Episode 25: Riding the Cruise Ship

So back in September, U2 was at Gillette Stadium for back-to-back shows. Here is the story of an unexpected occurrence at one of these shows...

FADE IN:
EXT. GILLETTE STADIUM - NIGHT
A large football stadium filled to the brim, with a dinosaurian sized stage in the middle of what was once a football field, but is now the teeming floor for a concert, overpopulated with eager fans.

In a small tunnel leading onto the field, an orange-clad ROB ZEITZ (24) - chubby with glasses, an intelligent forehead, and adorable brown eyes - stands vigil. Unaware of who is about to enter his life...

OPENING CREDITS.

It's amazing how many people I work with who remind me of Chicken Little. Every single event they foresee utter catastrophe. At CountryFest, the predicted rivers of drunken vomit were to flow down the aisles and concourses. When AC Milan and Inter Milan came, they foresaw hooligans brawling. And for U2, they thought the floor would be a maelstrom of chaotic confusion. Because for these shows, there'd be no assigned seating on the floor. Fans could even stand inside the platform that ringed round stage. Diagram:



And of course, everyone survived, and all went well. If anything, allowing people to mill around and stand where they wanted gave us event staff on the floor less work.

I'm on a response team (comprised of 4 or 5 event staff and a supervisor) at Gillette Stadium. Response Team #1, to be specific, and that numerical designation is well deserved. Our supervisor has been around and worked countless events, and all of us are veterans that know what we're doing. So whenever something unexpected/unusual/tricky comes about, we're the team that's implemented to handle it.

Normally for a concert, we're on the floor, pretty much doing stuff that every other staffer on the floor is doing. But for the first U2 show, we had a special assignment...

Tom Cruise was attending, along with wife Katie Holmes and Cameron Diaz. Cruise and Diaz are co-starring in the tentatively titled Knight & Day, which is set in the Midwest, and was being shot in various Boston suburbs.

There was a VIP platform set-up on the floor. If you look at that diagram posted above, this platform sits on the left side of the diagram, at the back of the floor, in front of sections 142 and 143. At first, we thought we'd just escort Cruise & Company through the tunnel in the bowels of Gillette Stadium, then across the short distance from the tunnel to the VIP platform.

Wrong.

Cruise & Co. arrive via helicopter at around 8:30, with U2 scheduled to go on at 9. Days later, the Boston Herald would produce a lie-riddled gossip piece about Cruise showing up late, and security preventing people from taking pictures of him. Utterly false tabloid bullshit.

So we're waiting in what's normally the visiting team tunnel, waiting for Cruise & Co. to disembark from their chopper.



It's then that we find out that they want to take-in a few songs right next to the stage, then go to the VIP Platform. No big deal, our response team is extremely flexible. The plan now was to take Cruise & Co. out to a cleared spot next to the stage, form a wide perimeter around them, and make sure nobody bothered them.

Then Cruise, Holmes, and Diaz arrive. Cameron Diaz is, in a word, statuesque (Definition: like or suggesting a statue, as in massive or majestic dignity, grace, or beauty). Her body was carved by some 15th century Renaissance sculptor, then turned into flesh and bone by a mystical Bohemian sorcerer and sent into the future for the males of the 21st century to enjoy.



And her smile was so radiant that its luminousness could transform the darkest black hole into the brightest eternal light.



The plan was to wait until the house lights went down to bring Cruise & Co. out. Thus cloaking their arrival in darkness, so only those immediately adjacent would even know they were there.

So we're standing in the visiting team tunnel. Cruise walks up and stands next to me. He's not short, at least not wicked short. I'd say average to slightly below average in height.

We have a strict rule not to talk to athletes/celebrities unless they talk to us first. So I'm just watching the fans that line the walls above the tunnel, doing my job. Calm, cool, and professional.

"How long did it take to set-up the stage?" I hear a Cruiselike voice ask. I turn my head, and see Tom looking at me.

I had to bite my tongue from saying the first thing that popped into my head: "Are you talking to me, Tom Cruise?" Instead, I sputter out "About 5 days I think."

An aside: this stage was massive, the largest EVER for a touring production.



I wasn't exaggerating about how long it took to construct this monstrosity. You'll notice it has 8 massive banks of speakers, a jumbotron that wraps around above the stage, and 4 massive legs from which all this is suspended, not to mention countless lights and cameras pinned all over this beast, which reminded me of the giant creatures from The Mist.



Back to Tom Cruise. My answer of "5 days" utterly thrilled the guy. His face lit-up, then he went back to Katie and Cameron, giddy about how long it took to build the stage. He came back and proceeded to ask me more and more.

"How many people does this place hold for football?" "How many people will be here tonight?" "Do you work all the football games?" "What other concerts have been here?"

Every answer elates him. My responses excited him more than I was excited to be talking to him, which is saying a lot. I kept glancing at the other people on my response team, who were holding in laughs as I struggled to contain my star-struckedness.

The whole time, I'm thinking that I'm talking to Jerry Maguire, Maverick, Les Grossman, Chief John Anderton, Dr. Bill Harford, Cole Trickle, Ron Kolvic, and so on. This guy made generation-defining movies that are quoted and referenced countless times. He's added to our vernacular and to our metaphorical vocabulary. People dress up as his characters (or even him) for Halloween. Complete strangers know more about him than we know about our own friends and even families.















He's worked for Stanley Kubrick, Steven Spielberg, PT Anderson (who sucks) and Oliver Stone. He's worked with Jamie Foxx, Nicole Kidman, Kenneth Branagh, Colin Farrell, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Brad Pitt, Jack Nicholson, Tim Robbins, Gene Hackman, Ed Harris, and everyone who's anyone.

I started volunteering facts to him on my own, trying to extend the conversation. I tell him U2 was touring with 3 of these monster stage set-ups, and one was being constructed in Giants Stadium as we spoke.

Every fact divulged, and he'd scurry back to Katie and Cameron, who were gabbing about celebrity stuff or whatever, and excitedly convey what he'd just learned. The factoid that got him the most enthused was that 180 tractor trailers were needed to bring in all the equipment. "Guys, it took 180 trucks to bring all this stuff in here!" he practically screamed to the two starlets.

