A NIGHT AT THE BALLPARK

I believe that mankind is generally made up of decent people who care about their families and friends and try to do the right thing whenever possible. I also believe there is a small minority of people who, in varying degrees, prove to be exceptions to this rule.

History is littered with examples, large and small, and I won’t bore you with a recap. What I would like to do is induct two new members into the Jackass Hall of Fame. Believe me, these clowns are more than deserving.

Who am I referring to? Why, the father-and-son tag team that ran onto the field in Chicago’s Comiskey Park this past Thursday and attacked the Kansas City Royals’ first base coach, Tom Gamboa.

If you haven’t seen the video, it’s really quite disturbing. The father, a thirty-four-year-old we shall call Bozo, and the son, a fifteen-year-old we shall call Oopsy, claim that Gamboa raised his middle finger to them after they began razzing Gamboa’s Royals. For the record, Gamboa vehemently denies the charge.

So, instead of using their limited vocabulary on Gamboa, these two geniuses take off their shirts, hop over the railing and proceed to tackle him to the ground. At the time, Gamboa was standing on the field near first base (the logical place to be, if one is a first base coach).

Next, Bozo and Oopsy begin punching and kicking the bewildered coach, who attempts to fend off his attackers while lying on his backside. Fortunately for Gamboa, it appears the two lunatics strike each other with nearly as many blows as their intended target.

After a few hairy moments, the entire Royals’ team bolts onto the field and piles on the clowns. One can only imagine the beating that was laid upon them at the bottom of the human pile-up.

Finally, police haul Bozo and Oopsy away and book them on assault charges. Gamboa, meanwhile, escapes with minor cuts and bruises.

After viewing the video during that evening’s newscast, I will admit I was more than a little curious as to the circumstances that must exist to lead a father and son to perform such a despicable act. Well, I did some digging, and here’s what I discovered.

The day before the game, Bozo is fired from his job at an Illinois natural gas facility for igniting his own gaseous emissions with a lighter, creating a flame that nearly blows the plant to Iowa.

Meanwhile, fifteen-year-old Oopsy is suspended from the fourth grade for attempting to start a food fight in the school library.

Sitting around the double-wide the next day, they come up with a brainstorm: Attend that evening’s baseball game together after mugging some unsuspecting fans of their tickets.

Seated in the lower deck near first base, they proceed to razz the visiting Royals mercilessly.

“Hey, Number 37, me and your momma was internet last night! That’s right, uh huh.”

“Good one, Pa.”

“Thanks, Son. Why don’t you give it a try.”

“Okay. Hey, number two-two, me and you is gonna get internet tonight! That’s right, uh huh.”

“I think you need a little work there, Son.”

Things were going well. Bozo was getting drunk by stealing cups of beer from beneath their neighbors’ seats, and Oopsy was getting, well, oopsy.

And then it happened. After the end of the eighth inning, Gamboa goes out to coach first base. Looks up into the crowd to pass the time. Feels an itch at the tip of his nose. Raises the middle finger on his right hand to scratch it…

“Hey, Pa, that fella just gave us the bird!”

“I saw it too!”

“What are we gonna do about it?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do, Son. I’m gonna take off my shirt, hop the fence and kick his @&#$%!"

“But won’t that be dangerous, Pa?”

“Heck no, Son. It’s between innings. No one will see us cause they is all watching commercials.”

“Oh. Then, let’s do it!”

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Now, in case you are wondering why I am making light of this incident, the explanation I have to offer is this: A society in which a father and son jump onto the field in the middle of a professional baseball game in order to beat the tar out of an unsuspecting, middle-aged first base coach is, in a word, scary. It is easier for me to deal with this blatantly irrational act if I can find some humor in it. Then, I can tell myself the world hasn’t gone completely insane, and I can maintain some degree of hope for a pair of little boys I know.

See, I am a father too.

(c) Marc L. Prey 2002
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