Idiots Write About Sports

As predicted, John Donovan did not print my letter pointing out that none of the things he cites as examples of outrageous fan behavior in his hand-wringing column about how boorish fans are to blame for Frank Francisco’s chair-throwing fit actually happened during the incident in question. But he printed someone else’s letter, which is the next best thing; at least now, I no longer feel like I’m taking Crazy Pills and that at least one other person in this country saw what I saw.

Also predictably, Donovan responds to the Letter That Could Have Been Mine with enough logical twists and turns to impress a pretzel-maker. I think it merits further comment here, even at the risk of running this whole Francisco Loses His Marbles into the ground.

First an aside: after writing a column in which he condemns fans on the business end of a felonious assault for theirbehavior, Donovan can’t understand why we might think that he was going a little easy on Francisco and his thuggish teammates.

In no way am I trying to rationalize Francisco’s actions in the bullpen on that night in Oakland. There is no way I could. It was inexcusable. I said that. It was idiotic. And he deserved everything he got. In fact, I wouldn’t have blinked at a 30-day suspension. But how can the rowdy fans not share some of the blame? They instigated it, or at least fueled the fire that was already started. Should Francisco have ignored it? Of course he should have. Most players do. Is there any excuse for his actions? No. None. But, folks, you can’t poke a sleeping bear and claim innocence when you get mauled.

Donovan’s original column ran 905 words — he spent 77 of them criticizing Francisco using such harsh, direct language as “we can all agree, I think, that throwing chairs is not a good idea” to describe a criminal act. The remaining 828 words of the column were spent blasting fans for their behavior.

Yeah, I don’t know why people might get the impression that Donovan was trying to minimize what Francisco did. Other than that he was.

And you have to love the way Donovan protests that he’s not trying to rationalize the chair tossing and then does exactly that — Players shouldn’t physically attack
fans, but if the fans say mean things, you can hardly blame the players if they do physically attack them. Huh?

Anyhow, let’s get to the letter that I didn’t write but very well could have:

Trying to blame the Rangers fiasco on a fan is ridiculous. Fans do have the right to say whatever they want within the realms of decency — whether they bought a ticket or not. It’s called the First Amendment. Are you familiar with it? It is also the law that gives you the right to spew your ridiculous logic as a “senior writer for SI.com.” Stick to writing about the latest sports scores, instead of trying to force your ideals on your readers.— Jon, Cleveland

And here’s Donovan’s response.

Aw, come on, Jon. Again, don’t tell me the fans were blameless. It takes two to tangle. Whatever they were doing — and I’m sure you wouldn’t be surprised if whatever it was fell well outside the “realms of decency” you mention and perhaps outside of First Amendment protection — triggered something in somebody and all hell broke loose. Again, it’s Francisco’s fault it ended the way it did. He should have ignored the taunting, the heckling, the fighting words, whatever was coming his way. But he didn’t. And he should pay the price. I’m sure he will.

A couple of thoughts here.

1) Not to sound like a broken record here, but Donovan’s original column talked about drunken fans spewing profanity-laced tirades prompting the Rangers fracas. Newspaper accounts quoting stadium officials and eyewitnesses say none of that happened. Donovan’s response?

Don’t tell me the fans were blameless. And I’m sure you wouldn’t be surprised if whatever it was fell well outside the “realms of decency”… and perhaps outside of First Amendment protection.

In other words, John Donovan knows exactly what happened in Oakland earlier this month, and no one — certainly not eyewitnesses to the event or people whose job it is to investigate what happened — can convince him otherwise. If that’s the case — that a guy sitting at a keyboard in Atlanta has a better idea of what happened than people sitting 10 feet away from Francisco’s meltdown — then I suggest that John Donovan’s talents are wasted penning awful baseball columns for an online site. He should use his awesome ability to discern truth from thousands of miles away to fight evil-doers, whether it be in government, law enforcement, or perhaps even a seat on the Supreme Court. Facts, schmacts — John Donovan knows what went down.

