No Fireworks for Field Goals

I love American sports. Few past-times simul-taneously bring out the best AND worst in people. Fans vacillate in a span of seconds between likening their favorite player to Jesus, and calling his mother names. One second, they're high-fiving their neighbor - the next, they're punching that same stranger in the face. And of course, as the beer intake increases, the unpredictability of the individual grows - making a 2-3 hour sporting event all the more interesting for what's happening off the field vs. on it.

You can always tell who the problem fans at the game are going to be. You simply have to look at what they're wearing. Take the split-pic above. Now, on our left, we have annoying girl. She's come to the Jets/Patriots game wearing 4-inch-heeled platform sandals. See, when she started getting dressed for the event, she remembered that the Jets wear green - so she selected an appropriate shirt. And she knew it was going to be really hot - so she wore some less-appropriate-but-still-passable cut-off jean things. But then she thought, "Wait a second. Now I just look like any other fan dressed for a sporting event. I need to take this to the next level." So she grabbed her hooker heels out of the closet, fresh from last night's clubbing in Times Square. "Now," she thought, "I'm super hot and sexy - AND I love the Jets! YEAH!"

Then we have our friend on the right - we'll call him "Jetbo," because that's what the license plate he's wearing on his back reads. I'll let you chew on that for a moment. Jetbo is the fan who doesn't think about tomorrow when he gets dressed today. That's why Jetbo dyes his hair neon green and wears a metal-pronged dog collar around his neck. He doesn't think ahead to being at work on Monday with a discolored scalp, or scars around his mouth and neck from the point in the game when he jumped up and cheered and the collar stabbed him in the face (no, really).

Unfortunately for both of our fans, the Jets are not good, Brett Favre or not; nor are the Pats remotely bad, even minus Tom Brady. And there is nothing sadder than watching the downward spiral of two hyper-dressed fans as the quarters roll by. No doubt, by the third quarter, annoying girl had kicked off her heels in preparation for a barefoot limp through the parking lot. And Jetbo...well, he was sitting right in front of us, so I can tell you exactly what happened to him. Shortly after the one touchdown the Jets scored, I noticed that Jetbo seemed to have some schmutz on his face - perhaps a lot of ketchup. But upon second look, I realized that ketchup was actually blood! Jetbo was bleeding all around his mouth, and didn't even seem to notice. Oh well, at least he wasn't subjected to more fireworks after a field goal - that really made him mad the first time.

One bus- and train-ride later, we were back in Manhattan - where suddenly, my simple green tank top and black shorts looked a little off. And there were no Jetbos or...well, there were annoying girls...but they'd traded their platform sandals for gladiators, and their beers for dirty martinis.

New Jersey...I hardly knew ya.