I wish I'd researched U2's stage a bit more before the show. I could've busted out some whoppers, such as:

The stage structure is 164 feet tall

The apparatus can support 200 tonnes

Each structure cost between 15 and 20 million British Pounds to build

U2 plans to leave these structures in various places around the world as permanent concert venues

These tidbits would've really blown his socks off.

He then starts telling me about his trip in. He contains a giggle as he tells me that he arrived via helicopter. "There was a lot of traffic down there on the road, is that the only road into here?" He asked.

And I can just picture him in the helicopter, Cameron Diaz reading a book, Katie Holmes talking to her agent on the phone, and Tom Cruise glued to the window like a 5 year-old on his first plane trip. "Wow! Look at all the cars down there!"

I shouldn't make fun. He was a nice guy. I very rarely call people "friendly" but that word fits him as perfectly as Cameron Diaz's dresses fit her abs. He talked to me as if there weren't massive differences in fame and finances between us. I was the one being shallow, and was never able to address him as an actual person, but only as an IMDb page.

But he was kind of a dork, in a likable way. He was excited to be there, excited to be in a Stadium he'd never been to before. After I ran out of fun facts, and had a case of writer's block as I stood there literally dumbfounded, he did the rounds in the tunnel. He talked to the State Police Bomb Squad guys, then to the Norfolk County Sheriff's Deputies, then to some EMTs. All the time he's waving to people as they snap pictures from the seats that line the sides of the tunnel.

Finally, it was show-time. Bono ran by us, Tom Cruise roaring his applause louder than any of the 75,000 in attendance. The lights went down, and we assisted Cruise's security guys in transporting him stageside. We then created a pocket for his little crew.



They listened to a few songs. One guy with credentials tried to cut into the pocket (just trying to cut through, didn't know who was behind us), and I denied his entry. He flashed his credential and I busted out my favorite three word chestnut for people with insufficient credentiality: "Not good enough." I used to use that line at BC football when I guarded the backdoor of the visiting team locker room, and BC people with "All Access" credentials tried to cut through.

After a few songs, it was time to move to the VIP platform. We'd use the tunnel underneath the East Side Concourse. And we assumed Cruise & Co. would utilize the golf carts they rode in on, with us jogging alongside Secret Service Style. Nope.

Once they got into the tunnel, Cruise bolted! They didn't want to miss a single note of a single song. Diaz and Holmes followed. Now these are Hollywood types obsessed with physical fitness (and also contractually obligated to be in shape), but we relatively sluggish security folk did a good job of keeping up with them. But thank God I don't smoke anymore, otherwise I would've collapsed around the 50 yard line.





We then escorted Cruise & Co. to the nearby VIP platform, which was relatively uneventful. This Platform duty was downright boring, to be honest. The few people on it were invited guests of U2, and it was already secured by staff. We remained there just in case something happened. Nothing did. But Sam Neill was there. It was difficult not to quote Jurassic Park or Event Horizon to him.





Just before the show ended, we escorted Cruise & Co. from the VIP Platform, back to the tunnel underneath the Stadium. And as quickly as he entered my life, Tom Cruise exited. But by the time he left, he had earned one more fan.

FADE TO BLACK.


.

Episode 24: Red Bullcrap

This was the last episode I wrote for ArmchairGM.com. It was written June 25, 2009. And don't worry, I'm going to pick up writing about the happenings and goings on of my job.

I like soccer. No, I love soccer. Top quality soccer, that is. EPL soccer. Champions League, World Cup, and so on. MLS simply doesn’t entertain me. Watching some Fulham reject missing an easy opportunity to head-in a cross is grossly unsatisfying.


I am not a Revolution fan. If they win, fine. If they lose, then whatever. I want them to make the playoffs and advance so I can get more shifts in, and pocket a few extra bucks. But the fate of the Revolution is of very little interest to me. I’m an Arsenal man, and that's more than enough of a team for me.





Most soccer games are laid back, easy events. Unless David Beckham’s in town, we’ll usually get 10,000 to 15,000 fans. Even on the high side, that’s 1/3 the crowd size at BC’s Alumni Stadium. A Pats game boasts almost 5 times as many fans. And most of the Revs fans are kids and families. Coaches bring their youth soccer teams, parents bring their children for birthday parties, and so on.


But there are a few trouble makers. And they’ll let you know how much of a trouble maker they are. The hardcore fans set-up shop in the North End Zone, stand up the entire game, sing and chant, beat drums, wave flags. The trouble makers are embedded there, about 1 out of every 20 of the hardcore fanatics is a troublemaker.





They’re not hooligans. They’re wannabes. They all saw Green Street Hooligans, identified with Elijah Wood’s character, and now they think they’re in a “hooligan firm” like the movie’s Green Street Elite (GSE).





And normally these few and far between troublemakers are fine. Occasionally they’ll do something stupid, like spit on an event staffer, or smuggle in a beer bottle, and they’ll be ejected. But when another group of wannabes comes to Foxborough, there’s potential for trouble.


In 2007, before I started working at the Stadium, a group of fans from New York ran into a group of Revs fans. The 5% troublemaking contingent from each cadre of fanatics found each other, and rolling fights erupted throughout the concourse. So now, whenever the Red Bulls come to town, it’s not a typical soccer game.


Last year, there were no problems. They were kept in the South End Zone, escorted out by us, yelling about Tom Brady being a deadbeat dad the whole time, but there were no incidents. We didn’t have the same good fortune in 2009.


How much are these Red Bulls fans wannabes? They sang their songs with an English accent. They call themselves the ESC (sounds a great deal like GSE, doesn’t it?).





They were given their own parking lot to tailgate in. Apparently, there was some drama before that, as Red Bull (the drink) corporate types kicked the Red Bull fans out of a lot reserved for them, with three Red Bull fans being detained by police (they would be released at the end of the game so they could go home to New York). After a few hours of drinking, they marched to the Stadium, under escort.





Who the hell films themselves walking into a stadium?


They were patted down (three were deemed too drunk to enter the Stadium), and given section 122 to sit in. They could leave that area to go to the bathroom or get food, but Revs fans weren’t allowed in. I was on the response team in charge of the area, and there was no drama whatsoever. One guy had trouble walking up the stairs, but wasn’t fall down drunk, so he was allowed to stay.


After the game, which was won 4-0 by the Revs, we wanted to get the Red Bull fans out ASAP. Their buses were waiting for them outside their gate. Of course, as people tend to do, they took their time. They sang some songs after their team got drubbed, whined and moaned about having to leave, and finally got out of the Stadium. The delay would turn out to be costly.


