Welcome back to work, folks. And let me pass among some Christmas cheer, courtesy of SoSG reader Pistol Pete Reiser, who sends us this heart-warming holiday story:
The company I work for is pretty tight with the Chuckers organization. Luxury box, special days at the Chucker Park, you name it. Anyway one of the perks to keep the masses happy was to bring the Chuckers recent WS trophy on-site for a viewing.
To that end, a posting went out for a raffle to allow a select few (I hesitate to use the word "lucky" for obvious reason) employees to approach the trophy for a photo-op. I was among those chosen. As Fate would have it, it really wasn't such a select group at all, I'd estimate it to be about 100-150 people chosen to get their pictures taken, with another 300 or so relegated to the nether-regions beyond the velvet rope some 20 feet from the trophy.
The venue selected was basically an empty warehouse spruced-up with a couple videos being played on walls, showing "highlights" of the Chucker season (aka "Even a Blind Squirrel Finds a Nut Once in a While").
I approached the throngs of people (I'm guessing 300+ headcount at that point) and immediately had the sensation, in some small way, of what it must have felt like for Tommy to walk out onto the Chuckers old digs at the 'Stick, getting booed, heckled, and sworn at by 30,000 people (the only times in the Chucker's seasons when they could draw that big were when the Dodgers were in town - and half the people in their stands were wearing blue hats, but I digress). I decided to play along.
The cat-calls and booing began the moment I came into their lines of sight. There I was, wearing my hat and Dodgers windbreaker, smiling my ass off at their foolishness, goading them on a bit, wishing them a wonderful holiday season, telling them I felt the love - basically, everything I always saw Tommy do (and loved watching him do). One fool actually tried starting the mindless "Beat LA" chant. Not a single person joined in. Not one. Way to nut up, Chuckers.
I made my way to end of the line for raffle winners and waited my turn, chatting amicably with the fellow in front of me (an Indians fan). Got to the spot with some minor ribbing from the staff, and stood next to the trophy. First impression was "how cuuuuute". It's so damned small, much smaller than you'd expect. Stanley Cup, it ain't, not by a long shot.
At this point, the booing was absurd. Squinting from the photographer's lights, I decided to play along again. I let the booing go on for a while, the photographer screwed around, clearly taking longer for me than all the people before. I let the booing continue a bit more.
Then, I reminded them of some history. I smiled, a nice big grin, then slowly and clearly, replied "We have 5 of these," while holding up my hand, all five fingers showing them their comparative inadequacy. "Five". "Yep, five." We've got five". Smiling the whole time, exuding calm smugness and confidence, the booing increased in volume, they didn't want to hear the truth.
Smiling, the picture was snapped, and I walked away slowly, relishing the moment despite their continued, pathetic attempt at yelling me down, clearly having left with the upper hand, taken the high road, while making them look foolish.
I think Tommy woulda been proud.
To their credit, of those fans not booing and heckling who came over afterwards, all of them said it was funny as hell (it was), and that I was fucking crazy (I'm not).
I'm just a Dodgers fan. And we own the West Coast.
The Giants' unlikely World Series victory has caused us to retire the "empty world series trophy case" joke, which is a pity. However, it also forces us to sharpen our rapier wits and come up with new material. Glad to hear that Pistol Pete Reiser is already setting the pace!
SoSG Sax's note: I didn't understand the "Chuckers" reference, so here's a postscript, from Pistol Pete Reiser himself: "Chuckers" = short-hand for "Battery-Chuckers", a reference to a give-away the Giants had years ago when they gave the crowd batteries, I believe D-cells, upon entry. The crowd started chucking them at the Dodgers on the field. Hence, they became battery-chuckers. It's a nickname they particularly despise in NoCal. Far be it from me to deprive them the experience of feeling embarrassment... No worries, PPR--except I thought battery chuckers were Philly fans? I don't think SF fans could lift a D-cell battery, certainly not with a glass of Chardonnay in the other hand.