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.
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