80 Hour Man Takes Command
Sorry about becoming the invisible blogger. I haven’t had much time to write or read in between my suddenly hectic job and more-complicated-than-usual personal life. Sometimes it’s not easy being Schprock. I hope to come round to your neck of the woods real soon to leave some comments, and in that way dispel those alien-abduction rumors circulating about me.
Last Tuesday I attended a Red Sox game with my esteemed colleague, 80 Hour Man. Now, 80 Hour Man has, from time to time, been roughed up a little in this space, but today I have come to praise him. He did good and I want to tell you all about it.
Our tickets were for seats in the extreme right field section of Fenway Park, over to the fair side of the Pesky Pole. Not far from us was that nether world known as the bleachers, and you could, from time to time, catch the strong odor of alcohol and the unhealthy reek of many unwashed bodies wafting over to us from that direction. Perhaps it was this stench of drunkenness and depravity that had its influence on our more cultured section, I’m not sure, but whether it was the bad breeze or just or our bad luck, the two ticket holders who seated themselves behind us began to loudly demonstrate to our entire section the behavior of an early evolutionary stage in man’s development, perhaps the one just after our ancestors stopped using their knuckles to walk. They became boisterous and profane. Now don’t get me wrong: I’m not the prissy type who gets shocked by a little boorish behavior, and sometimes the loud, coarse ones you hear in a crowd can often make up for their crudity and lack of social grace by saying some funny things. Not so with these guys. Despite being over 21— as shown by their ability to legally purchase beer — their humor and intellectual capability was stuck somewhere between grades 5 and 6. The word “fuckin’” had to be in every sentence they uttered; for instance, ballplayers they didn’t like were “fuckin’ homos,” an epithet I haven’t heard since junior high. There was absolutely no wit to anything they said. Believe me, Biff from Back to the Future seemed a Rhodes scholar compared to these two knuckleheads.
At one point the louder of the two — the alpha male if you will — bought a bag of peanuts. As he ate them, he started tossing the shells at the fans seated some five or six rows in front of us. Finally, a man of middle eastern descent turned and glared at him. This drew from our intellectual friend this comment: “What the fuck are you lookin’ at, Taliban?” and then he commenced, from time to time, to throw peanut shells directly at him.
80 Hour Man and I looked at each other rolled our eyes. At one point I said, “Where’s Clint Eastwood when you need him?” I started to cast about in my mind for something I could do that would a) save this night from becoming a disaster and b) not involve grave physical harm to myself. I thought of discreetly leaving to find security to report them. But before I could formulate any concrete plan, 80 Hour Man turned to Alpha Male and said, “Throw one more of those and I’m calling security.”
Alpha Male said, “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?” asked 80 Hour Man.
“Because I’ll punch your fuckin’ head in.”
I could tell as Alpha Male said that he was feeling a little put on the spot. There wasn’t a whole lot of conviction behind the statement.
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” said 80 Hour Man.
“You’re not so tough.”
“We’re all here to enjoy a ball game.”
“So why do you have to spoil it for the rest of us?” said Alpha Male.
Then he and his buddy got really quiet. No more peanut shells were thrown. A minute later they got up from their seats and walked away. And that was the last we saw of them.
So that was all it took to rid ourselves of two bullies. I give 80 Hour Man all the credit in the world for standing up to those morons. And the truth is, 80 Hour Man does look kind of tough. He looks like he could handle himself in a fight. He’s kind of burly, his lined brow has a distinctive, prominent scar that runs crosswise against its furrows, and his blue collar manner of speaking is done in a naturally resonant, forceful voice. I wouldn’t screw with him.
And as far is those two miscreants are concerned, I think I more pity them than anything else. It looks like it will take them a long, long time to wise up. I doubt very much their tough guy posturing will take them far in this world, and what I saw of their intelligence is not at all promising. They were simply a pair of very unpleasant clowns. It was pathetic really.
Last Tuesday I attended a Red Sox game with my esteemed colleague, 80 Hour Man. Now, 80 Hour Man has, from time to time, been roughed up a little in this space, but today I have come to praise him. He did good and I want to tell you all about it.
