This is how my buddy Andy — and probably the rest of the country — views Sox fans. Jägerbombs don’t fly in New England. Kuckleballs do.
Please, just stop.
I’m borderline embarrassed to be a Red Sox fan these days — almost to the point of saying, “I miss Dan Duquette’s (non-existant) marketing staff.”
Eric Wilbur of Boston.com (ironically, the birthplace of Sox Saturate: Soxuration) eloquently described what the force-fed ‘Red Sox Nation’ has cultivated into, much to the despise of our non-bandwagon generation of fans — pre-2004. Fathers, mothers, aunts, cousins- everybody. They relish all of it. They love to flash their fancy World Series merchandise, talk about Jacoby’s cuteness and buy into becoming an ‘official’ bandwagoner.
It’s the sole reason why the Red Sox went from most beloved to most despised in just a mere four years.
It’s a capitalistic cult, saturated beyond the boiling point.
Editor’s Note: This is part two of a badass series entitled “Bleacher Chronicles.” The glory of stadiums comes within the diversity that could be sitting right next to you. Since we’ve all had our fair share of overly drunken wackjobs — or just straight up douchebags — at games, why not document them in a series?
MINNEAPOLIS — It’s alright to show up a few pitches late to a game; maybe even an inning deep. After all, heavy traffic and long lines can be a hassle.
But six full innings into a Major League baseball game with front row seats, nevertheless? Only a Level 10 (out of 10) front runner.