oh, the sacrifices i make for friendship

For the first time in years, Katrina and I were able to go to a Seahawks game together. She normally doesn't have an extra ticket, and I'm normally otherwise occupied. Thank you, Ben's wang, for freeing up my schedule.

The game was a dog—Chiefs at Hawks—but I didn't mind. I hadn't gone to a game with Katrina in a decade. And so we nestled into her dad's season ticket seats, and I marveled at Qwest Field. Sigh. Why teams building stadiums don't simply borrow the blueprints for Qwest, I will never understand. I admired Katrina's family's seats and their excellent sight-lines.

chiefs-fan.jpg"I HATE these seats!" announced a Chiefs fan, sitting in the row in front of us. The three of them were donned in a-DOR-able matching Santa hats. They posed for photos with one another, ignoring the game. They texted their friends, ignoring the game. They ran for beers when their team was driving for a touchdown, missing the score. When they returned and shuffled in front of other fans, it was during a live play, naturally. On the few occasions when she did watch the game, one woman would signal "First Down" when the ball carrier was four yards short, then turn around to bask in the deafening apathy of the "enemy" fans she'd hoped to antagonize. At this point, I started checking off my fan offenses checklist.

About the fifth time the woman stood up during the middle of a play in progress, thereby blocking Katrina's view of the action, Katrina asked the woman to wait until the play was over. The woman stood more than ever, naturally, and now she was turning to face the "enemy" fans even more often.

"You say the word, and I will pummel all three of them," I whispered to Katrina.

"Do NOT get in a fight," she said ambiguously, leaving me just enough wiggle room to get in a fight.

Because she is a season ticket holder, Katrina is ordinarily insulated from the riff-raff. She reads my posts about moronic fans, and she honestly tells me she has never seen this sort of behavior. This led us both to the same conclusion.

"This is my fault," I said when her view was blocked again.

"I know."

"They're always in front of me, whatever stadium I'm in. They're never five seats thataway. Nope."

At this point, I noticed that the guy in front of us was delightedly telling the woman I was talking about her. All her efforts at getting attention were finally paying off!

"Are you talking about me?" she asked, also delighted.

"Not specifically. I was just talking generally about the sort of moron who stands up during the middle of a live play, blocking the view of everyone behind her."

There was a moment of silence, and the woman never looked at us again. The guy, however, belligerently rushed to her defense. I was stupid, and rude, and fat, and an ass, and I had ruined the good time of a woman who had flown 3200 miles from Kansas City to see this game.

Did Kansas City move to Nova Scotia? I thought. Or is this an inflationary universe thing where Kansas City didn't move, but the fabric of space between Seattle and KC has expanded? Heh. That's a good one. I should use that—

And then I looked at Katrina. She was shaking her head. The season ticket holder next to her was shaking his head, too.

Seattle people. Oy.

The man continued his rant. To summarize his better points: their good time mattered, not everyone else's, and their seats cost money, not ours. Plus I should be grateful not to be able to see the Seahawks, he sneered, which might have been the devastating repost he so clearly thought it was if I were actually a Hawks fan.

In the manner of a provocateur who expected someone else to back down and realized, too late, that he was now in an indefinite conflict, he now started telling his companions that the asshole wasn't worth it.

"He's so not worth it," they all agreed, then, turning to me, fired the death blow. "But you started it," the view-blocking, crowd-antagonizing, eavesdropping name-callers said.

"Really!" I chirped. "So out of curiosity, what exactly do you think I did wrong? You didn't like that in the private conversation you eavesdropped in on, I said she was rude?"

"YOU'RE AN ASS!"

"Yes, we've already covered that. But what is it you think I did wrong?"

"YOU'RE AN ASS!"

"Okay, you sober up and choose the right words and—"

"YOU'RE AN ASS!"

"Perhaps you should file a fan incident report, then, if my conduct has been so objectionable. I know I would like to read it."

"Fuck off," the man concluded. "You made her feel bad."

"Good. She deserves to feel bad."

The three visitors gasped. They couldn't have been more offended if I'd added "And I hope she kills herself." Which, incidentally, only Katrina's glare kept me from adding.

• • •

In the post-mortem on the incident, I remarked that I was impressed that the normally non-confrontational Katrina had asked the drunken women to not block her view. Katrina remarked that she was impressed that I was able to dial down and not get into an actual fight.

"I know that wasn't easy for you," we each said to the other.