Why did we want them out quickly? I don’t know the official reason, but perhaps it was to prevent a parking lot run-in between the New York fans, and the Revs fans. Here are where the two groups exited from the Stadium, with the NY fans represented by a red square, and the Revs’ by blue.





I was asked to escort a family of three to the other side of the Stadium, where their car was parked. Essentially, I was to ensure nothing happened to them from one of those troublemakers from the Revolution side of things. And that was uneventful. We talked a little bit about baseball, I made a token joke about only escorting them because the dad had a Mets hat and not a Yankees hat. They thanked me and went on their way. In reality I should have thanked them.


I went out to the gate where the New York fans had exited, and didn’t really know what was going on. Their three buses stood idling as our staff tried to keep New York people from getting off. Three New York fans sat on the sidewalk, their hands behind their backs, in handcuffs. Police scurried about. Our staff were either rubbing their faces or swishing water in their mouth and spitting it out. I had no clue what was going on.


From what I’ve gathered, here are the basic facts. And again, I wasn’t there: The NY fans were getting on their buses. A passing Revolution fan said something. A NY fan struck a Revolution fan (or vice versa). Staff and police tried to apprehend the assault(ing/ed) NY fan. This caused more NY fans to pour out of the buses. The police on hand, grossly outnumbered, dispensed their pepper spray.


Here’s an account from a Red Bull fan from one of their message boards: (http://www.soccerpubs.com/boards/index.php?showtopic=33711 )

“Yeah so we are walking to our buses in NE and those retards let a bunch of Revs Army supporters walk right by our buses. Words turn to shoving and shoving turns to the police jumping in and spraying multiple RBNY supporters. Some directly some got the over spray such as myself. The situation did not warrant this excessive use of force and a simple and logical use of the brain by the stewards(such as that by our own yellow shirts) would have avoided such a situation. In the 3 supporters were taken away in the paddy wagon and the reputation of Revs fans and Security is permanently tarnished in my eyes.”

Of course, in any altercation, there are typically multiple parties to blame. Certainly the passing Revs fan may have taken liberties with his/her New York counterparts surrounded by security and police. Most definitely, escalating a verbal spat into even light pushing and shoving is asking for trouble. And perhaps security around the buses could have been tighter. Then again, how does one create a barrier that keeps shouts from reaching other people? Maybe security should carry vuvuzelas to drown out shouting.





I wish I’d been there, but I’m glad I didn’t get maced. But reading some of the accounts by Red Bull fans on the internet is indicative of an overwhelmingly self-centered attitude I’ve noticed in people while I’ve had this job. People blame everyone else for everything. And if anything doesn’t go a 100% their way, it’s a terrible affront.


Try to note the reactions people have when they‘re told they can‘t bring food/water/umbrellas into an event. Just note how often the police and our security have been called “Nazi,” “SS,” or “Gestapo.” If I recall my history correctly, the SS didn’t liquidate ghettos with pepper spray, and the Gestapo didn’t let many people go after detaining them.


Just look at the Red Bull fan’s account once more. He blames our security for the Revolution fan. He then blames the Revolution fan for saying WORDS that drew PHYSICAL ASSAULT.


Sometimes, I simply hate people. It’s just a shame that three or four out of 10,000 have to be jerks.


Real hooligans don’t fight in front of security and police. They don’t fight in or near stadiums, they fight elsewhere. And they don’t bitch and moan about pepper spray on message boards.





I can’t wait for New York’s return to Gillette Stadium in 2010. They might not even be allowed to go to concession stands or drink beer. They’ll be segregated from the Revolution fans completely and utterly. In fact, I’ll consider them fortunate if they’re allowed to come back at all.

Episode 23: Not So ReLAXing Long Weekend

This was about the 2009 NCAA Lacrosse Finals at Gillette Stadium. I hate lacrosse, but these events were fun. I got my 100th ejection and it was a good experience for my roamingness. Our team was the only team inside the seating area most of the time, so we got to handle lots of different situations. It was a nice learning experience.


This was originally written on June 18, 2009.


Way back in April, I got to work the BC Spring Game. It was one of the most laid back events I’ve worked. Spring college football might be a big deal in Norman, Tuscaloosa, and Gainesville, but not so much in Chestnut Hill. It was the first nice day of spring, and most people in Boston were probably doing something else. That being said, there were some excellent student bodies on display at Alumni Stadium. God bless the man who invented short shorts.





Anyway, only two interesting things happened. After standing next to a statue of Doug Flutie throwing his famous Hail Mary pass (I was born the day he threw it), I “guarded” the official’s tunnel from the concourse to the field.


During the scrimmage, some guy walked through the tunnel toward the field. “Do you have a credential sir?”


“Doug Flutie, I’m just going onto the field.”


Yeah, I asked Doug Flutie for his credentials at Boston College. Why? Because I didn’t recognize him. He’s like 5’ 7”, not too muscular, and was wearing a hat and sunglasses. It did strike me as odd that he didn’t say “I’m Doug Flutie,” he just said his name. I got kind of a jerk vibe, but he wasn’t too bad. And Alumni Stadium is most definitely HIS house.





Later, another uncredentialed individual tried walking by me. This one looked like a football player. About 6’ 6” and 350 pounds of a football player. I asked if he had a credential, he said he did, I asked him to produce it, he rolled his eyes and started to laugh. Then he bitched to his friends about me not knowing who he was. Twenty minutes later he was still bothered.


Turns out his name was Ron Brace. The Patriots selected him that evening in the 2nd round of the Draft.





Now had he said he was a player, I wouldn’t have made a stink. But he didn’t. And he’d better leave that attitude of his on Chestnut Hill. He might Campus King at Boston College, but down in Foxborough he’s just another salary cap number. And he’d better get used to wearing credentials and showing ID down there.


Speaking of down there, the NCAA Lacrosse Championships were once again hosted by Gillette Stadium. I’m not a fan of lacrosse. It might be the only sport I hate. If I’m watching it, then I have a headache. I don’t know why. I think I may be allergic to it.


I reached my 100th ejection during the lacrosse weekend. It was a reluctant ejection.


Under NCAA regulations, alcohol cannot be sold or possessed inside the Stadium. Trust me, Rob Kraft wanted to sell alcohol at this event last year, but it was a dealbreaking condition for the NCAA. This rule would be the reason for most of my 18 ejections that weekend.