Our tickets were for seats in the extreme right field section of Fenway Park, over to the fair side of the Pesky Pole. Not far from us was that nether world known as the bleachers, and you could, from time to time, catch the strong odor of alcohol and the unhealthy reek of many unwashed bodies wafting over to us from that direction. Perhaps it was this stench of drunkenness and depravity that had its influence on our more cultured section, I’m not sure, but whether it was the bad breeze or just or our bad luck, the two ticket holders who seated themselves behind us began to loudly demonstrate to our entire section the behavior of an early evolutionary stage in man’s development, perhaps the one just after our ancestors stopped using their knuckles to walk. They became boisterous and profane. Now don’t get me wrong: I’m not the prissy type who gets shocked by a little boorish behavior, and sometimes the loud, coarse ones you hear in a crowd can often make up for their crudity and lack of social grace by saying some funny things. Not so with these guys. Despite being over 21— as shown by their ability to legally purchase beer — their humor and intellectual capability was stuck somewhere between grades 5 and 6. The word “fuckin’” had to be in every sentence they uttered; for instance, ballplayers they didn’t like were “fuckin’ homos,” an epithet I haven’t heard since junior high. There was absolutely no wit to anything they said. Believe me, Biff from Back to the Future seemed a Rhodes scholar compared to these two knuckleheads.
At one point the louder of the two — the alpha male if you will — bought a bag of peanuts. As he ate them, he started tossing the shells at the fans seated some five or six rows in front of us. Finally, a man of middle eastern descent turned and glared at him. This drew from our intellectual friend this comment: “What the fuck are you lookin’ at, Taliban?” and then he commenced, from time to time, to throw peanut shells directly at him.
80 Hour Man and I looked at each other rolled our eyes. At one point I said, “Where’s Clint Eastwood when you need him?” I started to cast about in my mind for something I could do that would a) save this night from becoming a disaster and b) not involve grave physical harm to myself. I thought of discreetly leaving to find security to report them. But before I could formulate any concrete plan, 80 Hour Man turned to Alpha Male and said, “Throw one more of those and I’m calling security.”
Alpha Male said, “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?” asked 80 Hour Man.
“Because I’ll punch your fuckin’ head in.”
I could tell as Alpha Male said that he was feeling a little put on the spot. There wasn’t a whole lot of conviction behind the statement.
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” said 80 Hour Man.
“You’re not so tough.”
“We’re all here to enjoy a ball game.”
“So why do you have to spoil it for the rest of us?” said Alpha Male.
Then he and his buddy got really quiet. No more peanut shells were thrown. A minute later they got up from their seats and walked away. And that was the last we saw of them.
So that was all it took to rid ourselves of two bullies. I give 80 Hour Man all the credit in the world for standing up to those morons. And the truth is, 80 Hour Man does look kind of tough. He looks like he could handle himself in a fight. He’s kind of burly, his lined brow has a distinctive, prominent scar that runs crosswise against its furrows, and his blue collar manner of speaking is done in a naturally resonant, forceful voice. I wouldn’t screw with him.
And as far is those two miscreants are concerned, I think I more pity them than anything else. It looks like it will take them a long, long time to wise up. I doubt very much their tough guy posturing will take them far in this world, and what I saw of their intelligence is not at all promising. They were simply a pair of very unpleasant clowns. It was pathetic really.
posted by mr. schprock at 7:40 AM
21 Comments:
All it would of took was 1 punch, I guarentee it. Mr Alpha Male would of dropped like a brick and his little friend would of done nothing about.
So many time have I seen that type of guy when I was a bouncer at a local Sports Bar. These types of guys would always size you up based on your looks. I'm not 6'5" and 250 pounds of ass-kicking muscle. And the Alpha Male types would be glad to point that out when I asked for ID. What they didn't know was that I had over 15 years combined Martial Arts training. Only 2 guys in 2 years ever wanted to take it to a physical point. And they were both those Alpha Males. After a very quick take down and embarrasing Joint Lock, they stayed quiet all night long.
