Once again, the number one biggest problem with the Royals Baseball experience: the worst customer service in Major League Baseball.
In truth I haven’t been to every venue in the majors, so I can’t
completely confirm that we’re the worst. But in order to be any worse
than the Royals, a franchise would have to hire goons with sticks to hit
fans as we enter the ballpark.
In partial defense of the organization, it isn’t directly responsible
for fan misconduct. In some cases the security folks could be a little
more diligent about warnings and ejections, though of course that might
cut into beer sales. But for the most part they’re okay on this point.
We can’t reasonably expect them to stomp the guts out of everyone who
makes that ear-splitting whistle. At least they don’t let people honk
air horns or beat on a drum throughout the entire game.
On the other hand, all the rest of the previous seven gripes are things
the Royals could quite easily correct. We could also add several more.
They never bother to answer email. The parking control is often strange,
routing us to different entrances for no apparent reason. And worse,
after a long evening at the ballpark – especially after another painful
loss – the last thing anyone wants is a cop ordering them to turn right
into an extended drive rather than turning left for the direct route.
Plus whatever you do, don’t show up early. You’ll end up standing there
waiting to be allowed to take your seats (though I do kinda like the
chipper little rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” that signals
gate opening time).
That last point hits the nail most directly on the head. The franchise
blocks seat access on weeknights to save some money on vendor salary.
I’d be highly in favor of ripping off a bunch of poor folks working for
minimum wage if I thought the savings might go toward better players or
even better fan relations people. But what I’m guessing it goes for is
gold plating for the guest room hot tubs in a Glass family vacation
mansion in St. Kitts. A study released earlier this year estimated that
the Royals are the second most profitable franchise in Major League
Baseball. That margin doesn’t come from our awesome ticket sales or
nationwide merchandise retail. As long as the team just keeps on
sucking, the treasure chest of salary overrun penalties from the big
market teams stays open. So the best way for our owners to maximize
profits is by spending as little as possible.
Well, y’all have heard this rant from me many times already. I’ll let it go so we can move on to the good stuff.
Rain or shine, since 1973
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Gripe #2 - The bag touching
Okay, I admit it. I’m
neurotic about having my belongings touched by strangers. I’ll put up
with it when it’s necessary, but the Royals security bag grope ain’t.
Once the top flap is opened, my Jack Bauer Murse of Doom is completely
open, no other flaps or hidden compartments. So the contents can be
inspected with a minimum of handling.
Even when the grope uncovers something that might be contraband, the groper simply takes my word that it isn’t. If they aren’t going to make any effort to actually tell the difference between binoculars and beer bottles, then why bother with it to begin with?
And just so I don’t come across as completely insane about this, let me point out just how unsanitary the practice is. They don’t wear gloves. I’ve never seen so much as a wet wipe anywhere near any of them.
I’m sure most of the bags they caress are perfectly fine. But you have to know that more than once or twice a game they rub up against a purse that spends a good part of its pursely existence flopped down on the chaw-spat floor of some honky tonk in Raytown.
When they start digging inside, how many surfaces do they touch that previously came into contact with dirty diapers or leaking bottles of Tinkerbell perfume or dead possums? Try getting that picture out of your mind the next time one of our yellow-shirted friends finishes with the person in front of you and reaches for your stuff.
Even when the grope uncovers something that might be contraband, the groper simply takes my word that it isn’t. If they aren’t going to make any effort to actually tell the difference between binoculars and beer bottles, then why bother with it to begin with?
And just so I don’t come across as completely insane about this, let me point out just how unsanitary the practice is. They don’t wear gloves. I’ve never seen so much as a wet wipe anywhere near any of them.
I’m sure most of the bags they caress are perfectly fine. But you have to know that more than once or twice a game they rub up against a purse that spends a good part of its pursely existence flopped down on the chaw-spat floor of some honky tonk in Raytown.
When they start digging inside, how many surfaces do they touch that previously came into contact with dirty diapers or leaking bottles of Tinkerbell perfume or dead possums? Try getting that picture out of your mind the next time one of our yellow-shirted friends finishes with the person in front of you and reaches for your stuff.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Gripe #3 - The Furbies
We all breathed a deep sigh of
relief when the burrito stand moved down the concourse. But as if to
restore some kind of crappy karmic balance to the universe, they
replaced it with frozen margaritas and Sheridans custard.