No, that doesn’t make you sound like an arrogant windbag at all, John.

2) “It takes two to tangle.” I’ve heard variations on that argument a lot in the last week, from people who make it a lot more cogently than Donovan ever bothers to. The crux of the argument this: Doug Brocail, the Texas pitcher who led the charge into the stands, made his big league debut back in 1992. In the ensuing 12 years, there probably isn’t a taunt he hasn’t heard a million times over. So for him to lose his composure like that over something a heckler said to him, it must have been deeply personal, exceedingly vile, entirely inappropriate or some combination therein. Major league veterans don’t explode without provocation.

To which I would counter, not necessarily.

I’m going to cite an example here. It’s not a perfect comparison to what happened in Oakland a few weeks back and it certainly doesn’t cast me in a great light, but I think it illustrates the point that perfectly reasonable people can lose their heads for no particular reason.

It was Game Five of the 2003 American League Divisional Series between Oakland and Boston. I’m going to assume you know that turned out. Fantastic game to cap off a fantastic, back-and-forth series. Talk about your high-drama: bottom of the ninth, bases loaded with the tying run 90 feet from home, and Derek Lowe strikes out Disgruntled Outfielder Terrance Long to end the game. A disappointing ending, but probably the second- or third-most exciting game I’ve ever seen in person.

Even if, immediately after Long’s strikeout, I nearly got in a fistfight. That I started.

Something you have to know about me: I’m not some hothead prone to going around looking and/or starting trouble. I’ve been going to baseball games for a quarter-century now — I couldn’t even calculate how many games I’ve attended, but for the past four seasons, let’s give a conservative estimate of 20 to 25 a year. And prior to that one playoff game, how many incidents do you think I’ve personally been involved in? The answer is zero. Oh, I’ve heard some taunts, both good-natured and not. And I’ve always managed to keep both my head and my cool. I’m not saying I’ve never been annoyed by something that’s said to or in the general vicinity of me at the ballpark — I get annoyed fairly easily. But I don’t act on that annoyance; I don’t let it spur me into doing anything stupid.

Or at least I didn’t until Game Five.

Here’s the situation — Long takes strike three looking, and the A’s season is over. As I’m chewing on this unwelcome turn of events, a Boston fan a row back and a few seats over throws his hands in the air and screams at the top of his lungs, “Choke-land!” A nail-biting finish to a great series that could have just as easily wound up with the losing team on top, and that’s the first thing this guy decides to say. Not “Hooray for our team!” or “Bring on the Yankees!” or some other general expression of delight in his team’s good fortune — no, it’s “Choke-land!” In other words, the fact that his long-suffering team won isn’t the reason to celebrate; reminding the other fans that their team lost is.

Well, this enraged me — I don’t mean simple irritation, I’m talking full-fledged murderous rage. And so I turned to the Boston fan and suggested that maybe he should show a little more class in victory.

I… um… might have expressed that sentiment with a touch more profanity.

The Boston fan opted not to respond in kind, either because he was swayed by the forcefulness of my argument (what I like to delude myself in thinking) or because he figured I wasn’t worth the trouble (probably the more accurate explanation). But what if he hadn’t of moved on? What if he had responded to me with a similarly nasty turn of phrase? What if he had suggested we throw down right then and there? Would I have been dumb enough to actually get into a fight over a rude-though-relatively-innocuous-in-the-greater-scheme-of-things taunt?

On that particular night? You bet I would. The testosterone was flowing. The early returns from the flight-or-fight survey had come back with all my endorphins backing “fight!” And I was not about to back down.

And, looking at how I reacted 11 months later, I couldn’t feel more ridiculous.

Was celebrating a Red Sox victory by screaming “Chokeland” a disgraceful lack of sportsmanship? Absolutely. Should it make us savor Aaron Boone’s home run in the ensuing ALCS a little more than we normally might? Uh-huh. But is yelling “Chokeland” sufficient enough provocation for a profanity-laced tirade, a misplaced display of machismo and the possibility of a melee?

