Some things get on my nerves, like stubborn frizzy hair and people who can't grasp the concept of a four-way stop.
However, few things ruffle my feathers, boil my blood and push me to every other cliché of rage like "fans" who leave a game early.
More troublesome is that we now have an infestation of these fan imposters at Fenway Park, the one place I thought would forever be immune. But as the success of the Red Sox becomes an increasingly trendy fad to follow, these people are everywhere.
I despise them for two reasons.
First, when I'm at a game, I like to watch it, particularly when I've spent my grocery money for the month on seats. While they're gathering the book they were reading and planning their bee-line to the garage, I have to maneuver my neck around like a rooster in a cock fight just to see the field. Maybe someday I'll get lucky and a line drive will knock some sense into them.
Second, they're a waste of space, taking up a seat that, to a real fan, would mean much more than the insane dollar amount on the ticket.
During last Sunday's Sox game, I meandered through stores in the Fenway area, hoping that the energy and excitement from the ballpark would give my afternoon a jolt. My friend and I would have loved to go to the game, but like all the others, it was sold out.
The live Red Sox alerts on our cell phones said it was a tie game, 3-3, in the bottom of the ninth inning. Still, posers in Sox paraphernalia were all around us. The infestation spread rapidly as the game moved to the 10th. It was like I was in my own personal horror movie. Stephen King couldn't have written a more shocking scene.
As a kid, I used to pray for extra innings just so I'd have an excuse to stay at the ballpark longer. I'd sit through anything nature threw my way, adopting the mantra of the U.S. Postal Service as my own: Not rain, nor sleet, nor snow would deter me.
Once, my friends and I were the only people left at a Portland Sea Dogs game after a downpour had sent every other fan packing. We danced in the puddles that overtook the bleachers until the game was officially called. I paid $4 for that seat, and I was going to get my money's worth. Another time, I even stayed in my seat at Memorial Park in Baltimore as a nasty flu tore through my body. I'll admit, that decision may have been a little dumb.
So I guess I took personal offense to the reaction from one 20-something fan walking down Brookline Avenue disguised as a Red Sox fan. His jersey and ball cap almost had us convinced. Almost.
"Who won?" said my friend, playing dumb.
"Oh, I don't know," he said without shame. "I left before it was over."
Cringe.
(Side note: The game ended in 13 innings and featured a game-saving collision at home plate and a walk-home two-run home run, all in the home team's favor. The last few innings could've supplied ESPN with highlights to fill the entire hour of SportsCenter.)
So to all you deserters out there, I don't want to hear your excuses. I don't care if you want to beat traffic, or you have a dinner party to attend, or your child is getting sleepy. Why did you even bother showing up in the first place? Here are a few ideas: Take the T, cancel your plans, and get a baby sitter. You have Sox tickets, for Ted Williams' sake.
And next time your tickets get in the way of your busy schedule, I'll gladly take them off your hands.
Super-fan Cara Spilsbury is a staff writer for The Haverhill Gazette. You may e-mail her at cspilsbury@haverhillgazette.com.
