Humphrey Bogart was once quoted saying that a hot dog at the ballpark was better than a steak at the Ritz. That audacious claim was backed up by a photo of Bogart at the ballpark chomping down on a hot dog, while holding another one.
Bogart was a huge baseball fan. As for myself, unless the New York Yankees are on the verge of hoisting another World Series trophy or I’m watching the 1993 cult classic “The Sandlot,” I’m not a baseball fan. In fact, my favorite game to watch, especially in person, has slowly morphed from football to soccer.
I know I’m in the heart of college football land where most people don’t or won’t understand “the beautiful game.” I know, while I see a poetic, physical chess match, others just see a bunch of people kicking a ball back and forth.
Furthermore, no matter what any drunken member of the Buffalo “Bills Mafia” tells you, there are no fans more insane, more devoted than soccer fans. Fueled by loyalty, and usually lots of alcohol, these fans spend almost the entire match chanting, blowing vuvuzelas, beating cowbells, banging drums, insulting the opposing squad’s players and sometimes fighting the opposing squads’ fans. Not to mention, when a goal is scored, the explosion of unbridled chaos is electrifying.
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