by Joe Shaboo

Thankfully, my stimulus check arrived a few weeks ago and I couldn’t be happier. So, I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly thank George Bush for financing my family trip next year to the new Yankee Stadium. We’re going to sit in mediocre seats, pretty far behind third base, so my kids can watch their first New York Yankees baseball game. I figure that night out in the Bronx (4 tickets, 4 hot dogs, 4 sodas, 4 boxes of Cracker Jacks and Parking) is going to cost me about $1,585.

I think the prices next year at Yankee Stadium are a bargain if the ticket window accepted Monopoly money as currency, but something tells me the new prices for the mediocre seats are no joke. I think the real joke is why the U. S. Government decided to step in and treat every family of four to a game at the new Yankee Stadium. I just don’t know why I’m getting money from the government to buy mediocre baseball tickets when the United States owes China the entire section of field level seats and a few luxury boxes, as well.

Should Hal Steinbrenner be arrested for charging $1,000-$2,500 a ticket for a person to attend a game vs. Kansas City in the Bronx? Or should Steinbrenner be called a genius? Is he crazy? Or are the crazy people all sitting on cold, folding chairs on a Tuesday night in the rain just to watch Alex Rodriguez strike out three times in a row?

The average baseball game is about 3 hours long and, beginning next year, it will cost you and me about $150 PER HOUR to watch the Yankees play a home game, not including the $42 mixed drink (in a clear, plastic cup) or $17 bag of Peanuts (suggested retail prices.) If you look carefully on the ticket stub, a disclaimer for all 2009 tickets might include, “All seats are a 2 hot dog, 2 beer minimum.” For that expense, my seat off the third base line better include a color television, hot shower, coffee maker and a small bed.

It seems like more professional sports stadiums are developing a business model that virtually excludes families from being able to attend the games. Oh, I forgot. I’m sorry. Excuse me. I forgot that it’s my kids who are the chosen ones who are supposed to bear the burden of billion dollar salaries and a U.S. Government that gives away money for no apparent reason. I forgot. My bad. Sorry about that.

I’m beginning to wonder when the financial absurdity of the world is going to end. It seems like it just started with the price of gasoline and now, suddenly, the price of ordinary products, like baseball tickets, are beginning to spike. I’m beginning to think my kids are going to need to be professional baseball players just to make ends meet. Vegetable oil is over $10 a gallon, Dunkin Donuts already raised their morning coffee prices 25% since last month and next year the beer guy will be selling plastic bottles of alcohol to people sitting in mediocre seats for more money than I make for one day’s pay.

The new baseball stadium business model suspiciously resembles that of the Middle East oil policy: higher prices for the same old product. People cannot afford to buy gas these days just like people can’t afford to buy their Yankees tickets for next year. Baseball and fuel haven’t changed much over the years, but at least the quality of gasoline has increased with environmental demands. I wish I could say the same for Yankees pitching.

Are some experiences in life worth $1,000-$2,500 a ticket? Maybe a cruise to the Bahamas, a plane ticket to Thailand or even a trip to Paris. But paying a $1,000 to sit through a rain delay? Excuse me, Mr. Steinbrenner, but I think it’s time you started paying your audience to attend your baseball games. How about that?

Fuel will soon be 15% of people’s yearly income and a family of four will have to spend another 10% of their annual income just to visit the Bronx for one game of baseball in mediocre seats. People, it’s time to unite! Has baseball been reduced to an aristocratic luxury where the Bourgeois boys of summer are paraded like puppets, one after the other into the batter’s box? Are baseball stadiums nothing but the corporate Coliseums of America?

On second thought, I think I’d rather see some real lions and stimulate the local carnival with my government check. At least then I can spend the money on cotton candy, balloon games, and cheer my oldest son with real emotion as he drives around in circles and hits other kids with his Bumper Car.