Here was #100 (and #101, and #102). My supervisor was on break, grabbing a bite to eat. One of our staff on the field noticed a glint of sunlight off an aluminum can. After talking with the guy and ironing out some miscommunications, we finally found the trio of beer drinkers. It was three guys wearing Duke lacrosse shirts, each had one beer. They were all well into their 30’s, sober, and extremely cooperative. I pleaded with Observation (the radio call sign for one of the head honchos of an event) to not eject them. But the policy was black and white. They had to go.


It wasn’t even bittersweet, just bitter. They were completely fine, utterly sober, and one claimed to be the older brother a Duke player (their licenses were all from Upstate Central New York, so their wearing Duke shirts despite being from there made his story believable). Even walking them out, they were upset but didn’t take any of that anger out on us.


Alcohol was the cause of most ejections. Some more dramatic than others. It was a privilege to kick out one punk from Cortland State, which was my school’s archrival. Bombers baby!


Cortland kids are generally stupid hicks who are admitted to the school if they can stumble around the fields of Cortland County and eventually wind up on the campus, and/or fail to spell SAT properly. They drink, they fight, they drink. And the guy we ejected was no exception to this stereotype.


Unfortunately, Cortland won the Division III championship game against Gettysburg College. And most of those Red Dragon state schoolers went home happy.


One brief but significant bit of drama occurred between Cortland’s victory in the D-III title game, and the D-II contest between C.W. Post and Lemoyne. Those two games featured general admission, first-come-first-serve seating. Except for 5 rows of seats behind each bench. Those were set apart for parents and family, who were given wristbands to sit there. So after Cortland won, we had to politely ask the Cortland parents to move so the C.W. Post parents could sit there. Not too dramatic. For the most part, the Cortland parents were happy to vacate.


But the C.W. Post people were early. Dreadfully early. There was 90 minutes between games, but these people wanted to swoop down and secure the best seats for themselves. They clogged the aisles, so the Cortland people couldn’t get out.


Then people without wristbands wanted to sit in the reserved section. I got into an intense argument with some parent (who had a wristband) trying to convince me that the three young men accompanying him played for the team. I must have said “Sir, I believe you, but they don’t have wristbands. But they can sit in row 6, or in the section right next to you guys.” This distance of 10 feet was unacceptable to the man.


This guy really pissed me off. I mean really. He was a typical mow-his-lawn-once-a-week guy. Probably the star football player at his high school. Middle management, or perhaps a small business owner. A guy who’s used to being in charge and literally cannot accept someone asking/telling him to do something he doesn’t want to do. As we argued, I seriously weighed the satisfaction of punching him square in the nose against the hassles of losing my job and getting charged with assault and battery.


I didn’t hit him. And eventually, we allowed the baby to have his bottle. This was after explaining that 5 rows of 38 seats means 190 seats and 190 wristbands. For every person allowed in the section without a wristband, there would be a person with a wristband left out. One of those people turned out to be the head coach’s wife. So way to go you self-centered D-Bag.


One of the more interesting things that’s ever happened to me in this job went down during the D-I semifinals. Some fan found a piece of luggage on the concourse. The fan stated that there had been people around it, and then they left, leaving the luggage behind.





Ten years ago, this would be a non-issue. It would be “lost luggage” not “unattended package.” What made matters worse was that there was no name or address on the bag. A Continental Airlines tag was on the handle, but with no date or flight number.


Needless to say, there was a commotion amongst the staff regarding this issue. Our response team was first there, then the guy in charge of all the response teams, then the Police, Fire Department, EMTs, the big bosses in charge of Stadium security, and so on. My response team stood around in a semi-circle, and made sure nobody came near the bag. More and more uniforms and different departments showed up and had a pow wow.


It wasn’t too scary. I figured the odds of someone attacking the NCAA Lacrosse semifinals were slim to none. Besides, all bags were checked at the gate, and smuggling this one in would be quite a feet. And if it was a bomb, it wasn’t going to not be a bomb if I was scared or if I stayed calm. It was just a bag. A bag potentially filled with death, but whatever it was, it already was that and nothing else.


Then some guy walked up to me and asked where Guest Services was. I pointed down the concourse toward the booth. Then he walked a few feet, noticed the package sitting behind us, and claimed ownership. That gathering of officials, bosses, and police descended on him like paparazzi on a topless Britney Spears.


He took the bag behind the concourse, opened it, and everything was fine. He was very apologetic. It was an innocent mistake, but a really moronic mistake as well.


During the finals, we had ourselves a runner. We spotted a beer can protruding from the side of his shorts. He offered to simply toss it out. Not good enough. He volunteered to leave the Stadium. Not good enough. We just asked him for his ticket and how old he was, and he bolted. This was behind Section 140 in the North End Zone.


He dashed across the bridge, then to Sections 101, 102, 103, et cetera. Me and another member of my team were closely on him, until the crowd got thicker. This kid was not only fast, he was nimble. He slipped in and around people like a minnow navigating a coral reef. I gave up at Section 104. By then, his description was all over the radio, and his location: Section 118, in the South End Zone.


All I could think was: “He’s a freak. He’s the fastest kid alive.”


A Syracuse fan asked me if I was going to continue chasing him. “They don’t pay me enough to do that. Someone else who’s ahead of him will stop him.”


And that’s precisely what happened, behind Section 120 he was stopped by a supervisor. Turns out he was the son of a cop, and was training to be a cop, and was only 19. He panicked when he was caught with the beer.





He risked so much for just one beer. And it's almost never a good beer. Bud Light is the highest quality of beverage you'll catch people smuggling in. Far too many risk far too much for 12 ounces of Keystone swill.


The D-I finals were actually exciting to the throngs of lacrosse fans in attendance. Cornell and Syracuse, two schools 60 miles apart, both traveled over 300 miles to play each other for the title. In fact, of the eight schools that played over the weekend, five were from New York, and four were within 60 miles of each other in Central New York. Cornell led, but Syracuse tied it very late in the 4th period or quarter, or whatever they call it. Then Cuse won in a quick OT.


There were two different Cornell fans who brought in large stuffed bears (Cornell’s mascot is a grizzly). These bears were about 4 feet tall. And each bear had its own ticket. When Cornell played UVA in the semis, many Virginia fans complained about the bear’s owner using it to perform “obscene gestures.” All I could think about was Super Troopers.


