Shut Up
Somewhere in a night of heavy sleep – where I’m also pretty sure Puck woke just before one o’clock for a drink of water – I dreamt that Carlos Martinez had been ultimately traded to the Braves, after some haggling.
Reviving myself into reality: eggs-in-a-nest for Puck’s breakfast, counting change for math, etc., Puck discovered a pill bug running by the fridge:
“Well, I guess one bug can’t hurt. He’s welcome into our house.”
Another one of those blinks and we were back over at the Big House to drop off Puck. Game tickets: section 130 by the foul pole.
Probably should have learned our lesson the last time Mom, Irish, and I sat in this particular section of the park. I think the most inebriated take up huddle in right field.
Things started off okay. Mom checked an item off her bucket list by buying whatever food she wanted during the game. Irish joined her with a burger and seasoned fries. Wacha was rolling. Things were humming along. Then, the hecklers. If Mets’ Right Fielder Bobby Abreu had been paying any attention at all to the three large gentlemen sitting across the aisle from us, he might have learned something about his self-esteem.
After awhile, the yelling and booing and fat jokes were starting to hurt my head. I could see Irish’s dark brown eyes popping fire and smoke.
“Can I throw this water bottle at them?” she finally asked me.
I saw news ads scrolling across my brain: Sixteen Year Old Girl Incites All-Out Busch Stadium Brawl.
“No… But I guess you can tell him to shut up.”
Again. So for the second time in as many months, during the height of another ridiculously obnoxious harassment, Irish leaned past me with a surprisingly loud:
“DUDE!! SHUT UP!!”
Silence.
“Hey, Bobby! You’ve got fans here!” the boy-man yelled to Bobby Abreu in the field, pointing at Irish.
Apparently she had inspired others to share their opinion as well. An elderly man stood up three rows behind the hecklers and said calmly to them, “Are you all from Philadelphia? Because you act like it.”
They were stunned into silence for awhile I guess. Until Irish left to get a frozen lemonade and they started acting out again. It got so bad, I finally tried the opposite approach. Told them they were making Cards fans look bad, so please stop.
“Why?” the drunk face stared back at me.
“Because you’re harassing him.”
“We’re just having fun.”
Having fun. Poor Bobby Abreu didn’t help his case when he let the ball shoot past him further into the outfield.
Yes, we won. But I left with a headache.