In the great history of Jeepers Creepers 2, Cocoon: The Return, Teen Wolf 2, and The Decalogue: Two, I present to you, the Internet reader, the second part of actual heckles sent in through electronic mail by other readers like you, except much more creative and boundlessly more attractive.
This is, once again, a device used to give myself a little break from the hassle of deadlines (“the deadline breaks, then so do your fucking legs” is one of John Warner’s favorite sayings; surprisingly, it never loses its impact) and the daily grind of answering phone tips regarding Jose Lima’s wife and Zack Greinke’s developing knuckleball. It may seem to be all fun and games on the other side of the pixilated screen, but for myself, it’s a bane. And quite addicting.
It will also give me some time to complete my move from Chicago to Los Angeles, the land of sublime and silicon. Perhaps you’ll even see me. Maybe I’ll be on the TV, in the background of one of those entourage Oscar-acceptance speeches. Or possibly I’ll be manning the fry vat, salting your potato skins to complete your #4 meal deal. Or perhaps, years from now, you’ll step over me on the street while I lay face-down in my own vomit, a mix of alcohol and shattered dreams. Either way, it’ll be interesting.
As always, thanks to everyone for writing in.
On to the heckles …
(A quick heckling warning: Anyone who takes part in heckling, you may be hit in the head by a chair. Especially if you heckle the Rangers. But, alas, that is the danger of heckling. And that’s what you get for being a dickhead.)
Earlier this month I went to an Akron Aeros (AA, Cleveland Indians) home game and heckled the visiting Reading Phillies. My seats were second row behind the visitor’s dugout so I knew my spirited barbs would not go unheard. I selected relief pitcher Jason Jimenez because he spent all last season in Toledo, meaning he wasn’t good enough to be on a pitching staff that had a 21-, 19-, and 17-game loser. I speculated freely and openly, through a makeshift megaphone made from a beer cup with the bottom cut out, about how many games Jimenez would have lost at the major league level. 25? 30?The sky was the limit!
Jimenez is left-handed, so he was facing me the whole time he was on the mound and I was pretty sure he was looking for me, trying to find the source of the sauce. We definitely made eye contact as he walked to the dugout at the end of the eighth inning. He had just given up three runs, so I’m sure he was steamed. He looked right at me and said something, but I didn’t hear him. It looked like “You think you’re funny?” but my friends seemed to think he used a different F-word.
I probably would have heard him if he had said it through a beer-cup megaphone.
Jason Jimenez’ line that night: 3 IP, 6 H, 4 R, 2 ER, 2 K. I like to think I helped with that.
A couple of years back, while the ’stros were still in the dome, the Braves were in town, giving us fits as usual. My friends and I had outfield seats, over in left field, right behind Kenny Lofton. Oh boy, did we heckle. The highlight of the evening came when one clever gentleman, right after getting off his cell phone, turned to the field and yelled, “Hey, Kenny, your mom called! She says YOU SUCK!” Good times.
It, of course, happened at Fenway.
Opposing team brings out their middle reliever after he warms up in the bullpen. He trots out to the mound and proceeds to throw a few warm-up pitches to his catcher.He throws a wild pitch. During a pitching change warm up!The fans go wild, and are on this guy like white on rice. First Sox batter comes up: four balls.Fans are going crazy, just yelling their heads off about how much this guys sucks.Second batter: another wild pitch.It’s a field day at Fenway!!The manager has to come out and that’s it! The reliever is done!The fans heckled the pitcher off the mound. A proud day in Red Sox Nation.
My best baseball heckle actually involved a fan. Yankees-Phillies at the Vet and some guy with a Yankees jersey is dancing around like an ass, trying to start lame pro-Yankees chants. The thing is, the guy is missing like four teeth. So, I started a “Tooth-brush (clap- clap) Tooth-brush (clap-clap)” chant. Then in later innings, I started a “Let’s go toothpaste” chant. The crowd loved it.
I decided after last season that as I turn 30, it may be time to give up on the heckling. It just seems kind of sad.
I was fortunate enough to see Cubs/SD in spring training when Garth Brooks was playing left for SD. A bunch of guys kept yelling requests at him: “Sing Achy-Breaky-Heart” and of course “FREE BIRD.”
For La Russa: “I hope your dog gets run over.”
“Ooooh, La Russa—double switch—you are the delicate genius.”
To slacking parents that are living in the past: “McGwire’s retired—get your kid a new jersey!”
I also like to heckle the slugs who sing at Wrigley for the seventh-inning stretch. A popular guest is John Cusack. Nearby fans seemed to really enjoy it when I yelled to him, “Your sister’s commercials suck!”
Don’t trip over the waiver wire,
When Todd Hollandsworth was with the L.A. Dodgers he was playing left field and was getting razzed all night by the bleacher bums at Chavez Ravine. A good friend of mine, Jerry “The Word” Word, who has been known to hit the sauce from time to time—as in ALL the time—decided that he was going to join in on the Hollandsworth heckling. At one of those crowd lulls he screams, “Hey, Hollandsworth—GO BACK TO HOLLAND!!” The entire left-field bleacher section stops, looks at The Word, and just starts laughing.
The best part of the story was that Hollandsworth himself took one of those “did someone really just say that?” looks back at the crowd, which drew even MORE laughter. Dodgers lost that night to the S.D. Padres. Go, Pads!
OK, this was at a college baseball game:
After a questionable (but probably correct) call by the third-base umpire on a foul ball, my friend yells at the top of his lungs: “HEY, UMP! LOOK OVER HERE … I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”