Ever since watching Land of the Dead every time I see fireworks in the sky, I can't help but to think about sky flowers. I know that at times the "of the Dead" series are used as social commentary, but I can't compare baseball goers to zombies, could I?Ennui Prayer (the Hunger Writer) presents:
The 7th Inning Stretch of the Dead
The 7th Inning Stretch of the Dead
I suppose we should get off on a good start. Today Chik-fil-A sponsored something or other at the game. It was a good thing and the commentary isn't about them - however, when they started tossing out free soft balls and toy cows at the audience, things got bad.
I already had about five hours standing at the parking lot, bringing in a nice bundle (I sold about 170 tickets), before being put on guard to make sure the children didn't get onto the field or on top of the dug out. That was only job I had to do. When the cow and his girls started tossing out the freebies, pandemonium broke lose. I knew that the kids were going to pile up, but men too? C'mon, gimme a break. The thing that worried me most was that these men all had a couple of beers in their systems and they were no holds bar on attempting to get the freebies. I half expected on of them to punch a kid in the face and take the goods. Luckily, for me and the for the kids, that didn't happen.
But seeing the hordes of people surrounding the cow and girls, I started to think any minute now, and someones arms will be ripped off and a zombiesque howl will echo throughout the night. I'm a little zombie crazed, if you haven't guessed.
Another prime example of baseball goers as zombies is the parking lot. When I told them it was two dollars, half of them looked at me with this vacant stare. I half expected one of them to lurch out at me and pull me in, ripping the flesh of my throat as I struggled for freedom. Not to mention the ones who just looked at me, nodding their heads and passing by. Not zombiesque, unless of course, they saw me as one of them.
In Addition: I failed to mention consumption in this post. Like the undead, baseball fans have this violent urge to consume more than they need. Watching them feasting on crap that would kill them (and possibly make them into real zombies) is downright nauseating. And much like their undead counterparts, baseball goers leave behind a trail of gutted watermelon, sucked dry bottles and pieces of half eaten food on the floor.
I already had about five hours standing at the parking lot, bringing in a nice bundle (I sold about 170 tickets), before being put on guard to make sure the children didn't get onto the field or on top of the dug out. That was only job I had to do. When the cow and his girls started tossing out the freebies, pandemonium broke lose. I knew that the kids were going to pile up, but men too? C'mon, gimme a break. The thing that worried me most was that these men all had a couple of beers in their systems and they were no holds bar on attempting to get the freebies. I half expected on of them to punch a kid in the face and take the goods. Luckily, for me and the for the kids, that didn't happen.
But seeing the hordes of people surrounding the cow and girls, I started to think any minute now, and someones arms will be ripped off and a zombiesque howl will echo throughout the night. I'm a little zombie crazed, if you haven't guessed.
Another prime example of baseball goers as zombies is the parking lot. When I told them it was two dollars, half of them looked at me with this vacant stare. I half expected one of them to lurch out at me and pull me in, ripping the flesh of my throat as I struggled for freedom. Not to mention the ones who just looked at me, nodding their heads and passing by. Not zombiesque, unless of course, they saw me as one of them.
In Addition: I failed to mention consumption in this post. Like the undead, baseball fans have this violent urge to consume more than they need. Watching them feasting on crap that would kill them (and possibly make them into real zombies) is downright nauseating. And much like their undead counterparts, baseball goers leave behind a trail of gutted watermelon, sucked dry bottles and pieces of half eaten food on the floor.
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