of the field even though there are clearly available spaces closer to the stadium. They can see them! They’re right fucking there! No wonder they resent you. You get valet service. Fucker.
There are three kinds of fans out there today: Casual Fans, Avid Fans, and Diehard Fans. Casual fans are the ones who take periodic interest in your team, usually depending upon your winning percentage, or if you have a catcher the girls positively swoon over. Casual fans also go by the derogatory term “bandwagon fans,” and are sneered at by avids and diehards. But this is a spurious mentality. You see, bandwagon fans are the people who make sporting events special. It takes something truly amazing to make some fair-weather asshole fan like your mom say, “Wow, that Darren Jeter is pretty darn good!” The most exciting sporting events are the ones that reach out beyond the standard fan base and manage to capture the interest of people who don’t even like your sport. Without these people, sports lose their transcendent quality. So when you see some douchebag Cowboy, Yankee, Red Sox, or Laker fan walking down the avenue, be sure to thank them for extending sports beyond its normal reach. Yes, they are fucking losers I’d like to see dragged behind a semi and then doused with tar. But they do serve a purpose. Remember that when they’re talking on their cell phones in the front row during the last two minutes of a playoff game.
Avid fans are fans who follow your team and all local teams with the utmost devotion while maintaining a semblance of balance throughout the rest of their lives. As ticket prices grow, these fans are becoming rarer and rarer, though they are evident in places like Busch Stadium, Dodger Stadium, Qwest Field, and a handful of others. But if you aren’t playing in any of those places, you are fucked. Because that means your stadium is likely to be filled with diehards.
Diehard fans are fans who are unhealthily obsessed with your team and you personally. Worst of all, diehard fans are actually proud of this obsession, and are happy to tell anyone nearby about it. Sports are just about the only obsession people are willing to tout publicly. You don’t see people wearing jerseys proclaiming their love of stamps, or young boys, or Andrew Lloyd Webber. Society would shun these people, and rightfully so. But diehard fans are given a free pass. Why? Fear. These are the crazy, drunken motherfuckers who throw bottles and shit on the field. Do you want to be the one to tell them to stop? Me neither.
But look on the bright side. At least you aren’t playing in Europe. Think the diehards here are out of their fucking gourds? The fans over there premeditate their stabbings. They even wear scarves, they’re so batshit insane. And these are soccer fans we’re talking about. Imagine how worked up they’d get over a real sport.
Because they pay for tickets, buy merchandise, and squander their money in other ill-advised ways, diehard fans are the ones who help pay your salary. And you can be quite certain that they will never, ever let you forget it. But don’t take my word for it . . .
HEAR IT FROM A DIEHARD FAN!
You fucking suck!
by John Fleischmann, longtime season-ticket holder
Hey, (your name)!!!!!!
You fucking suck! I pay your fucking salary, cockface!
(gives friend high five)
FUCK YOU!!!!
“Let’s see you try it, prick!” Dealing with heckling.
During the course of your career, some people will boo you for poor play. Why do they boo? you might ask. Fans boo you so that they can feel superior. After all, you’ve been blessed with God-given athletic ability, something every man yearns for. You probably breezed through high school and were voted Homecoming King. I bet you were one of those cool kids that got invited to all the house parties every weekend. I bet you even got laid when you were fifteen or younger. Christ, how I would have loved that to happen. I’d have been so much more confident if I had just been able to lay some pipe back then. Instead, I stayed home on weekends and fucked my sheets. Did you know I had to resort to making love to a peach once when I was thirteen? True story. I got a peach, hollowed it out, microwaved it, and stuck my ding-dong right in it.
* * *
DID YOU KNOW?
Did you know John Fleischmann pays your salary? Well, don’t you fucking forget it, or he’ll dump a Miller Lite that’s 30 percent backwash right down your shirt.
* * *
Did you ever have to do that, Mr. Athlete Man? Bet you didn’t. I bet you had it made. I bet you think you look so cool out there on the field, don’t ya? With your spiffy uniform and rugged good looks. Well, I got news for you, buddy! I’m a person, too! You think I’m just gonna take your impossible perfection lying down? HELL 2 DA NAW! BOO! BOOOOOOOO!!!