One margarita hawker in particular had a squawk that could shatter glass. The only way they could have made the screeching any more eardrum piercing was to bring the Play Ball Kid up and have him or her scream “Feezeemeegeereetees!” for the whole game. Even if it wasn’t shrill, after four or five hundred repetitions, “frozen margaritas!” gets more than a little old. But I understand why they yell it over and over. At $12 a pop, cold, watery booze needs all the help it can get.
Harder to understand is why the custard craphounds have to be as bad as they are. Once the throngs finish swallowing their dollar dogs and go in search of dessert, the lines grow and the teens get busy. But beforehand – especially during the pregame – they apparently have nothing better to do with themselves than mill around right behind our seats making hooting noises and talking in Three Stooges voices. It’s seriously like sitting in front of some kind of demented Furby testing facility.
The worst part is when they do it during the Star Spangled Banner. I’m not trying to go all Lee Greenwood pseudo patriotic, but I honestly think a little respect during the national anthem is part of the game. For all the hand-wringing the franchise does about our troops, you’d think they could spare a moment or two during employee training for Francis Scott Key.
One margarita hawker in particular had a squawk that could shatter glass. The only way they could have made the screeching any more eardrum piercing was to bring the Play Ball Kid up and have him or her scream “Feezeemeegeereetees!” for the whole game. Even if it wasn’t shrill, after four or five hundred repetitions, “frozen margaritas!” gets more than a little old. But I understand why they yell it over and over. At $12 a pop, cold, watery booze needs all the help it can get.
Harder to understand is why the custard craphounds have to be as bad as they are. Once the throngs finish swallowing their dollar dogs and go in search of dessert, the lines grow and the teens get busy. But beforehand – especially during the pregame – they apparently have nothing better to do with themselves than mill around right behind our seats making hooting noises and talking in Three Stooges voices. It’s seriously like sitting in front of some kind of demented Furby testing facility.
The worst part is when they do it during the Star Spangled Banner. I’m not trying to go all Lee Greenwood pseudo patriotic, but I honestly think a little respect during the national anthem is part of the game. For all the hand-wringing the franchise does about our troops, you’d think they could spare a moment or two during employee training for Francis Scott Key.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Gripe #4: The "fans"
One of my goals for this blog was to avoid griping about our fellow
patrons of the game. For the most part the exercise was highly
therapeutic. Knowing that I would be writing about the games themselves
helped me ignore all but the most egregious of distractions in the
stands.
Still, few horrors equal the cold chills that start crawling the moment someone’s pungent odor assails us before they even take their seats right in front of us. Foul stenches are completely inescapable, damaging the experience right down to ruining the flavor of our food and drinks. Fortunately the only completely overwhelming Stinkos were the odd couple in front of us for the August 1 game (in heat that didn’t exactly help matters). Honorable mention goes to Perfuma Hairybutt on Sept. 14.
Moron-wise, for the most part we lucked out this year. We got the dream seats for one game, which for the most part was wonderful fun. But the folks sitting immediately behind us were a pack of grade A dunderheads. Seriously, folks. Nobody cares about the cruise you went on last spring or what you like to order from IHOP. I could also have done without the Laughing Hyenas on August 28, though their braying wouldn’t have stood out if only they’d found it in their hearts to sit the hell down while the game was in progress. The only genuinely creepy bunch was the strange, extended family on August 5. They spanned several rows and found an amazing array of ways to not watch the game.
Otherwise we lucked out on the bad groups. On Sept. 1 the Twinkies drew The Brute Family, three bored kids intent only on slugging each other. Then three days later we got hit with the inevitable avalanche of dry cleaners. The blessing with both these sets was that neither stayed for more than a couple of innings.
And then there was dollar dog night, which always brings out the fidgety mobs. We also ended up with a bad overall crowd situation during our last game of the year, though I admit work stress might have made that seem worse than it really was.
Recorded in black and white, the crowd problems from this season seem trivial. Knock wood for 2013.
