From worst...to first: Making the most of empty seats at a Marlins game

 

By Hal Habib

 

Palm Beach Post Staff Writer

 

Friday, July 21, 2006

 

"Blue seats," my editor says. "That's the challenge."

 

The glee in his voice is usually reserved for assignments such as asking five "wacky questions" of Barry Bonds, but I'm calling his bluff.

 

I'm supposed to go to a Marlins game and buy a ticket for the worst seat in the house.

 

And then I'm supposed to sit in the best seat in the house.

 

I'm a champion of The Little Guy. Of Truth, Justice and the Frugal Way.

 

I'm a Professional Weasel.

 

I race toward Dolphin Stadium for Wednesday afternoon's Marlins-Washington Nationals game uncertain whether I'll end up in the blue seats or the slammer. The first option, I can deal with. Knowing my cheapskate editor, it's the latter that makes me wish Bonds were in town.

 

I won't give away the ending, except to casually mention that before the end of the day, I would be sipping a Corona in the air-conditioned bar, have lunch served by a waiter calling me "Sir," visit Dan Marino's skybox (kind of) and use the Nationals dugout as my own personal coaster (here's to you, Mr. Robinson).

 

I also worked up a good case of Stadium Rage toward a 14-year-old brat with no respect for fools - oops, fans who pay gobs of money for those seats.

 

First, a warning: Do not attempt this yourself. Leave this to trained professionals such as myself or your average 14-year-old. Your chances of success are greatly increased if you do this on a date with a stunningly beautiful companion, a strategy often employed by 45-year-old men who still live with their parents.

 

"What's the best seat you have?" I ask the woman at the ticket window, trying to act like a high roller. It's $75, a Blue Seat. I swallow hard. "What do you have up here?" I say, pointing to a section beyond left field, slightly south of Boca Raton.

 

"Oh," the woman says, puzzled. "Twelve dollars."

 

She hands me a ticket for Section 402, Row 7, Seat 1 and I head for the turnstiles, where I learn that it's field-trip day. Joining me are local summer camps of approximately 4,000 kids apiece, distinguishable by bright T-shirt colors normally associated with sherbet. Lining up behind the lemons of Camp Neytz, I glance one kid's ticket.

 

Section 102. The little squirt has a much better seat than me. Or so he thinks.

 

As I stop by my assigned seat, a chaperone there asks which of her campers has to go to potty, creating a stampede.

 

I ease into my Professional Weaseling career, heading to Section 454, the best seats in the upper deck. An usher asks for my ticket, then points in various directions. He's not sure where 402 is. He doesn't care.

 

"Go on," he says, welcoming me to his section.

 

Ninety seconds after sitting, I feel a tap on my shoulder. Uh-oh. A boy, maybe 5, doesn't say a word but is trying to tell me I'm blocking the view of the girl next to him. I want to hug them both. Being 5-feet-5, it's the first time someone has told me I'm too tall.

 

I'm ready for bigger challenges. The doors to the club and suite level are closed, guarded and uninviting to riff-raff like me.

 

I open them.

 

A woman asks for my ticket, but nonetheless informs me I can take the elevator inside.

 

Except on the way to the elevator, I pass a bar. I pull up a stool and order $7 Coronas for myself and Bill, my photographer who otherwise keeps a distance to avoid blowing my cover. The game is 20 minutes old and already we're in air conditioning, enjoying a brew and clueless that Florida's Cody Ross has just homered for the only run of the day.

 

Next, I slither unchallenged into Section 253, Row 7, Seat 20. A club seat, in the shade. A waiter stops by. I place a large order and prop my feet up. An usher storms my way, but I pretend to be on my cell phone. Crisis averted.

 

"Hey, Tommy!" a guy near me yells. "We got 20,000 here today, baby!"

 

The crowd is so putrid (uproariously announced as being 25,546) that Mr. Loudmouth was attempting conversing with TV analyst Tommy Hutton during play.

 

I attempt to crash a skybox, but most are locked. I am about to give up when a cheerful voice rings out. It's Shari Parson, inviting me to hang out in her suite with 10 beautiful babes.

 

Truth-in-journalism alert: Parson is girls camp director for the Night Owls, a Coconut Creek summer camp, and she's really not attracted to me, but Bill, hoping he'll snap photos of her 9- and 10-year-old pink-clad girls and put them in the newspaper.

 

"I bet we've got the best seats in the house for a camp," Parson says, welcoming us in.

 

The Night Owls' headquarters are on the campus of North Broward Prep, where Dan Marino sends his kids and his cash, and because this is North Broward Prep's skybox, I figure I have officially crashed Dan's suite.

 

"Oh my God - it's like being in a hotel!" Parson says the kids said as they arrived. She adds, "We're going to be getting them ice cream soon. The soft serve arrives in a minute."

 

Amateur Weasel alert: You might think this opportunity doesn't await you because you're not a member of the media. Incorrectamundo. Simply head to your local photo shop, spend $4,000, and you're golden. Watch two games in a skybox, the gear pays for itself.

 

Awaiting the soft-serve, I realize the game - which I have watched for approximately 45 seconds - is steaming along. I bolt toward the lower level.

