The Sporting Life:
The Public Professor’s
Saturday Sports Column
During a White Sox-Royals game in 2002, Kansas City coach Tom Gamboa was assaulted by a father-son team for the ages while he stood in the first base box at Comiskey Park. That’s it. That’s the only case I can think of over the last quarter-century when any coach or player was seriously assaulted by a fan during a major professional or college sporting event.
I’m not counting the would be copycat attack the following year, also at Comiskey, when some pathetic sad sack tried to pull the same number on MLB umpire Laz Diaz. The guy was a loser, Diaz threw him to the ground, and no one was seriously hurt. So as far as I can remember, there’s just one instance in as long as I can remember.
Of course, over the same time period there have been numerous instances of professional players and stadium personnel getting exceptionally violent with fans. How many times have hockey players gone into the stands? And of course who could forget the Pacers-Pistons on-court brawl that ended with Ron Artest bravely leading his teammates into the stands, past women and children, to pick fights with random fans because someone threw a cup of Coke at him?
And it’s not only players. Just this past Summer, a teenager was tasered by a cop at Whatevertheycallit Field in Philadelphia (the official name of any baseball park that sells its naming rights, as opposed to Whatevertheycallit Stadium, football, and Whatevertheycallit Arena, hockey/basketball) for the high crimes of delaying a game by running across the field, and for exposing the cop as being overweight and out of shape. How embarrassing.
So really, it would seem that the players and stadium personnel are more of a threat to the fans than the fans are to the players and personnel. And that’s largely because the good old days of fan thuggery have evaporated in the face of high ticket prices. Most genuine goons can’t afford the price of admission these days, so most fans are politely middle class. Okay, they’re not always polite, but most of them really don’t have the cojones to get violent with each other, much less with a professional athlete twice their size.
And that brings us to this past Thursday. As we all know, LeBron James abandoned the Cavaliers and showed up the city of Cleveland by announcing his decision on a national television “event” that was at turns bizarre, ludicrous, contrived, and highly insulting to everyone’s intelligence. So it’s quite understandable that just about anyone who lives in northern Ohio and does not have the surname James really hates this guy. And good for them. A little hate can make a game more interesting, and it’s damn good for gate receipts. And so it was on Thursday that when James returned to face his ex-team and hometown for the first time since publicly spurning them in a televised display of narcissism, immaturity, and classlessness, it was a complete sellout at Whatevertheycallit Arena.
But because everyone in northern Ohio generally and Cleveland specifically really, really hates James, there was a little concern about possible violence. So the Cavaliers and the NBA took some reasonable steps. They sold beer in cups instead of plastic bottles, and they placed some extra security behind the Miami Heat bench.
Fine.
But what gets me going was the pre-game paranoia.
Kevin Durant: “I hope he’s safe. That’s what people are worried about.”
Vince Carter: “Of course you worry about another person’s well-being. He is another player, a friend. You just hope people don’t cross the line. It’s just basketball.”
Anonymous Cavs official to ESPN: “Honestly, I’m a little bit afraid.”
Wah, wah, wah.
I mean seriously, what a bunch of drama queens. Of course nothing happened. The only hint of violence was the way the Cavaliers rolled over and died on the court. What a joke. So honestly now, how are we to account for such whineyness and paranoia?
Part of the problem is that basketball and baseball players aren’t football and hockey players. The culture of their games isn’t as macho, and so if a fan does cross a line, you’re less inclined to see something like Pittsburgh Steeler Linebacker James Harrison take the punk down. And of course, who could forget Baltimore Colts Linebacker Mike Curtis doing much the same.
But here’s the thing. Since so many of today’s athletes are millionaire prima donas, once you take away the machismo all you really have is a bunch of pampered celebrities who like to go to the spa and indulge in a good manicure and some aromatherapy. Your average NBA and MLB players? Each one of them an over grown Justin Bieber in shorts or nickers. NHL and NFL players? Sure, they’re tougher than MLB and NBA players . . . in the way Bruce Willis is tougher than Will Ferrell. Like, whatever. At least Ferrell’s funny.
Anyway, the bottom line is that money has softened everyone. When tickets were a dollar and players made a middle class salary, things were a little livelier, a little edgier, and indeed, even a little more dangerous. But now? Now we’ve got corporate executives in luxury boxes and six figure-earning, polo shirt-wearing middle aged guys court side, watching a bunch of millionaires play ball. Extra security? How about some free Flomax to get those overpriced, watered down beers moving?
But enough of that. Let’s close with a song. Careful, it’s a little blue.