The second guy with the bear was apparently one of the top-ranked heart surgeons in the Western Hemisphere. Cornell people are weird.


One annoying sequence of events was when we found a kid, about 10 years old, wandering the 100 level concourse, asking to use a phone. My supervisor let him borrow his, then two of us went with him to presumably locate his father in the 300 level. Alas, it was only his older brother, and he was only 15. I don’t know how many of you have been to Gillette Stadium, but it’s a hike and a half up to the 300s. We can’t leave a lost child with someone under 18, so the kids had to call their Dad, who was down on the 100 level. I wanted to yell at both of the kids for making me walk, and then for giving me crap once I told them that they HAD to come with me to meet up with their father. But I was too tired to yell.


So after 5 lacrosse games, and about 25 hours on my feet, I was up to 117 ejections. The NCAA Lax finals are going back to Baltimore for two years, and I’m not too upset. I miss having my Memorial Day Weekend. But they’re coming back in 2012 and 2013.


Next time on Life as a Sports Usher: An unfriendly encounter with some New York hooligans.

Episode 22: Hello Dalai (Lama)

This was an interesting event to say the least. Not very often does your timecard include words like "His Holiness."


This was originally written March 18th, 2009


The psychology of a crowd. Thousands of individuals comprising a group, yet continuing to think as individuals. Like cells, they comprise one life form. But they all have minds of their own.





You’re attending a sold-out sporting event with standing room tickets. You get inside the stadium 10 minutes before the game starts, and you’re trying to find a good vantage point to watch the action. But there’s a thick crowd everywhere. You see an open spot in front of an aisle, and you stand there.


You’re not a jerk for doing this. You’re just an individual. And individualism is what makes America great. After all, you can get out of the way if someone wants to get by. One person can’t clog up an 8 foot wide aisle. You also paid money to see a GAME, not the backs of people’s heads.


Then someone else sees you in the aisle, and wonders why they can’t enjoy the breathing room and excellent view you now enjoy. So they join you. Then someone else follows, et cetera.


And that’s why you can’t stand in the aisle. We all live in our own worlds, and that’s fine. But in a crowd of 8,000, or 10,000, or 40,000, or 70,000 people; that’s a lot of worlds to deal with, and people struggle with all these worlds colliding, jockeying for position, struggling to think as individuals while living as a group.





Why am I getting all philosophical? Because the Dalai Lama came to Gillette Stadium a few weeks ago. I’ve worked many events: Football, hockey, basketball, soccer, concerts, comedy shows. But nothing was quite like the day the Dalai Lama came to Gillette Stadium.


It was a prestige event. I don’t think the Patriots organization made much money from it. The Tibetan organization that ran it didn’t have to pay any rent to use the facility. I’m sure a few bucks were made at concession stands, and in Patriot Place, but I’d wager that a Revolution game pulls in much more cash.


We had around 11,000 people, mostly in the West Side Stands, with a few hundred in seats on the floor. It was a quiet event, and I mean that in every way it could be meant. We actually had people complaining about too many conversations on the concourse. Yeah, people were bitching about talking.


But that was understandable. The Dalai Lama just talked. There was a morning session about the basics of Buddhism, a lunch break, then an afternoon session that got into more deeper, personal kinds of topics.


And of course, I quoted Caddyshack about three dozen times.





Not surprisingly, there were no ejections. There were a good number of US State Department officials, and even some Secret Service. And that was kind of cool. It was also scary and reassuring at the same time.


From the parts of the talk I could listen to and/or understand, it was a pretty interesting discourse. I hesitate to call it a speech because it didn’t have the prepared undertones of a speech. And I hesitate to call it a discussion because it was only one man talking. How about a philosophical soliloquy open to anyone willing to tune in? How about I stick to “discourse?”


One interesting story was when he talked about his frustration when his flights are delayed. His solution is to meditate. He then pointed out that his inner self is going to be the same, no matter where his outer self is, whether it’s on the plane, or in the terminal (he called it “the waiting place” but you get the idea). That slightly blew my mind.


But what really got to me, what really made it a spiritual experience, was when the sun got in his eyes and he put on a hat:





So the Dalai Lama’s a Pats fan. We got that going for us. Which is nice.


As you might imagine, it was a very relaxed crowd. I frequently had to double-check my radio to make sure it was on, the periods of silence were so lengthy. I did have a noteworthy interaction with one of those individualists I talked about in the beginning of this.


In between his morning speech, and his afternoon discourse, there was a 90 minute lunch break. I was on the field, in between the seats and a row of portajohns. Now during the speech, they were open to the public. During the break, they were open for those with disabilities, and NO ONE else.


My job was to tell people this, and most understood and continued up the stands to the Stadium’s permanent facilities. Except for one. There’s always one. He approached me and asked if the portajohns behind me were open.


“To disabled patrons only.”


“But I really have to go.”


Now this was a man in his late 40s to mid 50s, talking like a child. And talking like a spoiled child at that.


“Appreciated, but you’re going to have to use the facilities upstairs.”


“Come on man, just let me by.”


I thought of starting a dialog on how allowing one individual to break a rule creates a chain reaction in crowd control, it also creates a moral dilemma (people coming up and saying “If you let him go, why not me?”), and in this specific incident, the rule is in place to prevent ADA patrons from having to wait in long lines with people who can, you know, walk up stairs.


But instead of engaging in what could have been a fruitful debate, I simply said:


“If you have to go so bad, why are you standing here arguing with me?”


He gave me some more selfish BS before getting back in line. Now I don’t like upsetting people, but I didn’t mind upsetting him. I hope he peed his pants.


The only other drama worth mentioning came after the event, standing outside the gate to ensure that nobody came back inside. A pair of girls asked if they could go inside to look for their jacket. After informing them they’d have to try to pick it up on Monday (this was Saturday) once the lost and found was sorted out, they walked away, without even letting me give them the number to call on Monday. One called me a lemming. I wanted to call her an animal name too, specifically a female dog. But I simply replied “Thanks!”


She was referring to the lemming’s habit of senselessy running off cliffs as groups and into the ocean, but if she’d studied more in Bio 201 instead of smoking pot and playing hacki-sack on the quad, she’d realize that if lemmings had rules and regulations like we have at Gillette Stadium, and if they had proper event staffing, they wouldn’t jump off cliffs.





