the other press

Sports

 

september 11, 2002

Diamonds are a Girl’s
Best Friend

J.ALL
OP Contributor

Let me begin with an apology; I am no
sports writer so if you are looking for stats or
any actual sporting facts you may want to stop
reading now. I am not terribly thrilled at how
snugly I fit into the girls-don’t-know-shit-
about-sports cliché, but that’s where I am. My
relationship with sports is confusing, kind of a
love/hate thing. Because I am a Canadian with
two brothers and a father who are hockey
freaks, I grew up watching Hockey Night in
Canada, and we only had one television. I
went to a few Winnipeg Jets games because
my dad had season's tickets, but I never really
got it right. One game I wore all black during
a “White Out” and was harassed by the
Dancing Gabe all night. The game really did-
n't interest me much; I was fascinated by the
spectacle of such a large sporting event. I
would sit in my primo seat, ignoring the game
and the resentful glares of those in the shitty
seats and people watch. This annoyed my
father so much; he eventually stopped giving
me tickets, which was a pisser because those
tickets scored me many dates. Well, the Jets
moved on and so did I. Other than feeling a
little shiver of nationalism upon hearing the
opening theme of Hockey Night in Canada
and the required pride in our Olympic hockey
triumphs, I’ve pretty much steered clear of
sports.

Truthfully, and this is where the hate por-
tion of love/hate comes in, sports fans irritate
the shit out of me. There is nothing more
offensive than talking to a guy while he gazes
transfixed at the TV over your shoulder. If it’s
a particularly good game, it doesn’t even mat-
ter how many buttons you undo, even pre-
tending to blow a beer bottle will only earn
you a disinterested glance. Then there are the
people who memorize stats, frequent sports
bars and shell out huge sums of cash to watch
a game with other smelly loud fans. Ugh, I just
don’t get it, but that won't stop me from writ-
ing about it.

Over the Labour Day long weekend I went
to Seattle to watch a Mariners game, and I was
excited to check out one of America’s premiere
diamonds. My baseball knowledge is limited
to Kevin Costner movies and Big League
Chew, but it wasn’t baseball that I trekked to
Safeco Field for; it was a taste of Americana I
was after. And bless those stars and stripes, I
got it.

Safeco Field has danced gleefully on the old
Kingdome’s grave since 1999. Designed to
look like an old time park, complete with real
grass and a manual scoreboard, Safeco is a cap-
italist temple. Nine elevators and eleven esca-
lators will safely deliver you and your wallet to
any one of the Mariner’s Team stores, the base-
ball museum, one of the many bars and restau-
rants as well as the gazillion concession stands
and ATMs.

Although we hear daily how Americans have
stopped spending since September 11th, the
ball park must be the one place they loosen the
purse strings. First of all, the game was sold
out and while the tickets are a helluva lot
cheaper (even with exchange) than a Canucks

game, for a decent seat youre looking at $30
USD. My companion and I bought our tick-
ets from a “season ticket holder” standing out-
side the box-office. Don't forget parking — we
found nothing for under $20 USD. Politely
declining the $10 Mariners towels that were
waved in our faces as we filed into the park, we
scurried past the Team Store and found our
seats. We were seated in the AVAYA Terrace
Club with a good view of the field and, more
importantly, where you can order food and
drinks to your seat. You cannot go to a ball
game and not stuff yourself. I think it is in the
constitution or something because everyone
around us was clutching a beer and cramming
hotdogs and/or fries into their faces. We fig-
ured, when in Rome... We filled out our
menu cards trying not to squeal over the prices
($6 for a beer, $5.75 for a hotdog and $4.50
for fries — in US funds, remember) and hand-
ed them over to a waiting attendant. Ten min-
utes later the food arrived, and even though
the meal was sickeningly expensive, it tasted
great. We ordered Safeco Field’s famous
Grounder’s Garlic fries to piss off the snooty
couple sitting beside us. It worked, they made
faces at us, and that was wonderful, but even
better was how fan-fucking-tastic those garlic
fries were. Fries covered in sea salt and mounds
of fresh garlic, served with a slice of green
apple — I get hot just thinking about it.

With the food out of the way, I was eager to
hear the anthem. I expected everyone to weep
and clutch their hearts in fevered patriotism. I
hadn't long to wait and within a few moments
the announcer asked the gentlemen to remove
their ballcaps and to please rise for the singing
of the national anthem. I was sorely disap-
pointed. Other than a few military types who
did place their hands over their hearts, most
people just looked bored. No one in our row
even sang along. But they really got into the
canned crap music that followed. Each
Mariner has his own song that is played when
he is introduced. Obviously, the player’s PR
people know their audience adores really shit-
ty music and likes to identify their favourite
Mariner with said shitty music. For example
John Olerud is piped in with the catchy “Ole,
ole, Ole ole” from the American/Calypso mas-
terpiece, Hot, Hot, Hot.

It was hilarious and humiliating all at the
same time. I don’t know if it’s my inner elitist
or just being born a self-respecting Canadian,
but the sight of all those crazy Americans
grooving their chubby, mostly white bodies
with such wild abandon made me quiver with
embarrassment. It was like I had fallen into a
Simpsons episode, but I was watching it with
the dumb-asses who only tuned in to hear Bart
say ‘eat my shorts’. I felt like I was the only one
who got the joke. My companion didn’t seem
to notice anything; he was watching some-
thing on the field. He barely even looked
when I nudged him, begging him to help me
make fun of the dancing husband/wife duo
shaking it up in front of us. They were wear-
ing matching Mariners track suits and they
weren't even smiling as they carried on. It was

terrible 4
He just

 

 

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