 

Section 155. The tunnel is unmanned, so I storm for Row 7, Seat 19. I'm still in orange-seat territory, warily eyeing all the ushers sitting in the aisles and guarding the blue seats like gargoyles. Look hard enough at their lime-green shirts and you'll see:

 

NO WEASELS.

 

THIS MEANS YOU.

 

Then, I spot The Kid.

 

He's straight out of a Rockwell painting - 14, with a pinstripe Marlins jersey, a baseball glove and a gleam in his eye. He plants himself three rows in front of me - in the blue seats and turns to gloat to a companion up above.

 

Meanwhile, the alpha weasel in me takes this as a personal challenge.

 

Experiencing Stadium Rage that normally requires the presence of Jerry Stackhouse, I blow past Kid Rockwell, past Mr. Lime Green, and take my rightful spot in Section 155, Row 1, Seat 9.

 

The Nationals' dugout is in front of me, the kid is behind me, and a blue seat is under me.

 

I motion for the kid to join me in a celebration of Weaseldom.

 

"The best you can have," the kid says of our seats. He's David Weisbrot, 14, from Wellington, a Little Leaguer. "Can't get any better."

 

Where'd you start, I ask.

 

"We didn't even go to our seats," he says. "402."

 

Justice! Weisbrot was supposed to be sitting next to me all along.

 

"At the beginning of the game, we just said we wanted autographs, so we came down and never went out," Weisbrot says. "They don't check tickets."

 

I turn to my left, to Idit Agus, of Boca Raton, who's there because she's supposed to be.

 

"I couldn't care less," Agus says. "The kids are having fun. The highlight of their day is when they can make it down here. Not everyone has the wonderful opportunity to sit up front. I like it when people have confidence to try to get to the top."

 

Challenge issued, challenge conquered.

 

When's Bonds due in town, anyway?

This is a time-honored tradition at ballparks all across this great land.

 

I'm not saying it's right, mind you, just that it happens, especially on a hot weekday afternoon.

can't say this was a good read...

:lol

 

I love it.

As someone in one of the sections mentioned who, even in these dismal attendance days, has to throw someone out of my seat(s) probably three games out of five, I find this article annoying and encouraging this type of behavior.

 

John Henry, the fool that he is, used to escort fans down into the better seats all the time. I don't know, may he didn't get enough love when he was a kid or whatever, but business-wise it was ridiculously bad.

 

Hopefully at tonight's game and henceforth, ushers will be more careful who is let in where and to which seats. Not only is it economically damaging to the Fish, it also speaks poorly of stadium management and their personnel.

As someone in one of the sections mentioned who, even in these dismal attendance days, has to throw someone out of my seat(s) probably three games out of five, I find this article annoying and encouraging this type of behavior.

 

John Henry, the fool that he is, used escort fans down into the better seats all the time. I don't know, may he didn't get enough love when he was a kid or whatever, but business-wise it was ridiculously bad.

 

Hopefully at tonight's game and henceforth, ushers will be more careful who is let in where and to which seats. Not only is it economically damaging to the Fish, it also speaks poorly of stadium management and their personnel.

 

 

Oh lighten up, I've got season tickets in the blues and I wish they'd bring everyone out from parts unknown down closer.

 

The kids smile a little wider and the people cheer a little louder if they feel closer to the action.

 

It's all in good fun.

As someone in one of the sections mentioned who, even in these dismal attendance days, has to throw someone out of my seat(s) probably three games out of five, I find this article annoying and encouraging this type of behavior.

 

John Henry, the fool that he is, used escort fans down into the better seats all the time. I don't know, may he didn't get enough love when he was a kid or whatever, but business-wise it was ridiculously bad.

 

Hopefully at tonight's game and henceforth, ushers will be more careful who is let in where and to which seats. Not only is it economically damaging to the Fish, it also speaks poorly of stadium management and their personnel.

 

:lol

 

Give me a break, dude. When I went to at least 60 games in 95, we got to know some of the season ticket holders down on the right field line. And also the security guard who worked there. We bought five dollar seats and moved down to the second row in right field every game we went to.

 

The attendance then was very similar to the attendance now. When I move back, I'll do it again in a heartbeat.

 

FYI: Its not just Dolphin Stadium security that doesn't check tickets. When I went to the Padres game a week ago, I had seats in the second deck. I spotted some seats a little bit lower and went down and sat in them. I sat there from the 3rd to the 9th with a security guard right in front of me. There were at least 30,000 at this game and I did not get my ticket checked once.

ya..there's nothing wrong with it. i thought the article was funny. if you've moved down and into somebody's seat. when they arive they'll just say "excuse me sir, you're in my seat"..and then i'll say "ok" and it's over. i had standing room only at comerica park the other day (a couple of weeks ago when clemens pitched) and i moved into the lower bowl and when the rightful seat owners came the usher informed me i'd have to go back to my seats, he was cool, he didn't blast me out for not being in the correct seat, he just said "i'm sorry sir but you're going to have to go back to your seat". i'm a season ticket holder for the fish and people have been in my seats a couple of times. i don't give a sh*t. worst case scenario is they move a couple of seats down the row, it's not like the infield box is overly crowded. lately we ran out of ticket vouchers (i brought a large group of people and used up my vouchers) and my dad and i'll by two KID fish tank seats, and then we'll just move down to infield box. not hurting anything.

Great read, i rarely go through tyhe whole things but i loved that.