Word: bleachers
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...nights, The Loop went to a game at Shea between the Mets and the Rockies. Aileen was there, too. We were all abuzz over the spraying going on in nearby Flushing Meadows Park. One member of our merry band, Brian, was particularly spooked. He feared that the row of bleacher seats beneath us that the Mets had blocked off had something to do with West Nile or the spraying. And, believe it or not, we all started to believe...
...World Series represents everything wrong with baseball, the bird episode shows us so much that’s right—except, I guess, for the violent death part. It’s history. It’s inane chatter that makes bleacher and upper deck tickets the best seats in the house—always. It’s spinning yarns about the weird and the wacky, about the crazy thing that happened “that one time” when the secure boundaries set up by the rules of sport were bent and twisted by the unexpected...
...odds. But Brooding Barry? The closest Bonds gets to pathos is admitting that he has felt intimidated by the expectations of his storied baseball lineage. His father Bobby was a three-time All-Star; his godfather Willie Mays is a baseball god. Not exactly a relatable problem for most bleacher bums. Bonds can alienate fans with his aloofness and annoy teammates by refusing to share his obviously sharp insights into the game. One teammate in Pittsburgh, where Bonds played his first seven years, famously remarked that he would "rather lose without Barry than win with...
...have languished under the roar of LaGuardia air traffic since the 1960s, all the ushers are brittle octogenarians dressed up in cute age-appropriate Mets gear—orange bow ties and suspenders. But at Fenway, the ushers double as beefy security guards, always ready to hustle up the bleacher stairs to escort belligerent fans (or vomiting graduates of Bedford High School) out of the stadium...
...have to admit, though, some things about Fenway are growing on me. The bleacher fans are always in good spirits (especially when a Yankee fan gets tossed for bad behavior), and I am starting to appreciate the drunken banter (and ass-grabbing) on the crowded subway ride back to Park Street...