After a great experience in Wrigley Field, in which we thoroughly enjoyed almost all our interactions with the Chicago Cub fans, my boys and I attended two Giants-Brewers games in Miller Park in Milwaukee. What I’m going to say is no doubt a gross generalization, based upon a too-small sample size, but as far as we could tell, most Brewers fans were crude, dumb, loud, obnoxious, unfriendly, and xenophobic (note to Brewers fans: xenophobic means “unduly fearful or contemptuous of that which is foreign, especially of strangers or foreign peoples,” in our case, foreigners from the Bay Area wearing black and orange). Now, admittedly, we were decked out pretty well in our Giants garb. But what we got from the cretins we were seated near just wasn’t justified.
On Friday night, I had to listen to long harangues each time Barry Bonds came to the plate about how Barry was teaching schoolchildren all over America to use drugs. “You’re teaching our kids to use drugs, Barry, you’re teaching our kids to use drugs, Barry.” This from a guy at the game sucking down his fourth beer with his two kids at his side, the hypocricy of his statements completely escaping him. [Note to Brewers’ fans, “hypocricy” means “an expression of agreement that is not supported by real conviction.”] Then once the Giants went ahead and pulled out a victory, I had to have peanuts tossed at me, to which I responded by eating them. Very sportsmanlike.
But Saturday was worse. The entire row in front of us was filled with … gosh, there’s just no other way to say this … angry dullards, who seemed to believe that I (and perhaps my children as well) were personally responsible for Barry Bond’s decision to use steroids (and they all assumed he did). About the only inoffensive one of the bunch was the guy who had either stayed up all night the previous evening or was already too drunk to stay awake through the game (it was a 2:55 p.m. start after all). I suppose it didn’t help that Tim Lincecum threw a marvelous shutout, but at some point near the end of the game I was treated to a lengthy loud oration, directed not toward me, but yet clearly at me, on the evils of Barry Bonds and his contribution to the decline of baseball, the degeneracy of our children, the decline of America, and the rise of Al Qaeda (OK, I made that last part up). Then, astonishingly, one of these guys repeatedly tells me that I should give him one of the t-shirts that my kids and I happened to grab when the “Party Section” crew came by. He didn’t ever ask, he just kept saying that I should give him one, because … well, I have no idea. Because I was from the Bay Area and wouldn’t want it? Because he’d been so kind and engaging during the game? Who knows, he just seemed to think he had a right to it. He asked me for it about five times, until he got tired of me ignoring him and gave up.
Note to the Brewers fans I had to sit next to: I am not Barry Bonds’ trainer. I didn’t supply him with the “cream” or the “clear” or anything else. I don’t condone what he did, if he did anything wrong. I’m just a Giants fan who wanted to bring my kids to see their hometown team play a game at Miller Park. You scared and offended my kids enough that they both said they never want to see a game there again. You brought discredit on your team and your city. Grow up. (Although I suppose in retrospect I should be happy there was no physical violence.)
Note to the Brewers fans I didn’t get the chance to meet: I apologize for tarring you all for the acts of a few. Maybe if you come to San Francisco sometime, we can talk. Because I don’t think I’ll be visiting Miller Park any time soon.
Categories: Sports