Still, few horrors equal the cold chills that start crawling the moment someone’s pungent odor assails us before they even take their seats right in front of us. Foul stenches are completely inescapable, damaging the experience right down to ruining the flavor of our food and drinks. Fortunately the only completely overwhelming Stinkos were the odd couple in front of us for the August 1 game (in heat that didn’t exactly help matters). Honorable mention goes to Perfuma Hairybutt on Sept. 14.
Moron-wise, for the most part we lucked out this year. We got the dream seats for one game, which for the most part was wonderful fun. But the folks sitting immediately behind us were a pack of grade A dunderheads. Seriously, folks. Nobody cares about the cruise you went on last spring or what you like to order from IHOP. I could also have done without the Laughing Hyenas on August 28, though their braying wouldn’t have stood out if only they’d found it in their hearts to sit the hell down while the game was in progress. The only genuinely creepy bunch was the strange, extended family on August 5. They spanned several rows and found an amazing array of ways to not watch the game.
Otherwise we lucked out on the bad groups. On Sept. 1 the Twinkies drew The Brute Family, three bored kids intent only on slugging each other. Then three days later we got hit with the inevitable avalanche of dry cleaners. The blessing with both these sets was that neither stayed for more than a couple of innings.
And then there was dollar dog night, which always brings out the fidgety mobs. We also ended up with a bad overall crowd situation during our last game of the year, though I admit work stress might have made that seem worse than it really was.
Recorded in black and white, the crowd problems from this season seem trivial. Knock wood for 2013.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Gripe #5: Our inability to beat the Twins
Since the 1970s we’ve all clearly understood the need to beat the
Yankees. Everyone in Major League Baseball who isn’t the Yankees
understands this, because at one point or another we’ve all faced the
Evil Empire at critical points in the season or post-season. Other
“nemesis” teams come and go. The Indians were too dominant back in the
90s. The Red Sox got a little insufferable for awhile (though this
season they’re worse than we are).
But the Twins? Why should we have to hate the Twins?
The problem here is the weakness of our division. The number three teams in the East and West would both have finished in first in the Central. So even a weak team can thrive in the “biologically rich” (read: cesspool) environment of the fly-over states. And for some time the Twins did just that, taking the division year after year by virtue of being slightly less mediocre than everyone else. And of course a team that wins consistently – no matter how cheap those wins might be – is going to draw its share of band-wagoning “fans.” Minnesota is close enough to bring more than the usual complement of obnoxious jerks into our house.
But the worm turns. This year Minnesota is the worst team in the American League. This phenomenon should be netting us two benefits. First, we should be hearing less “Here we go Twinkies” and looking at fewer “Circle me Bert” signs. That one we got. Not as much as one might hope, but at least enough to be noticed.
But even a team as bad as the Royals should be able to beat a team as spectacularly terrible as the Twins. And yet we sat through seven games with this team without winning a single one until the last. We even lost both games of a double-header. How the heck don’t we at least split a double-header against the worst team in the league?
If the franchise is going to concentrate on one on-field goal for 2013, beating the Twins more consistently needs to be it.
But the Twins? Why should we have to hate the Twins?
The problem here is the weakness of our division. The number three teams in the East and West would both have finished in first in the Central. So even a weak team can thrive in the “biologically rich” (read: cesspool) environment of the fly-over states. And for some time the Twins did just that, taking the division year after year by virtue of being slightly less mediocre than everyone else. And of course a team that wins consistently – no matter how cheap those wins might be – is going to draw its share of band-wagoning “fans.” Minnesota is close enough to bring more than the usual complement of obnoxious jerks into our house.
But the worm turns. This year Minnesota is the worst team in the American League. This phenomenon should be netting us two benefits. First, we should be hearing less “Here we go Twinkies” and looking at fewer “Circle me Bert” signs. That one we got. Not as much as one might hope, but at least enough to be noticed.
But even a team as bad as the Royals should be able to beat a team as spectacularly terrible as the Twins. And yet we sat through seven games with this team without winning a single one until the last. We even lost both games of a double-header. How the heck don’t we at least split a double-header against the worst team in the league?
