We're the Worst

In Philadelphia, assholes aren't few or random.

by E. James Beale

For all the critics who believe the Philadelphia Sports Fan is a slack-jawed, knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing, booze-fueled hooligan who drinks cheap beers from oversize glasses until he doesn't know which umpire he's shouting at and releases bodily fluids only if a child or Cowboy fan is in the vicinity, 2010 has been a banner year.

First there was Pukemon (Matthew Clemmens, who intentionally vomited on an off-duty police officer and his two children), then Taser Bro (17-year-old Steve Consalvi, who dodged police officers across the Citizens Bank Park field until one laid him out with a well-timed Taser jolt), Taser Bro's copycat (34-year-old aspiring DJ — never a set of words a mother wants in front of her son's name — Thomas Betz, who tried and failed to get Tasered the next day) and now, most recently, the destruction of Canadian sports writer Pat Hickey's 1999 Honda Accord. The national media dug in.

"Philly fans need to get a grip," spewed Jay Mariotti on ESPN's Around the Horn. "Does a month go by there without something happening?"

Naturally, those who oppose our stereotype are not taking the criticism in stride. The Inquirer's John Gonzalez wrote that the Clemmens incident "allowed lazy, brainless outsiders to lump us all together thanks to the sins of a single cretin," and has dedicated much of his WPEN FM radio job to defending the locals. "Someone should Tase Jay Mariotti for this," he tweeted, and his radio callers hopped in to agree.

Unfortunately — and as a native Philadelphian who grew up pulling for the home teams, it pains me to say this — Gonzalez and his callers are wrong. As fans, we're the worst, and it's time we admitted as much and shaped the fuck up.

Those who defend the Philly Sports Fan rely on two arguments: Every fan base has bad apples; and our bad seeds are the unavoidable collateral damage of being a passionate sports city. The single most common refrain you hear local fans using to defend their own is the ol' pass-the-buck: "A few random assholes shouldn't ruin the reputation of everyone," goes the party line, and, in a vacuum, it's correct. Unfortunately, Philadelphia is not a vacuum, and around here, assholes aren't few or random.

After all, we're the town where a criminal court was set up in the local stadium, a move that was needed to control a fan base that threw D batteries at J.D. Drew — or "J.D. Jew" as one prominent banner read — and booed Michael Irvin as he was carted off onto a stretcher. We booed Michael Schmidt for not being great enough, booed Chase Utley for grounding into a double play in the opening game of the current season, and traveled to New York to boo quarterback Donovan McNabb for the sin of not being Ricky Williams. In 1999, we booed a man named Matthew Scott because his ceremonial first pitch wasn't fast enough for our liking — never mind that Scott threw it with a surgically replaced hand. Hell, if you're lucky enough to attend a game with a big-screen marriage proposal you can hear the crowd boo the bride if she says yes.

Not that we stop at verbalizing our displeasure. During the 2008 World Series, we threw mustard packs at the granddaughter of Tampa Bay manager Joe Maddon, an offense that seems tame when put against what happened to Jamie Wert, a Bethlehem woman who had her face bloodied for wearing a Tony Romo jersey in January. At least she lived. Twenty-two-year-old David Sale Jr. wasn't so lucky: Sale, a Phillies fan, was beaten to death in the K Lot outside the stadium over a spilled beer last summer.

A few bad apples? Please. This orchard was planted on a Chernobyl swamp.

Sure, every fan base has drunks and fights and streakers, but across the nation those streakers don't inspire copycats, those fights don't end in murder, and those drunks don't intentionally vomit on children. I know a Cubs fan poured a beer on Shane Victorino, but you just can't compare Mount Kilimanjaro to Mount Airy.

Look, at the end of the day I would love it if Philadelphia fans were seen in a positive light, but boy are we going about it wrong. If we want the national media to stop pointing fingers, we don't need to tell them we're great, we need to do simple things like be less hostile to visiting fans, remember that pre-gaming a baseball game is slightly different than pre-gaming a frat party and keep our bodily fluids to ourselves.

You know, just make sure the second half of 2010 doesn't look like the first. Or else, stop complaining about how misunderstood we are.

E. James Beale just booed all of you. Boo him back at e.james.beale@citypaper.net.