Allow me to rant for a moment. (If you're a frequent reader of this here blog (and I hope you are) you know that I'll rant.) I went to the Sioux Falls Pheasants game on Saturday. This post really has nothing to do about the game but I'm admittedly a sports nerd and take some pride in the little things that go with going to a game. This will be a post about the little things. 85 percent of the people at the game last evening could have cared less about my rant but I'm going to say my piece anyway.
I'm usually one to keep my ticket stub to a professional sporting event, one to keep score during a baseball game and one to buy a program. In fact, I would consider myself a collector of game programs considering there is a tote in the basement of parents' home with programs from all kinds of sporting events dating back at least 15 years I'm sure. (Does the 2000 Mankato Mashers' game program have any value? Probably not. But I'm keeping it.) To me, the game has less value if I don't have a program or someway to know who's who. I would estimate I arrived about 20 minutes before the Pheasants took on the St. Paul Saints.
I walked in the gate and I couldn't find anyone hawking them. Didn't find anything, so I kept walking without one and found a seat. Went back down in the second inning. Still nothing. By then, I did give up. Admittedly, I didn't care who won or who lost and I didn't truly care
who the players were but I wanted a program. (The only Pheasants player
I've ever heard of is Reggie Abercrombie and he doesn't even play for
them anymore. Also, I knew they had a guy from Hartford, S.D. and sure
enough, he was cut Saturday.) I'm willing to buy a program too. If something amazing would have happened Saturday, like a no-hitter or a triple play, I wanted to have a tangible object to remember it by. If Joe Smith throws the no-hitter, how will remember? Especially with a name like Joe Smith. I would have had the ticket stub and I guess that would have had to been good enough. I know they existed because I saw other people with them.
I found the same issue earlier this winter when I went to Sioux Falls Stampede hockey game. I did find one there after I successfully hunted down the 16-year-old punk holding the booklets. To prove I'm not picking on the ownership group that owns both teams, I had the same issue when I went to the Wolves game in January or February. Again, hunted that particular person down but only after I asked three other people. (The Wolves only had them in one location in the arena. What's up with that? Granted, there are two main entrances into the building but that baffled me. Why not just put the programs with the 10 stands you have selling Ricky Rubio jerseys?) Same story a few years ago when I was lucky enough to go to a memorable St. Louis Cardinals game. Programs not available anywhere else but the front gate so I ran down the stairs and back up to get a program. (Memorable because of a rain delay, the group I was with and because they were giving out Cardinals snuggies that night.)
I like to lampoon the Twins on the field and even off it (Looking at you, Dick, Bert, Roy, LaPanta, Incomkowski (not going to the work to look up the proper spelling of your name. Sorry.), Laudner, grounds crew, etc.), but in the stadium and in the concourses, nobody does it better and that includes the sales of programs.
When I envision walking into a sporting event, I still picture some big voice, yelling "Programs, Programs! Get your programs!" Every team now is pretty much gone down to the booklet sized programs, which is okay with me. I just wish the marketing of a program wouldn't decrease with them.
Full disclosure: I probably missed them. In fact, I know I did. It's my fault. I still think I have a point here. Yes I went over 700 words on programs at sporting events but this made for a good blog topic.
Diehards is one word for them
Also weird? The amount of "groupies" with the St. Paul Saints.
In this league with teams in Laredo and El Paso, I realize the four hours between the teams is close but are there really diehards like this? These players are professionals and while they may not make much, it's not like they live with host families. There looked like guys who might be on the pitching staff hanging out in the stands (They don't do that in this league do they?). Otherwise, I would say about 50-75 of the
2,502 in attendance were actively rooting for the Saints. It felt like a lot
The weirdest story came at the end of the game. (To tell the longer story, I must first tell you the long stories.) I bought a $7 dollar ticket and then meandered my way down to the sixth row behind first base and behind the third base line in about the 12th row, then firmly behind home plate and then finally down to the third row behind the visitors' on-deck circle. Thanks, Birdcage security. You're good folks.
I'm in the on-deck spot in the ninth inning. The game was tied 6-6 in the ninth inning and the batter of the Birds hit a ground ball that was hit sharply to the shortstop where he reached to his right, only to get enough of a glove on the ball to slow it down en route to left field. The runner on second base rounded and scored, giving the Pheasants the 7-6 win.
There was a bigger fellow with long hair and a Saints cap and shirt sitting right behind me. He was keeping score and when the Pheasants were dialing up the dreaded sacrifice bunt with a runner on first and nobody out, he said aloud "Do you think they're going to bunt?" in a very sarcastic manner when it was quite clear they were going to bunt. After the batter somehow missed the bunt on the first pitch, he was ready again and the guy behind me carried out his bit he was on. As if he hadn't already confirmed that he was indeed a moron.
When the final run scored and the Saints were walking toward the dugout, toward me and the dink behind me, he says "Don't worry, we'll get 'em tomorrow." I thought to myself, "He's clearly a supporter, that's fine and we'll all be on our way to the exits. Good day, sir." But his statement of support was not enough. He moseyed on down to the part of the dugout open to the seats above, near the net and the on-deck circle and repeated his sentiment, "Don't worry, we'll get 'em tomorrow," but I would say about two feet of his body was firmly in the Saints' dugout. If I was a player who had just suffered a tough loss, the last thing I would want would be a crazed supporter peering into the dugout to say anything.
