This is the jerk who probably got his front row seats from Stub Hub, and has never sat closer than the tailgate party in the parking lot in the past. He constantly yammers on his cell phone during the game, telling all five people he knows on the planet what awesome seats he has, and continually waving his arms like he was signaling for a rescue plane while saying “Can you see me? Am I on TV?” Also a serial photo-bomber.
This fan is generally found at baseball games, and is of the female persuasion. These young ladies know enough about baseball to be dangerous, but their real agenda is to reenact the locker room scene with Millie and Nuke from ‘Bull Durham’ with a player that they have cast their obsessive gaze upon. The fact that they are fawning over one or more baseball players isn’t bad enough, but heaven forbid if you say anything remotely negative about the object of their lustful desire. Best to wear catcher’s gear if you plan on that move.
These guys are usually pretty easy to spot, but impossible to get rid of. They are like the cockroaches of sports venues. They get tickets from their boss or their PR department, and they are taking out a client (or potential client) for an afternoon or evening of schmoozing. Hey, we all need to make a living, but I have no desire to hear how your company is about to corner the market on frozen drink umbrellas when I’m actually trying to watch a game. Do us all a favor and just take your client to a strip bar like any other respectable salesperson.
This “fan” is present at nearly every party that revolves around a game, and at every sports bar in America. They hate sports, they find full contact sports barbaric and Neanderthal in their conception, and they do nothing except make painfully obvious observations that none of the true fans really care to hear, whilst comparing something happening in the game to some random life event they had 20 years ago. Any mention of how upset they are that ‘Firefly” was cancelled is a dead giveaway that you are in the midst of one of these killjoys. A spare laptop computer with Netflix is generally the best way to diffuse them.
These folks are not only annoying, but are potentially putting themselves in harms way at a game. Constantly up, down, up, down...to eat, to smoke, to the bathroom, to smoke, to get beer, to smoke. And of course they always manage to stand up and shuffle across the row in front of you just as the game's action is worth watching. Other sports need to take the cue from hockey, and just stop fans from milling about until a break in the action.
This is one of the most inexplicable of fans. They yell directly at a player (usually using his first name, as though they were drinking buddies), and give him instructions on how to perform his job. "Hey Chipper...hit the ball!!", as if Chipper Jones was going to yell back, "OK Bob...scarf down that hot dog, dude!". I think professional and even college athletes can manage to make it through a game without a tutoring session from someone who barely made it up the steps to his seat without going in to cardiac arrest.
Enough with this one, seriously. It's no longer original or relevant. Oakland Raiders fans in particular need to just get past this whole personae. Nobody is afraid of Darth Vader anymore now that we know it's really just Hayden Christensen under the asthmatic mask.
If you are holding up a sign with the letters of the network that is broadcasting the game with some clever little acronym painted beside each letter...do us all a favor and spare us your creative urges. There are no acronyms that you can come up with that are even remotely entertaining, as this schtick lost it's charm back when Bobby Bowden was knee-high to a didgum caterpillar. And please, lose the signs that mock the VISA commercials too. Not having to see any of this tripe on TV any longer....Priceless.
Without a doubt, this is one of the most absolutely hair-pulling fans you can encounter. They know everything...about...everything. Any sport, any team, any situation....they'll tell you what's going to happen, and if by some miracle it doesn't happen, they'll tell you why the coach or player is moron. If you knowingly invited one of these know-it-alls to your party, then you deserve the discomfort of their presence and endless pontificating. If you are stuck near one at a game by no doing of your own, the only recourse is to antagonize them until they become so belligerent they are tossed from the venue by security.
This. Must. End. If you are even considering proposing in this fashion, seek help immediately. The only redeeming quality of this idiotic ritual are the rare occasions when she says "NO!"
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