The View From the Cheap Seats

Note: Sports column alert! This may put the non-sports fans in a state of slumber, and is also being posted on The Sports Nut.

Time for a semi-regular view from where the real fans sit, and since the actual cheap seats ain’t so cheap anymore, I’m talking about the ultimate cheap seats, the broken down and well worn family recliner, or in my case, my comfy chair at Starbucks. The coffee isn’t so cheap, but it’s darn good, and the chair is free. So what is up in the wonderful wide world of sports these days?

For starters, Manny is a complete arse. For those who may not recognize a pompous arse by first name only, I am referring to Manny Ramirez, the RBI machine who has toiled for mere multi-millions for the last eight or so years with the Boston Red Sox. While there can be no doubt that Manny is a prolific run producer, which is what it’s all about for an offensive player in baseball, scoring them and driving them in, and while he is also no doubt a first ballot hall of famer, he is also a first class jerk and a malcontent. The jerk was evident in his recent physical abuse of a clubhouse attendant, the malcontent arises often, and the latest is his quest for mental peace and his little backhanded slap at Bosox fans. See, Manny thinks that you fans are just a bunch of dumb sheep that do and believe whatever the team and media wants you to. The Red Sox have turned the fans against other fellow star players, and Manny doesn’t want to be the latest victim. I’ve got a mental piece for you Manny, fans aren’t so dumb, even the ones who hail from the right coast that I semi-affectionately like to refer to as east coast monkeys due to their ape like passion for their teams. Fans turn on a player when he becomes blatantly disloyal, or when he fails to show up for work and hustle, or when he stops producing. Clearly Manny still produces, but his disloyalty and constant trade demands may finally turn fans sour on him, just as it did with Alex Rodriguez who was pretty well liked before he bailed out on the Seattle Mariners for a huge payout in Texas, or Mike Piazza, who engineered his way out of LA when 90 million just wasn’t enough to satisfy his enormous ego. Likewise for Scotty Pippen when he refused to put his shoes back on and come in at the end of a game when his number wasn’t going to be called, or Randy Moss when he declared that he only plays when he feels like it. Granted these guys to a large degree were able to rehabilitate their damaged reputations, but the real fans in the cheap seats don’t forget a slight.

You see, those of us who actually work for a living, bust our tails every day, play by the rules in our lives, don’t hold out for more money or otherwise shirk from our duties because of real or perceived slights from our bosses, we don’t take too kindly to all this nonsense about respect and mental peace and getting paid what you are worth. To us, just being able to play a kid’s game well into your 30’s is reward enough, and getting paid at all for it, let alone outrageous sums that allow you to take care of yourself and your family for the rest of time just puts icing on the cake life you already live. That’s why we dislike players who don’t seem to appreciate what they have and who act with a sense of entitlement, such as Barry Bonds, who is arguably the greatest hitter who ever lived, yet who will never hold the spot in fan’s hearts that Cal Ripken does. It’s why fans got so fired up back in the magical summer of 1998, before we became obsessed with steroids, when Sosa and McGuire were battling for the home run record. Those two guys seemed like they were enjoying the pursuit, that they got it and we could enjoy their battle vicariously through them. If A-Rod were to go on a similar pursuit now it would be hard to get as excited, the guy just seems to be a phony, and more concerned about his bank account and his image than just being about the love of the game. Pure, unadulterated love of the game is why Brett Favre is a legend in our hearts and minds, when you watch the guy play you can imagine that is how you and your buddies would be if you only had the chance. Same for my all-time favorite athlete, Magic Johnson, whose infectious smile and genuine love of the game of basketball came through every time he stepped onto the court at the Fabulous Forum back in the glory days of Showtime.

As it turns out then, fans actually do think for themselves, and don’t just go along with what the teams or press wants us to go along with, and we do usually reward the good guys and shun the bad guys. Guys like Manny and his ilk will never get it, and thankfully guys like Phil Mickelson do get it, and fans will always appreciate their efforts, even when they fall short. Think about it, Ripken won a total of one World Series with the Orioles, and Favre led the Packers to one Super Bowl title, Mickelson’s failures outnumber his successes in majors, Charles Barkley never won a title, yet all of these athletes hold a special place in the cheap seats hall of fame. Bonds and A-Rod may well end up one-two in all-time home runs, Manny surely will rank among the top RBI guys in history, Roger Clemens will go down as arguably the greatest power pitcher ever, but none of them will get the adulation and accolades that their on-field accomplishments would suggest, for the simple reason that their behavior and the way they carried themselves turned people off.

Well, it’s time for my free refill, so this will have to be a wrap from the cheap seats for today. But fear not sports fans, the view will be back, with opinions and observations on the upcoming Olympic Games, the breathlessly awaited and eagerly anticipated X-games, the shaping up of the baseball pennant races, and of course, much ado about football, college and pro, including my Pac-10 predictions. Here’s a hint, I’m picking a certain pigskin powerhouse to win their seventh straight conference championship, but I’ve got a couple perennial contenders dropping into the second division, and a couple of also-rans climbing into the upper half of the conference. Until we meet again, may the victories be sweet, may the beers be ice cold, the picture crystal clear and highly defined, the remote always close at hand, and may the good guys get the W when it’s all said and done.