The next day, we had a Revolution game. And I was so close to my 100th ejection. Apparently some guy was staring at some other guy’s girl in the parking lot. They wound up in adjacent sections, and the staring was once again noticed. Add alcohol to the recipe, and you get drama. I didn’t see the drama, but that’s what I’m told happened.


One of the actors was drunk. Not fall down drunk, not stumbling drunk, but difficulty making consistent eye contact drunk. Difficulty calculating a tip drunk. You can get away with being this drunk at an event. Believe me, I’ve done it (Bruins’ Game 5 vs. Carolina I was this drunk). But if you’re that drunk, and you’re involved in drama, that’s two strikes and you’re very behind in the count.


Then one of this kid’s associates, an older gentleman, approached a supervisor, asked what was going on, was told of the possibilities of the kid leaving on his own with a sober friend, or staying with the police. Then this older guy threatened to sue the supervisor for “false suspicion.” Once again, I flirted with the thought of debating and lecturing this man on the law, teaching him that Gillette Stadium is on private property, and a ticket is technically owned by us and not the ticket holder. Instead I let the supervisor, a friend of mine, handle it.


The kid got to stay, so long as there was no more drama.


I feel like David Ortiz, sitting on 99 ejections. I don’t want to kick someone out for no reason. I’ve never gone into a situation seeking to eject someone, but when the guy or girl is a jerk, and/or making the event less fun for everyone else, and/or being dangerous, it’s gratifying and occasionally fun to ruin their night.


But it will happen. I have faith. And the summer schedule of events might see me hit 200 by the time football season starts. The NCAA lacrosse championships are coming this weekend, we’ve got an AC/DC concert, a pair of U2 shows, Elton John & Billy Joel, Kenny Chesney, A.C. Milan vs. Inter Milan. I’ll be busy.





I stopped keeping precise count at 100 ejections. I'm slightly over 200ish by now.

Episode 21: Upset City

This event, BC basketball beating Duke, was the best event I've worked. In terms of atmosphere, scale, fun, exhilaration. This was a classic event, and I had the pleasure of playing a minor role in producing it.


This was originally written on February 17, 2009.


Sung to the tune of Gene Chandler's "Duke of Earl"

Duke, Duke, we beat Duke,
Duke, Duke, we beat Duke,
Duke, Duke, we beat Duke





Months of building up to February 15th paid off big time. All the dull games against the likes of South Carolina Upstate, Central Connecticut, Bryant, and that deflating loss to Harvard were mere prelude to this contest. Duke vs. Boston College.


Walking up to the Conte Forum, two and a half hours before tipoff, and a few Duke fans were already outside, eagerly gazing toward Beacon Street for their team’s bus. Loyal, yes, if a bit ridiculous. But just in case anyone didn’t realize how rare a game like this truly is, that sight would give them a hint.


I work on the floor for the basketball games at BC. I check tickets and credentials, stamp the students’ hands (there’s only 190 student seats on the floor, so we stamp hands and count them as they come in). It’s a sweet gig. Most of the time I’m sitting in a chair, watching the game.





With the Blue Devils in town, the floor was packed. We filled up the student section 30 minutes before tipoff. We had an additional section of seats in the corner that’s only there when Duke or UNC comes up. And in a delightfully surprising mixup, BC sold tickets to a row of floor seating that did not exist. But that was all sorted out, and the pre-tipoff insanity of the floor settled into its normal groove.


A great many BC students showed up after we shut the floor off to them. They all had bland, generic arguments in a vein effort to get by me. “Someone is saving seats for us.” “I saw plenty of empty seats.” And so on. More people claimed friends had saved them seats than there were seats.


One girl was my favorite. As I mentioned above, we stamp their hands, but we also stamp their tickets. This is to make sure people don’t pass their student tickets to someone else who doesn’t have one. And we use a UV stamp and blacklight. So this girl has a stamped ticket with her. I ask if she’s already been down on the floor. She hesitated. Dead give away.


“Yeah.”


So I take out my blacklight and scan her hand. No stamp, not even a hint of one.
“Where’s your stamp?”


“Um, I wasn’t stamped.”


“Yeah, because you haven’t been down here. The student section is full.”


She must have thought I was an idiot, or just really trusting. She finally admitted that she hadn’t been down yet, but continued to beg for me to let her in. “My friends saved a seat for me.”


“Why should I believe that? You already lied to me once.”


What followed was a 5 minute exchange of “Can I come down?” then “No, you can’t.”


Back and forth we went, like a boring game of tennis. Finally, she broke the pattern…
“Do you enjoy being an A-hole?”


Then she left. Later she tried sitting in the regular seats a few rows up from the floor. These aren’t student seats, so I pointed at her, then pointed to the exit. She begrudgingly walked out of the section, and out of my life.


Duke looked the far superior team for the first 17 minutes of play. They pulled out to a 9 point lead and steadily maintained it, extending it to 11, then 13 as the half wound to a close. But the Blue Devils went into the locker room early, or so it seemed. BC ended the 1st with an 8-0 run, cutting the lead to 5 points, and earning some momentum.





Halftime was another cluster-fuck, just like pregame. All the season ticket holders from the stands wanted to hobnob with their buddies on the floor. But there was barely enough room for the people who were already down there. It’s an acquired skill to tell spoiled people that they can’t have what they want, yet leave them smiling.
I should mention that before the game, I was told by my boss, along with others, to report to the lobby outside the visiting team locker room with 4 minutes left in the 2nd. In case BC won, we were going to have to get Duke off the court, securing them from the inevitable court-rush.


I had mixed emotions about that assignment. I wanted BC to win, of course, and escorting the Duke Blue Devils through a horde of people would be exhilarating to say the least. At the same time, I didn’t want to hit someone and become a YouTube phenom.


BC and Duke both fell into similar grooves, with Duke hanging on to a lead that lightly fluctuated from 4 to 5 to 6. But down the stretch, BC simply made the big plays, on both ends of the court. They forced bad shots, then started hitting EVERYTHING at the offensive end.





There was a celebrity on the floor seats in front of me. BC alum and Phoenix Sun Jared Dudley. During the first half, they put him on the jumbotron and he received a nice ovation. When BC was challenging Duke for the lead in the 2nd half, Dudley may have been the most intense and ferocious fan in the building. He was on his feet, screaming, practically on the court, turning to the crowd and imploring more noise. It was kind of cool to see a pro athlete acting like a crazy diehard fan.





