Hothead

I have a temper. I really do. Despite no less than seventeen years of formal academics, countless classroom and practical hours of leadership and ethics training, and a good bit of life experience, I'm still prone to popping my top at times. On balance I feel like its the only way that any rational, caring intellectual can to respond to a world that's becoming ever stupider and ever less-ashamed of it. Case-in-point, I almost got into a fight at a Super Bowl viewing party.

The relative wisdom of going to watch the Super Bowl at a place where there will be many drunk and rowdy strangers aside - I was in downtown Los Angeles at the ESPN Zone last Sunday nonetheless. I was there with some friends, and we had gotten there early to get a good table (and maybe have a few drinks in advance of kickoff). Most of the room, including the majority of the group I was seated with was rooting for Arizona, although if any of you are familiar with the average Pittsburgh Steeler fan, you know it only takes a few of them to make a scene.... and a few of them there were. Two of which were particularly noticable (and by "noticable" I, of course, mean mind-numbingly annoying). We'll call them Sticks and Stupid.

Sticks was an African American woman who looked like she purchased the majority of her Steelers gear (and, as luck would have it, her haircut) some time in the early nineties. She was tall and lanky, and had a habit of walking around the room when she became particularly enamored with the progress of the game. Of course, her obviously marginal understanding of football made this difficult to watch. She'd begin these informal parades and their preemptive loud clapping after moments which were not particularly Steeler-positive, and seemed oblivious to the fact that she was in a room full of people rooting for the other team. Even the people at her own table (who I would only loosely refer to as "friends") encouraged her to be a little less cantankerous - as they were becoming vicariously embarrassed.

Stupid was the kind of jerk-off that I usually associate with Steeler fan-dom. He was the kind of guy who is seriously flirting with middle age and had the body to show for it. He, of course, had a Steelers jersey on, and was presdisposed to standing up in the front and center of the room and waving his arms about - shouting and pointing at other patrons. He looked as though to closest he'd ever been to Pittsburgh was looking it up on Google Maps, and about as hard as a good, solid pile of cashmere. But he liked to get things stirred up, and felt compelled notify all the Cardinal fans in the room that we were not "real" fans because we weren't wearing Cardinal colors. As if the douchebaggery that is wearing a football jersey out in public when you're not a football player is some sort of rite-of-passage than validates one's overzealous support of a pro sports franchise in a city you've never even been to. Although, I'm sure that even if I was wearing a Cardinals jersey, I'd have heard it from this guy because my jersey wasn't "authentic" enough, or because I couldn't name the starting lineup from the 1987 squad.

Well, by halftime, I'd had about enough of listening and watching Sticks and Stupid, and couldn't keep the ire than was bubbling inside me inside any longer. I yelled at them to sit down and to shut up. Of course, if you know these sort of people, this is precisely the sort of behavior that will guarantee that they will not do any such thing (as my attractive companion pointed out to me afterwards). Having inspired their continued mindless rambling, Stupid felt compelled to involve a few other Steeler supporters in his response to my requests. That's when it all got a little out of hand.

There was a table full of buzz cut and generally rough-looking young hispanic men (with one woman) wearing Steeler jerseys who I had previously not noticed - as they were enjoying the game along with the rest of us. But Stupid pointed out to them that I was a Cardinals fan who had lost my temper, and they were just the sort of kids to jump into what could be a good fight. I tried not to include them in my ranting, but their particularly slight and young leader took to cursing and making obscene gestures at me. Now, I keep a pretty current list in my head of people that I will take shit from, and people that I will not. For example, the large man in the booth behind us, who looked like he went at about 6'4", 275 and maybe 7% body fat, was someone that I would definitely take shit from. But, the punk ass kid who looked like he couldn't even locate Pittsburgh on a map was most assuredly on my "Not to take shit from" list - and I was already pretty fed up.

So, I let him have it, and at the apex of it, he came towards my table. I stood up to face him, and the adrenaline began to course through me. But, as he came around the corner, one of his friends grabbed him and security was close to follow. I sat down, and a warm hand on my leg began to help me come down off of it.

Security had a talk with the offending table, and true to form, Stupid tried to weigh in and let them know that the whole thing was my fault. Security then came to have a talk with me and let me know that if I did anything of the sort again, I'd be referred to LAPD (who had also arrived by then) who intended to keep anyone who got into any sort of fight, overnight. Well, that was enough for me. As much as I deeply wanted to let that kid know that it takes more than three big friends and a big mouth to be a tough guy - I certainly didn't want to avail myself of the LAPD's hospitality. I remained sitting for the balance of the game - and even tried to buy his table a round of drinks, which they refused.

I have to admit, I was worried about walking out of that place and back to the train station with a friend who, while awesome, was a little too little and a lot too female to really be much help if things went sideways. But fate intervened. The only female in the offending group got into it with some other female fans, and as that little skirmish escalated, things finally did boil over, and before you know it, people were being led out of the building in handcuffs. That's right, arrested at a Super Bowl viewing party at the ESPN Zone. Go Steelers. Of course, pursuant to the cosmic injustice that even allows these sorts of people to keep breathing, Sticks and Stupid were not in the detained group - I guess inciting and general idiocy were lower priorities than the assualt and battery than had just taken place.

In the end, the whole thing was a bit surreal, and certainly an interesting story to tell - but also a valuable couple of lessons learned:

1. A year after spine surgery, I've finally recaptured enough of my old self to feel like I'd be perfectly fine getting into a tussle.

2. Stupid people will not listen to you - that's how they got so stupid in the first place.

3. There's not much that's quite as awesome as someone who will try and keep you from making a mistake, and even after you've made a complete ass of yourself, tell you that they totally understand, and that it's totally ok with them.

I'll take that over my team winning the Super Bowl, anytime.