If the franchise is going to concentrate on one on-field goal for 2013, beating the Twins more consistently needs to be it.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Gripe #6 - The WiFi situation
When we got internet
service in our home, our ISP threw in the wireless router gratis. And if
an object is so inexpensive that AT&T is willing to give it away
for free, I suspect a multi-million-dollar sports business could afford
to spring for a couple for the fans in the stands.
The stadium’s WiFi was never super reliable, but a couple of weeks before the All Star Game it disappeared completely. Or to be more precise, the locked nodes for the press and the luxury boxes were still visible, but the open node for the rest of us had vanished. No big deal, I figured. They need extra bandwidth for the media when the circus comes to town, and things will get back to normal after the break. Sadly, the normal things got back to was the Royals’ normal lack of respect for their fans.
The open WiFi never came back. To be honest, not having it was pretty much the same as having it. The only big inconvenience for me was that now I have to manually enter lineups in iScore rather than downloading them automatically. But I can easily get the lineups from ESPN via my phone and transfer them to the scoring software. In truth, manual copying is probably less trouble than the complicated routine that used to be required to hook up to the WiFi.
So perhaps I should be thanking our cheapskate franchise for making me less dependent on it.
The stadium’s WiFi was never super reliable, but a couple of weeks before the All Star Game it disappeared completely. Or to be more precise, the locked nodes for the press and the luxury boxes were still visible, but the open node for the rest of us had vanished. No big deal, I figured. They need extra bandwidth for the media when the circus comes to town, and things will get back to normal after the break. Sadly, the normal things got back to was the Royals’ normal lack of respect for their fans.
The open WiFi never came back. To be honest, not having it was pretty much the same as having it. The only big inconvenience for me was that now I have to manually enter lineups in iScore rather than downloading them automatically. But I can easily get the lineups from ESPN via my phone and transfer them to the scoring software. In truth, manual copying is probably less trouble than the complicated routine that used to be required to hook up to the WiFi.
So perhaps I should be thanking our cheapskate franchise for making me less dependent on it.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Gripe #7 - The Buck Seat
In late July the franchise gave
away funny-looking Buck O’Neil bobbleheads as part of its salute to the
Negro Leagues. I thought it would have been much more in keeping with
their regard for O’Neil’s spirit if they’d given away a Buck Seat
bobblehead. The figurine would have been some random white guy, but if
you take it to work with you it organizes your desk accessories into a
charity golf tournament.
Perhaps they could even make it a series. Buck Seat bobblehead number two: the founder, president, CEO and CFO of the Hey My Kid Has Cancer Foundation. This one honors grief-stricken parents who create their own micro-charities rather than minimizing overhead by focusing their efforts on fundraising for an established organization. I’m sure some of them are legit or at least well-intentioned. I’m also sure some of them are profit-making vanity projects. Type “start your own charity” into your favorite search engine and see if the results you get give off a strong “scam” vibe.
And of course we can’t go without the Soccer League Coach bobblehead. Though these folks deserve some recognition for their efforts to support youth fitness (especially those who work to promote the glory-free world of girls’ sports), we should also recognize that many of them are gym teachers or other school officials who get paid to do what they do. That cuts substantially into the “goodness of their hearts” element.
I’m not saying they should never put a white person in the seat. Not everybody is a Congressional Medal of Honor winner. I’m sure charity golf tournaments are good things. Cancer sucks, and I feel genuinely sorry for anyone with an ill family member. I’m not against teachers or softball coaches. It’s just that most of the seat’s occupants seem thoroughly unremarkable, notable for doing little more than their jobs. Any day now I expect the stadium announcer to identify the Buck Seat honoree as “Cletus Thudpucker, who has been a sanitation worker in Blue Springs for the last 20 years. And if you don’t think that’s important, think of what Blue Springs would be like if nobody picked up the trash.”
Perhaps they could even make it a series. Buck Seat bobblehead number two: the founder, president, CEO and CFO of the Hey My Kid Has Cancer Foundation. This one honors grief-stricken parents who create their own micro-charities rather than minimizing overhead by focusing their efforts on fundraising for an established organization. I’m sure some of them are legit or at least well-intentioned. I’m also sure some of them are profit-making vanity projects. Type “start your own charity” into your favorite search engine and see if the results you get give off a strong “scam” vibe.