With 4 minutes left, BC had a 1 point lead. The building was shaking, the crowd was louder than the substitution buzzer, and I had goosebumps, for more than one reason.


It was hard to believe it was happening. I fully expected BC to fall apart, or Duke to shift into a higher gear, force some turnovers, hit a few 3 pointers, and the game wouldn’t even get 30 seconds on SportsCenter.


With 4 minutes left, I went into the lobby outside of Duke’s locker room.


Here’s the thing. The Conte Forum is a hockey-first facility. The building is designed around the needs of a hockey rink. And then there’s the football stadium, literally attached to the arena. On football game days, the Forum is technically a part of Alumni Stadium, with concession stands, restrooms, the ticket office, and two gates.





It’s actually a smart way of saving space on what is already a cramped campus. Neighborhoods and the Chestnut Hill Reservoir prevent expansion. The locker room Duke was using will be used by UNH’s hockey team on Saturday, and will hold Florida State’s football team in the fall.


Although this multipurposeness saves space, it makes some things problematic. The visiting team’s locker room is across the court from their bench. 99% of the time, that’s not a difficulty. But when the visiting team is ranked 5th in the nation, and BC hasn’t beaten them in 24 years, it can be a problem.


Inside the visiting team lobby, we had about 10 staff. Five were assigned to stay there, pick a Duke player on the court, and when the game ended, essentially grab them and escort them off the floor. I didn’t envy them much.


We were sent to the tunnel by Duke’s bench, which is ironically the home team’s tunnel. There was about 2 minutes left, and Duke was up 72-71. Then Tyrese Rice hit a 3 pointer and the place went fucking mad.


The number on the clock kept getting smaller, stopping occasionally for timeouts. And BC’s lead slowly grew larger. Duke began fouling, but BC didn’t choke. Rice made his two. Joe Trapani made his two. 80-74, 12 seconds left, this is happening.


I tend to overthink things, especially things I have to wait for. BC called timeout with 0:12 left, and my mind started to race. “So what the hell are we going to do?”


We were kneeling, about 10 of us, in between Duke’s bench and the scorer’s table. On TV, we looked like a wedge of bright orange cheese, jammed between Coach K and the timekeepers. We were supposed to grab bench players and coaches. BC Police would handle Coach K, then we’d have to clear a lane for the Blue Devils to escape.


But how? That question raced across my mind about 30,000 times during BC’s 30 second timeout. Finally, I just relaxed, said to myself “Just do whatever feels smart, stay close to the black and blue jerseys, nobody’s going to mess with them or with us.”
12... 11... 10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... Foul. All 10 of us false-started, leaning forward for our 10 foot sprint. Rice missed two free throws. Even 2,000 point scorers have nerves I guess (He got his 2,000th earlier in the game).


3... 2... 1...


GO!





Watch the guy in the white who shoots out from Duke's bench. That's my supervisor, who successfully tracked down the game ball in that mess.


The 9 staff in front of me turned left at the bench, assuming Duke players would want to get off the rapidly filling court ASAP. I went right, following Elliot Williams as he and the other Duke players congratulated the BC players. Coach K was standing in front of me with his BC cop. Both with a puzzled “How do we get through this?” Expression.


I turned around, got the attention of the other staff. We were waiting for Duke to leave before moving. Duke was waiting for us to move before leaving. I turned back around to Coach K and the cop, said “Let’s go” (no way in hell they heard me), and we went.


The hesitation actually worked out. All the students swarmed onto the floor, and would have been in our path had we gone right away. We didn’t have to cut through them, just circumnavigate around them as their orgy of joy played out at center court. We didn’t have any problems.





We got Duke off the floor, then established two lines by the media tunnel, directing those that rushed the court to go around. That’s when it hit me. We beat Duke! PISSAH!





When it was finally cleared of humanity, the floor was a mess. Popcorn everywhere, overturned and trampled folding chairs, some girl lost her shoe in the stampede.


I didn’t realize until I was driving home, that this was the biggest upset I’ve ever attended. Harvard women’s hockey at #6 Dartmouth was up there, but certainly not the same thing in terms of stakes and stage. The Bruins thrashed the Penguins last season, and I was there, but that’s also different.


I had a floor seat to an upset of Duke. I (and others) brought the Duke Blue Devils off the court, around a throng of jubilant fans. Pretty cool.


Quite possibly the best event I’ve worked.


Photo Credits:
AP Photo/Michael Dwyer
Elsa/Getty Images

Episode 20: Snow Place Like Home

Some events only provide half of an interesting story. Some provide none. But every once and awhile, you get a lot of stories out of just a few hours of work. The Week 17 thrashing of Arizona last year provided such stories, as foul weather games usually do. Enjoy.


This was originally written on December 29, 2008.


Last year the Patriots hosted 3 home games in December, and 2 more playoff games in January. This year there was only 1 home game in December, and no postseason football to be played in Gillette Stadium. As if in response to the NFL’s scheduling, Mother Nature decided to unleash a month’s worth of winter weather in one day, when the Arizona Cardinals came to town.





Driving into the Stadium at 7 AM was a breeze. No traffic, and road crews had 12 hours to clear Route 1 since the last flakes had fallen. Once I checked in, the snow returned. In the blink of an eye, the lots, practice field, and Stadium had been embraced by a cold, wet, white blanket.








We were short on staff, what with an impending holiday, schools on break, and the harsh forecasts the night before. So instead of patrolling the concourse, my team and I were “asked” to do pat downs. I could have scanned tickets if I‘d wanted, but the scanners get a little batty when wet, and I also wanted to keep my gloves on.


Just a quick shout out to Docker’s and their gloves. These things were soaked after patting down snow encased fans for 3 hours (and the occasional snowball throwing before doing that), but my hands stayed dry. Really, a superior product. They weighed about 4 pounds each when I got home. All water weight. But they were still bone dry on the inside.


I got the usual wisecracks and remarks during pat downs. “Aren’t you gonna buy me dinner first?” “Can you do that again?” “Ooh, that tickles (giggle)” Everybody is a comedian, and a very unoriginal one at that.


