Stardate 042609. Feeling quite pleased with the Phillies three-game sweep of the Marlins. Truly filleted their bullpen. Opportunistic bats storm to the forefront. Jamie Moyer doesn’t drink cocktails, he sips from the fountain of youth. Cameron Maybin looks like a lost puppy at the plate. Raul Ibanez is the only man on the planet who has my full-fledged support to sport the soul patch. Need – desperately – to get tickets for next weekend’s series against the Mets.
And so our journey begins. Surely, there was no way to get tickets directly through the Phillies. Other mediums had to be explored, and thus, my roommate Lucy and I were forced into the most despicable of predicaments – dealing with online scalpers.
What a depraved, dishonest and dispassionate man the online scalper is. Hording away tickets that otherwise well-intentioned fans might purchase in order to make himself a buck. It’s bad enough that the Phillies have begun to attract teeny-boppers and frat boys who experiment with steroids, all attending in the name of “making the scene”; now, an honest fan can’t even buy a damn ticket at face value. Where were you during the Gregg Jeffries’ years, you bandwagon barbarians? Playing twister with all of the pink-jersey’d Eagles groupies, I’d imagine.
Though I will suffer them so long as they yell loudly when the real fans yell, and don’t make a complete mockery of the True Philadelphia Fan by stooping to the level of mindless marauder, feeding into the Exploitative National Media’s stock definition of our people.
That I cannot tolerate.