And of course we can’t go without the Soccer League Coach bobblehead. Though these folks deserve some recognition for their efforts to support youth fitness (especially those who work to promote the glory-free world of girls’ sports), we should also recognize that many of them are gym teachers or other school officials who get paid to do what they do. That cuts substantially into the “goodness of their hearts” element.
I’m not saying they should never put a white person in the seat. Not everybody is a Congressional Medal of Honor winner. I’m sure charity golf tournaments are good things. Cancer sucks, and I feel genuinely sorry for anyone with an ill family member. I’m not against teachers or softball coaches. It’s just that most of the seat’s occupants seem thoroughly unremarkable, notable for doing little more than their jobs. Any day now I expect the stadium announcer to identify the Buck Seat honoree as “Cletus Thudpucker, who has been a sanitation worker in Blue Springs for the last 20 years. And if you don’t think that’s important, think of what Blue Springs would be like if nobody picked up the trash.”
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Gripe #8 - Broken promises
The Royals shouldn’t bother making promises to fans, as they seem to be pathologically incapable of keeping them.
The big problem in this department cropped up before the season even began. They’d set a date for the start of All Star Game ticket sales. The date would come and go with no announcement. They’d set another deadline. And again fail to meet it. With the franchise’s staff limitations, I can see how it might take awhile to make sure The Sports Authority has all the seats it wants before opening sales to the rest of us. But why is it so hard to make a realistic estimate of the time required? Even if they’d said nothing at all until they were actually ready to start taking orders, that would still have been better than sending us on daily scrambles to the mailbox waiting for word they knew wasn’t coming.
Another example: as a bonus for season ticket holders, they offered us a free scoreboard greeting. Do I even have to say that the birthday message I turned in for Amy didn’t show up? Again, if they never offered the freebie to begin with, I wouldn’t have expected it. But once a promise is made, it needs to be kept.
The big problem in this department cropped up before the season even began. They’d set a date for the start of All Star Game ticket sales. The date would come and go with no announcement. They’d set another deadline. And again fail to meet it. With the franchise’s staff limitations, I can see how it might take awhile to make sure The Sports Authority has all the seats it wants before opening sales to the rest of us. But why is it so hard to make a realistic estimate of the time required? Even if they’d said nothing at all until they were actually ready to start taking orders, that would still have been better than sending us on daily scrambles to the mailbox waiting for word they knew wasn’t coming.
Another example: as a bonus for season ticket holders, they offered us a free scoreboard greeting. Do I even have to say that the birthday message I turned in for Amy didn’t show up? Again, if they never offered the freebie to begin with, I wouldn’t have expected it. But once a promise is made, it needs to be kept.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Game 41 vs. Detroit
Last game of the season, at least for us. The Royals won’t officially finish up until tomorrow, and the Tigers will go on to the postseason. In the days to come we’ll have plenty of time for the “what a season it was” stuff. For now I’ll just focus on the game.
And what a game it was. If nothing else, how many times do you see the infield fly rule called twice in one game? Apparently I didn’t quite get it (no big shock there). I always thought that the rule gave a free pass for the runners to return to their bases. But no. Runners can advance “at the risk of the ball being caught.” Which is exactly what happened to Prince Fielder in the third. Someone’s head wasn’t exactly in the game.
Nor was he alone. Neither team had much at stake tonight. Detroit clinched the AL Central by beating us yesterday. We were nowhere near taking over second place from the White Sox or being overtaken by Cleveland. So both managers were playing around with their lineups. Jim Leyland pulled Miguel Cabrera in the middle innings, no doubt to help preserve his bid for the triple crown.
Nor would we have done as well against Doug Fister if he hadn’t been treating this as a short, practice game. Billy Butler – subbing for injured Eric Hosmer – managed not one but two amateurish errors. Not that anybody exactly brought his A game.