Good work on 80 Hour Man. And those bleachers,a all it would take is a small push to tumble so far down. And I'm sure the people that were getting peanut shells thrown at them would of been more then happy to say he tripped and fell.
Encounters with morons are not the best possible alternative to stay away from blogging, but hey, I laughed almost all the way. And funnily enough, you made me feel pity for those people at the end. Thanks again for the experience.
"an epitaph I haven’t heard since junior high"
*psst* epithet -- unless of course you were referring to some of the funerals you attended in junior high. In which case, boy is my face red.
It's not often that someone actually confronts this sort, but it should be a common practice.
Ugh, I hate that kind of crap. Ruining ballgames, movies, kid's concerts. I just don't get it. Is it really that they're so miserable they want to make the rest of the world that way? Even knowing that, I still want to pummel them. I guess that's what my hubby is for though. =)
We sure could use 80 Hour Man at Wrigley Field when he gets a chance...
Out here, we get to deal with that at rodeos and concerts. But here, the women are worse to deal with than the men. I nearly got in a scrap with a drunk chick who kept cussing, spilling her beer on me, and even burned my arm with her cigarette. She was a lot bigger than me, but she backed down first.
Yay for 80-hour man! I hate those types -- the ones that have to scream at the top of their lungs so everyone KNOWS they are an a-hole instead of just assuming it.
Sounds too much like my Opening Day game in 2005 for the Tigers. Dumbasses who have to show their cool by acting like complete assholes (sorry for the swearing).
Good for 80 Hour Man. He's my hero.
Thats great, but do you think Mr. 80 Hour Man will remind you that he saved the day for the rest of your life??? ;)
That type of behavior is infuriating. F-in homos and Taliban? How nice of them to be equal opportunity insulters.
I guarantee what 80 hour man did would never happen at a Twins game. I went to a game where a woman talked on her cell phone through the whole national anthem. People looked really irritated and then rather than calling her on it, they kept loudly saying to each other, "Can you believe that woman who talked on her cell phone? How rude." Good think Boston isn't passive aggressive.
Good for 80 hour man. It takes some courage to stand up to unknown quantities like the freak behind you. Nice that it worked out so well. Next time, just wear your Schprock Hard tee-shirt underneath the flannel, then expose it when things get really hairy. Angels will sing--believe me.
Well, in the interest of promoting non-violence, you could have pointed out that the player in question was more likely a non-fuckin' homo. Pro athletes with such preferences would surely be drummed out of their professions if such was known about them.
I wanted to comment on that Indian movie post. I remember seeing that before when I was a kid.
I miss the wisdom of Herr Schprock.
It seems he's taken some long walk
which has led him around the block
to someplace where he cannot talk.
Now, I do not wish to Schprock-stalk,
and at his silence I do not mock,
for life can deal many a knock
and at posting I, too, often balk.
Yet, I will say his posts do rock,
and before the ticking of the clock
takes too much time from this small flock
I hope we win our search for Schprock.
You got to go to a Bosox game, I am sooooooo JEALOUS! There seem to be a few in every movie theatre, baseball, football stadium or Jazz concert hall unfortunately. Sorry to hear these two turds did their part to ruin a good part of it for you but it sounds like it turned out well all in all. Then again, the way the sox played most of the last two months I am guessing these two probably weren't the only things that ruined the game. I agree with most others about missing your posts as of late but I understand it as I have had life slow down my own blogging quite a bit lately as well.
BD
Where the hell are you Schprock?! I'm gettin tired of that silly Indian head...and he's starting to talk to me...and the weirdest part is, he's beginning to make sense.
COME BACK!
But I don't miss you, or anything.
I am missing you, too. I'm sure you have the reason and its your decision to share it with us or not - I hope it's nothing really serious. Or if it is than you can fianlly cope with it. Sending you my best wishes from here.
Ahh, Dear Schprockie, how I do love the new decoration you provided us for my dartboard. However, it would be even better if I could throw darts at it while reading a new post from a wise elder statesman. Just a thought...
Hello!????? Anybody home???
schprock you okay????? Hope to hear from you soon.
BD
helo? where u? hows u? come back please.
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