Undercover Lover

As in, there is "undercover" and then there is "Which way is up?"

Long before this little experiment was ever even considered, I had always had issues as a fan.  Mainly with other fans.  After being inspired as a young lad by experiences with Hockey East rivalries, squaring off in tiny arenas, too cold to sit in, and too noisy to remain quiet within, I had always hoped for the best out of a crowd.  After all, we're here to spectate and enjoy the presentation of entertainment, not to chit chat resting on our cellulite sofas.  I mean, we're supposed to be a part of the action, right?  We can impact the game, right?  At the very least, we can enhance the experience, no?  We're already somewhat invested, so why not go all the way, losing yourself in a symbiotic event?

They lose.  You lose.  They're still on the field.  You're still at the park.

So last season, my team's season ended on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon in October.  I'm at the bar, people are intently watching, game ends, I'm miserable, and everyone else?  Like nothing had even happened.  Laughter, no sign of discord, and an utter imperviousness.  And this is what set things in motion, because I realized that something was obviously missing from my hometown sports affiliations; actual fans.

So, we arrive at the current, now previous, experiment.

Results:

• Number of ballpark attendees that commented on my opposition to their club: 4
• How long it took upon entering the park before a negative comment was received: 0 seconds
• Number of ballpark attendees that comment on my loyalty to their club: 1
• How long it took upon entering the park before a positive comment was received: 10 minutes
• Number of times I got hit with a flying projectile of some kind: 0 times
• Avoided getting kicked out of the game
• Didn't get anyone kicked out of the game
• Made at least 3 negative comments to individual/mass fans about their ballclub, with varying degrees of ferocity/snark.

First negative comment was received before even entering the park when my cameraman snapped a photo of me in front of a Fenway Park sign.  It was from an older gentlemen, which is a rare find at the park these days.  Two of the comments were received from attendees in my vicinity.  One of which was induced by my standing ovation for Joba Chamerlain in the 8th.  Most angry comment came from a drunk slob who was leaving the game early even though his team was only down 2 in the 9th.  The comment?  "Nice knowing you." (Takes a few more steps down the aisle), "Fuck you."

The positive comment came from a non-Yankees fan.  He apparently wasn't a Sox fan either, but was just there.  So in actuality, no positive comments from Yanks fans, even though I was sitting right behind one.

No one came close to getting kicked out.  The two clowns on your right (straight cash, homey), were the loudest fans of the evening, but it was in a very, "we're just happy to be there" kind of way.  They even acknowledged me at one point, but were pretty deferential, and thus could not be categorized as either positive or negative.  They were too focused on getting The Wave going with bases loaded in the 7th inning.  Because that's just what the home defense needs when backs are against the wall.

And then they also left before the 9th inning.  Much like about 2,000 or so other people that all took off, fleeing the scene with a full inning to go, down by 1 run.  And how about when the Yankees scored that run in the 9th?  Well another few thousand or so took off.  And it was all just as the beer was starting to take affect, and I was really beginning to feel the Yankees spirit. 

Once I was able to shake a few errant comments on my part (a small hoot for an Ellsbury bloop single, audible anger with Lester's pitch count, and unmitigated disdain everytime A Rod stepped to the plate), I really began to feel the pride of being hated.  And as the Sox fans disappeared, it only got stronger.  To a "Yankees Suck" chant (Boston's famous!), a "Red Sox Swallow" response.  A "Papi Sucks" here, a "Hey now, Jeets!" there, culminating in a standing O for the Sandman's entrance, and I was fully invested.

All in all, the experiment went just as I had imagined.  A few playful drunk jabs mixed into a generally quiet crowd.  Added with the crowd's cowardly evacuation prior to the 9th inning (I mean, the game was IN DOUBT.  The Sox have beaten Rivera before.  It's the SECOND GAME OF THE SEASON.  The team features several BRAND NEW pieces.  And this is the response?), I believe that the whole point was proven beyond a shadow of a doubt.  Sox fans are soft.  Sure, not all of them.  I'm one of them, after all.  But the average fan that goes to a game is not truly invested in the outcome nor in terms of defending their home turf.  And this isn't simply because I wasn't razzed out of the ballpark, for that was just one aspect.  True support has been replaced with canned choruses, the intricacies of the game pass by unnoticed, and the fervor, well, it's nowhere to be found.

Perhaps the most surprising result of the experiment was the depression that followed.  For while the general result was completely expected, the emotional response to a confirmed hypothesis was not.  I was bullshit.  I barked at my cameraman, flipped off drivers on the way home, choke-masturbated... I was a mess.  Because while you can give up on your fans, can you really give up on your team?  I don't think so.  But with Fenway no longer being a place to watch the Sox play, but a place to simply go to (for the sake of going), the centerpiece of baseball fandom is basically out of play.  And when being a fan falls out of fashion, then it becomes time to get some new clothes.

And I hate shopping.