No, it isn’t. And yet, there’s me — a guy who’s been to a lot of baseball games without incident and who theoretically should know better — ready to rumble over a taunt most people would regard as juvenile though not exactly fightin’ words.

So why’d I do it? Frustrated by a tough loss? Maybe, but it’s not like I haven’t had plenty of opportunity to get used to first-round playoff exits by Oakland. Drunk out of my gourd? Definitely not. I had one beer with my hot dog, which I polished off well before the first pitch — more than three hours before my run-in with the fan. I don’t think I would have caused a breathalyzer to so much as hiccup. I’m an out-of-control hothead? Perhaps, but again, I’d like to think that friends and loved ones would describe the incident I outlined above as out of character for me.

Anyhow, here’s my theory, and as the guy who actually knows what’s going on in my head, I figure my guess is as good as anyone else’s: I just lost my temper. Nine times out of 10, I hear a guy shouting “Choke-land” after a loss, and I pay him no never-mind. This was the 10th time.

And I think if you were to scan the recesses of your memory banks, you’d probably come up with a time or two when you reacted to a mildly annoying but otherwise routine development with something less than your best behavior. Maybe someone cut you off in traffic and received a one-fingered gesture and a torrent of sailor-talk from you in exchange for their troubles. Or maybe you gave a service-industry employee an especially savage dressing down. Sometimes, people lose their temper far out of proportion to what the circumstances warrant. I certainly over-reacted to that Boston fan last fall. You probably can pick out a time you over-reacted to something, too. And if we’re susceptible to the occasional over-reaction, then it isn’t it too big of an assumption to say that Doug Brocail is, too.

Here’s my best guess at what happened: the heckler at the A’s game is giving the Rangers bullpen the business — pretty benign stuff, except that he’s doing it all night long. And by about the ninth inning, the constant buzzing has gotten really old, especially for a mid-September game in which the Rangers are watching their slender post-season hopes slipping away. So when Alfonso Soriano hits that home run to tie it in the ninth, it feels good — not just because the Rangers are back in it with a shout, but because finally that fan is going to button his lip.

Only he doesn’t. And that’s when Brocail loses his cool.

Based on what I’ve read about what triggered the incident — sadly, I lack John Donovan’s powers to discount eyewitness testimony — here’s how I imagine the trouble began. To spare the delicate sensibilities of any children or CNNSI.com hacks who may be reading, I’ve cleaned up the imagined dialogue somewhat.

Brocail: Oh ho! Dame Fortune, it seems, is now smiling upon our squadron. How does this dramatic turn of events suit you, impertinent scoundrel? Surely, Soriano’s prodigious blast will silence you once and for all!

Fan: Ha, varlet! I have little doubt the lack of skill possessed by both you and your compatriots shall lead to yet another reversal of fortune still. Also, you are rather fat.

Brocail: I am merely big-boned. Have at you, sir!

Eighteenth-century dandy-inspired dialogue aside, that seems like a perfectly reasonable explanation, doesn’t it? Certainly no less valid than the “drunken, abusive fans ruin everything” theory posited by Donovan and other self-appointed defenders of polite society.

So, no, John — it doesn’t always take two to tangle. Sometimes, it just takes one guy having a really bad day. To pretend otherwise to the point that you’re dismissing anyone who disagrees with your column as a lout or a loudmouth is disingenuous at best and sloppy reasoning at worst.

Fantastic article!

My wife and I had a similar discussion. She, in her Philip-like wisdom, pointed out that no right-thinking, sane person throws chairs. Not even when provoked.

Punched my "Maybe he was provoked" whining right in the nose.

John Donovan is a big fat idiot. Need further proof? Read his tendentious piece in which he compares Giambi favorably to Bonds...

John Donovan is a big fat idiot. Need further proof? Read his tendentious piece in which he compares Giambi favorably to Bonds...

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