Drunk and DissedOrderly

We went with Gabe and Amanda to see the Sox play the A's last week. It's become an annual early season event, and just like last year, things went a bit awry (you may recall that after the game last year I got Amanda in trouble for blogging about DJing a scandalous dance party at the school where she works). This year, it was even crazier: April and I got thrown out!

April looks all sweet and innocent, but get a few drinks in her and take her to a stadium with other screaming, bloodthirsty nutcases, and you should see her go! Raining punches down upon everyone within reach!


Okay, so that's not exactly what happened. In truth, I brought a canteen into the stadium with some spiked strawberry lemonade. But the woman at the gate let me take it in -- she saw it and waved me through -- so I figured we were okay. And we were … for five and a half innings.

We were quietly watching the Sox get buried, eating our giant bag of popcorn and bunless hot dogs when these three security dudes come up behind us and demand to know what's in the canteen. Now, I'm not the best liar and I'd been sipping on this thing so I was a bit foggy, so I didn't give a very convincing answer. He sniffed at it, and shook his head and told us -- April too, but not thankfully Gabe and Amanda -- to come with them.

So we go. And they do that intimidating walk of shame, where they don't tell you where you're going, just to "follow that guy." So he led us halfway around the stadium to this little windowless room, where there's three old men bleakly shuffling paperwork. The guy who grabbed us stuck the canteen in another guy's face and asks what's in it. More sniffing. Which made me wonder if they're not allowed to taste things or if they just don't want to be sucking up other people's germs.

Anyway, they agreed it's "funny whatever it is." And so the guy said, "You have to leave. You can come back tomorrow but you have to go now. And if we find you back in here, you're going to be in serious trouble." Well, jesus, is it possible for us to get back in? Does this mean that that thing they do where they scan the tickets when you enter is all for show and you could come and go as many times as you want?

Anyway, at this point I pleaded for mercy. I mean, I paid $30 for each ticket and the Sox only come once a year. Couldn't they just dump it out and let us stay?

Hell no. The only cop in the room started to bark at us. "That's the chance you took when you brought that shit in with you! You're lucky we don’t fine you or throw you in jail!"

In jail. In jail? I was so stunned -- which I'm sure was his intention -- that I couldn't ask just what law we'd be breaking. Help me out here, Eric or other lawyers, but did they have a case? I looked on the website later and, while it does say that people can't bring in outside liquor, it doesn't list any city code.

At this point, I think maybe I should use April's gluten allergy as an excuse. But then I decided I didn't want to throw her under the bus -- and I doubted it would do any good anyway. Best to not actually admit there's alcohol in there, too.

As the guy went to pour the canteen out (or drink it, who knows), they brought in another rulebreaker. Another Red Sox fan. Hmm. Maybe they're trying to thin the herd a bit here, get rid of the people rooting against the A's. What was this guy being tossed for? Was it public hammeredness, because he was obviously wasted? Nope. He was smoking in the bathroom. So it's okay to get drunk as long as you pay $8 for their beer (or pre-party). If you're smoking, they will give you three warnings before tossing you. It's a financial dealing: we've been punished for not being wealthy enough to afford their commodity. It's not even that we're so cheap -- we spent plenty of money on food items.

One thing was eating at me, more than anything. So, as they're showing us the door, I asked how they knew. The main guy said he saw us, but I knew he was lying, at least a little. Because April hadn't had any of the canteen for three innings, and he didn't toss Gabe and Amanda, who had some as well. No, I think someone told on us. Maybe it was the crazed fans behind us, who seemed to have a personal vendetta against mind-mannered second baseman Dustin Pedroia (perhaps it was because he had just called his CA hometown of Woodland "a dump" in an article by one of my former SF Weekly associates). Or the family in front of us, who seemed pretty ungrateful when we gave them our little, fry-holding A's helmet. I think it was the latter, who may have been upset by our penis conversation. I'd brought up Michael Showalter's comedy routine, in which he says that men shouldn't have to wash their hands after they pee, unless they've been digging ditches with their pricks.

Now, was that worth being thrown out for? Come on, those guys behind us were threatening to cut Pedroia's privates off. Get rid of them.

At least we weren't at the Wednesday game, when Wakefield almost threw a no-hitter. I would've fought a lot harder to stay at that game. The truly sad thing is those guys in that room obviously hate their lives. And who wouldn't? Being so close to one of life's simplest beauties (a baseball park, jeez, I can get soppy here once in a while) and not being able to see it at all. Or even listen or watch the game, save for the reverberations off the concrete and an endless stream of drunk assholes being tossed out.

Oops, that's us.

If I've learned anything from this, it's that … well, if you want to bring in alcohol, buy a soda and then pour the booze into the cup, so you won't be seen. Oh yeah, and don't talk about penises.