OK, so now that I’ve got my post about how it’s ridiculous to hate-on Sergio Santos is out of the way, HOLY FUCK, SERGIO SANTOS. Which I say, obviously, not in a shoulda-got-a-proven-closer, sky-is-falling, I’m-a-giant-reactionary-twat-who-can’t-control-my-emotions-type way. It’s just, the blown save was pretty much the worst thing ever for a lot of reasons.
For one, it truly was a punch in the fucking gut after it looked like the Jays had a good chance to pull out a tense ballgame, even if you never really feel fully confident– Santos struggling or not– staring at Pedroia, Gonzalez and Youkilis to start the ninth.
For two, for obvious reasons, it really dampened what was, to that point, a terrific atmosphere.
For three, it means more days of having to hold Chicken Little’s hand through concepts like “sample size” and “the season is 162 goddamn games long.”
For four, and most importantly, this was supposed to be Colby’s day!
Their lungs apparently don’t possess moron strength, because it wasn’t overpowering, but there were a few absolute dipshits that I could hear from my section booing Rasmus during his introduction. And Colby made them look like the asinine fools they truly are, sprawling out make a spectacular diving catch in the top of the third– earning a standing ovation in the process– and following it up in the bottom half of the frame with a triple and, eventually, the game’s first run.
As for other impressions?
Well, my beer concerns seemed a bit overblown– though I was in the 100s and as yet haven’t heard much about the 500 Level experience. Beer– or, later on, cider– guys were readily available in the section I was in, and fights seemed to be less prevalent than years past, but that may have only been from my perspective.
I’d like to say this was the case because of the Jays’ alcohol limits, but I seriously effing doubt it. I’d also like to say it was because of the increased police presence at the game, unfortunately, the cops I saw were pretty much entirely useless.
I don’t say that flippantly, either.
At one point a fight started between two fans on either side of the aisle, just a few rows in front of where I was. Everybody stood up to watch, and there was no doubt what was going on. It went on like this for a while– a couple minutes, at least– before my friends and I started looking around at each other, puzzled that nobody in a position of authority had actually taken the initiative to, y’know, do anything about it. The cop stationed on the field at the bottom of the aisle just had his hands on his hips, laughing as he looked up at the melee. And while I can’t fault him for not wanting to leave his perch, I can fault the policemen on the concourse for not intervening until one-to-two minutes after security’s apparent first line of defence: a young black woman in a blue “staff” jacket who looked all of about 5’6″. Eight or nine cops, finally, slowly made their way down the aisle to take over from the girl who’d been doing their job for them.
It’s not like they could be expected to police the whole stadium, I guess.
I don’t know… maybe there’s some reason that they couldn’t? Whatever.
Beyond that, I thought the video board– aka the tron-formerly-known-as-the-Jumbotron– looked terrific, and if it hadn’t been upgraded over the winter (had it?), the club’s new colour scheme really seemed to make the text pop. I found it a lot more readable. And I loved the double-piping font now being used on the boards showing pitch speed and the count.
And… ya… if the way had have left a better taste in my mouth, maybe I’d have remembered more. It was great to be back at the park regardless.