I’m not exactly sure if the Ferris wheel is ever going to leave town, but I do enjoy the atmosphere of a well-run circus. Yet, I think instead of going to see the Yankees at the new stadium, I’ll spend my $1600 at the local carnival trying to win a fifty-cent goldfish. Then I’ll go home, where there’s always free parking, and watch the Yankees game on television. I’ll sit on a fairly comfortable seat cushion called “my couch” and maybe I’ll enjoy a hot dog with ‘kraut and a soda that will cost me less than a buck. And what’s the cost of not having to wait in line for the bathroom? Priceless. Enjoy the game.

The Associated Press recently released aerial photographs of a small “uncontacted” tribe in the Amazon Jungle shooting arrows at the aircraft flying over their grass huts. After taking a second look at the photos on the internet, I noticed that the body of each tribal member was partially naked, covered in red paint, and each person was wearing a necklace made of giant, oversized keys around their necks.

Amazingly enough, in the corner of one photograph was another member of the tribe who wasn’t wearing any keys around his neck. Instead, he was photographed holding a neatly printed sign up over his head. The sign read in perfect English, “Has Anyone Seen My Goddamn Keys?”

Evidently, it seems that humans have been asking this question long before we’ve even had anything to unlock. I know, personally, I’ve been searching for my keys every morning for about 4 ? years. It’s become a game of sorts, but it’s really a hard habit to break, rifling through kitchen drawers, emptying wicker toy baskets and tossing various Elmos and wooden train tracks aside, all while searching for a set of car keys my two year old decided to hide in the garbage underneath last night’s mashed potatoes and Chicken Lo Mein.

[Art by Eric Sengelen]

The people who really need to sit down and analyze their own stupidity levels are the bicyclists who think their bike can travel faster than my car. I’m not exactly sure when the Western World accepted the illusion that bicycles have the same rights as a car, but I think us motorists may need to start firing poison-tipped arrows at the people wearing those colorful, ass-grabbing pants who insist upon riding their bikes in the middle of the road. Bicyclists seem to have forgotten the simple rule that my gas pedal is more powerful than their foot pedal. These people believe that if they wear a space-age helmet, and clothing made from colorful, stretch fabric then suddenly they become Lance Armstrong climbing Mount Blanc in the French Alps.

It’s bad enough us motorists have to stop for school buses every two or three driveways for students who can’t figure out how to consolidate themselves, but now we have to avoid ferocious packs of two wheeled wolves all over town whose members actually think an aerodynamic water bottle makes all the difference in the world. I say ship all these people to the Amazon, with their water bottles, for a few days at least to learn some important fashion tips if nothing else.

The problem with me and everybody else is that we force our personal opinions and rituals on everybody else, but the roads were built for cars. And what heck
do all those keys
around their necks
unlock in the jungle
anyway? The roads were not built for bicycles. So, I feel bicycles and the people who ride them are simply in the way of my own progress… maybe. But are the “uncontacted tribes” of the Amazon Jungle really in the way of the Western World? And what heck do all those keys around their necks unlock in the jungle anyway?

Maybe I’m just jealous that I can no longer fit into a pair of bicycle shorts without being arrested for indecent exposure. The truth is I really don’t look as good as those Amazonians with their shirts off either. But if we knew what could possibly require a key to unlock in the middle of the jungle, then maybe we could learn many more lessons at home from our ancestors abroad. For instance, now that we’ve flown a giant, mechanical bird over the members of an “uncontacted tribe” in the Amazon just to take some pictures… what’s next? Should we have a helicopter drop some Spandex and show them all how to ride a bike?

I think if I start wearing my car keys around my neck that should help me get through the mornings a little bit better. Who knows, one day maybe I’ll actually start riding a bike. Then maybe I won’t need any car keys at all and my life will become that much more simpler. But if you do happen to see me walking around town, decorated in red paint, partially naked and carrying a bow and arrow around the local supermarket… please don’t panic. I’m just trying to find a way to pass the time and fire an arrow at anyone trying to take my picture. After all, if there is one thing we do have in common with our primitive ancestors, it is our privacy… and the fact is that whether we ride a bicycle or hunt in a jungle we all really do prefer to cover our butts with some sort of fabric… thank God.