Anybody besides Alcides Escobar, that is. Batting in his usual number two spot, he started the game by planting one in his favorite homer spot in the left field bullpen. He hit five home runs this year, and we saw four of them. Nor was he slouching in the field. He made a spectacular throw from deep in the pocket to get Avisail “First Name Sounds Like Arthritis Medicine” Garcia in the eighth and made another similarly fantastic play in the ninth. His efforts made a difference in a game as close as this, a welcome treat to close a long season.
And what a game it was. If nothing else, how many times do you see the infield fly rule called twice in one game? Apparently I didn’t quite get it (no big shock there). I always thought that the rule gave a free pass for the runners to return to their bases. But no. Runners can advance “at the risk of the ball being caught.” Which is exactly what happened to Prince Fielder in the third. Someone’s head wasn’t exactly in the game.
Nor was he alone. Neither team had much at stake tonight. Detroit clinched the AL Central by beating us yesterday. We were nowhere near taking over second place from the White Sox or being overtaken by Cleveland. So both managers were playing around with their lineups. Jim Leyland pulled Miguel Cabrera in the middle innings, no doubt to help preserve his bid for the triple crown.
Nor would we have done as well against Doug Fister if he hadn’t been treating this as a short, practice game. Billy Butler – subbing for injured Eric Hosmer – managed not one but two amateurish errors. Not that anybody exactly brought his A game.
Anybody besides Alcides Escobar, that is. Batting in his usual number two spot, he started the game by planting one in his favorite homer spot in the left field bullpen. He hit five home runs this year, and we saw four of them. Nor was he slouching in the field. He made a spectacular throw from deep in the pocket to get Avisail “First Name Sounds Like Arthritis Medicine” Garcia in the eighth and made another similarly fantastic play in the ninth. His efforts made a difference in a game as close as this, a welcome treat to close a long season.
The box score: TIGERS (2) AT ROYALS (4) TIGERS AB R H BI ROYALS AB R H BI Quintin Berry 4 1 1 0 Jarrod Dyson 4 1 1 0 Ramon Santiago 4 0 1 0 Alcides Escobar 4 1 3 2 Miguel Cabrera 3 0 2 2 Alex Gordon 3 0 1 0 Omar Infante 1 0 0 0 Billy Butler 2 0 1 0 Prince Fielder 2 0 0 0 Salvador Perez 4 0 0 1 Avisail Garcia 1 0 0 0 Jeff Francoeur 4 1 2 1 Delmon Young 4 0 0 0 Brayan Pena 4 0 0 0 Alex Avila 2 0 0 0 Tony Abreu 2 0 0 0 Bryan Holaday 1 0 0 0 Irving Falu 4 1 1 0 Brennan Boesch 4 0 0 0 Don Kelly 4 0 1 0 Danny Worth 2 1 1 0 TOTALS 32 2 6 2 TOTALS 31 4 9 4 TIGERS 002 000 000 -- 2 ROYALS 100 020 01x -- 4 LOB--TIGERS 6, ROYALS 8. ERR--Billy Butler. HR--Jeff Francoeur, Alcides Escobar. HBP--Tony Abreu. SB--Alcides Escobar. TIGERS IP H R ER BB SO HR Doug Fister 4 1-3 7 3 3 2 2 1 Luke Putkonen 1 2-3 0 0 0 0 0 0 Darin Downs 1 1-3 2 1 1 2 1 1 Brayan Villarreal 0 2-3 0 0 0 0 0 0 ROYALS Jeremy Guthrie 6 5 2 2 3 3 0 Francisley Bueno 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 Kelvin Herrera 1 0 0 0 0 2 0 Greg Holland 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 BALK--Jeremy Guthrie. SO--Ramon Santiago, Delmon Young, Don Kelly, Alex Avila, Omar Infante, Brennan Boesch, Jeff Francoeur, Jarrod Dyson (2). BB--Prince Fielder, Alex Avila, Danny Worth, Billy Butler (2), Alex Gordon, Tony Abreu. NOTES: Last game of the season LOCATION: The K CONDITION: Dry WEATHER: Cool, Clear, Calm Buck: W- (“Involved with education”?) Guard: USAF Anthem: Okay Umpires H - Knight 1 - Winters 2 - Wegner 3 - Holbrook Time: 7:11 Temp: 74
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