With all the winter layers and the numbness of my hands and feet, giving a good solid pat down was difficult. I was about to let one guy go inside when he went “Crap, I forgot to throw out my beer.” I had no clue it was there. I had patted his pockets and felt nothing but his puffy jacket. He pulled out a Miller Lite and threw it away.


Weirdest moment during pat downs: A guy dressed as an elf tickled me.





Funnest moment: Not letting in a drunk kid because he couldn’t stand straight, then yelling at his older brother after he yelled at me.


After a short break we patrolled the east concourse. The concrete was coated with a film of muddy slush, but it wasn’t too bad. The real problem was the snow being thrown onto the field and onto the lower seating sections from the upper decks.


We allow snow to be tossed upward into the air in a celebratory way. But the malicious throwing of snowballs is prohibited. It’s all about trajectory. But how do you enforce this rule? 99% of people hit by snowballs are hit from behind. So they can’t identify who threw it at them, so we can‘t talk to whoever threw them. I can’t tell you how many complaints we got that we couldn’t act on. “People are throwing snow from section 313.” Well, we can’t eject the whole section.


Then the guys working on the field are going bananas about the snowballs. They do the same as the fans, giving a section number and maybe a row. Still not much we can do about it.


But unlike last year, when the Rats were in town for a snowy game, there wasn’t much of a problem with the visiting team being bombarded. Count your lucky stars, Kurt Warner, that you’re not a Jet.





We had a few minor problems to deal with, but nothing remarkable. A kid with a fake ID, people smoking on the concourse, that kind of thing. All season long we’ve had a good section. Our side of the Stadium is season ticket holders. By no means are we bored, but there aren’t any brawls.


We got a call in section 104 about people throwing snow at one of the cops down on the field. We were walking down to the first row when I saw a kid to my right holding a Budweiser can. He saw me coming, tried to hide it, but I grabbed it (we don‘t sell cans, only bottles, so he had brought it in). I was going to be forgiving and simply dispose of it once I got back to the top of the section. But this guy wanted to make a scene.


After discovering that the snow throwing situation had been dealt with, we walked back up. I still had a half-full 16 oz. Budweiser in my hand. The guy I took it from started giving me the business.


Him: “You could at least say excuse me.”


Me: “For what?”


“For taking my beer.”


“You can’t have this in here, buddy, you know that.”


“You touched my hand too.”


“Really? If that hurt then you‘re pretty soft.” (My feet were too wet to be nice)


Finally, I turned to my supervisor, held up the beer can, and pointed at the kid. His father grabbed the kid by the shoulder “We’re leaving.” We walked him out but the guy I took the beer from kept spewing crap out of his mouth.


Him: “You guys think you’re tough but you only make 5 dollars an hour!”


Me (with a shit eating grin): “Actually it’s nine, have a good night sir.”


The kid was probably underage, which was why his father was so quick to bring him out on his own. Smart move. But still, typical jerkwad behavior. You get caught breaking a rule, all you lose is 8 ounces of beer, and you whine about it like a little baby.


When I was an usher last year, I’d occasionally spot a can of beer, or a nip of schnapps or whatever. I’d take it from the person, throw it out, and they’d be fine with it. They were more pissed at themselves for getting caught than anything else. They’d even joke about it with me. But this kid had to be an asshole, and it cost him the 4th quarter.


It wasn’t much of a 4th quarter, though. With the snow turning to freezing rain by halftime, the crowd’s exodus began midway through the 3rd. After the game, it was by far the quickest the Stadium has cleared after football. It’s speed rivaled Revolution soccer games.


Sadly, it was the last event at the Stadium I’ll be working for a few months. The Jets losing to Miami cost me $100 in my pocket, and cost all of you some more of my infinitely interesting and ingeniously disseminated stories.


Upcoming events:
12/29 - San Francisco at BC Basketball
12/31 - Sacred Heart at BC Basketball

Ushering stats:
Events: about 120
Ejections: 95
Uncomfortably hit on/fondled/tickled: 60
Times I’ve heard “Shipping Up to Boston”: ∞


Photo Credits:
AP Photo/Winslow Townson
AP Photo/Stephan Savoia
Me and my cel phone

Episode 19: Short Story Collection

When I quit smoking about 13 months ago, I took a hiatus from writing. People ask me how I quit smoking without the patch or the gum. I answer them that I drank a lot, ate a lot, and spent most of my time sleeping. 80 of my first 100 post-smoking hours were spent asleep. And that was smart of me, because you can't experience withdrawal if you're not awake.


Anyway, the site I was writing on was also getting slower. And my 2nd season at Gillette was nowhere near as exciting as my 1st, just because I'd already seen so much. I didn't feel the need to write after each and every big event.


I wrote 16 episodes in my first season, and about 8 since then.


This was originally written December 22, 2008. Look for the phrase "Losing an argument with gravity." It's one of my favorite turns of phrase I've come up with.


It’s been too long since I’ve written one of these. But now the weather sucks, football season is almost over, and I think all of us loyal AGMers need to do our best to resuscitate this site out of its own little recession. And I think we’ve been doing that quite well the last few weeks.


This will be a meandering collection of short stories from the past few months of working sporting events. As you may or may not remember, I’m not much of an usher anymore. For Pats’ games I’m on a response team. For BC Football I guarded the backdoor to the visiting team’s locker room.


I worked one football game at Harvard. I was the official’s escort, which meant I walked with them from their locker room, in the basketball building, through the “crowd” in the concessions plaza, and into the Stadium. Then I watch the game, standing next to the cheerleaders. I wouldn’t put the Harvard cheerleaders in the same league as the USC Song Girls, but cheerleaders are cheerleaders. And I won’t lie, a cute girl with a short skirt and high SAT score is a major turn on.


A few fun facts about Harvard football: Harvard Stadium is 105 years old. There’s a banner for the Crimson’s 1920 Rose Bowl Championship above the north end zone which I thought was cool as hell. The existence of the Stadium prevented rule makers from widening football fields to make the game safer. Instead they legalized the forward pass. Harvard has immaculate athletic facilities and has 41 Division-I teams, the most in the country. A $40 billion endowment will allow that.





While walking to the officials’ locker room, my supervisor commented on the Harvard student body, particularly the band. He remarked on their nerdiness. Offended, I replied: “Hey, I’m a nerd.”


He said, “Yeah, but you’re like, the upper class of nerds.” It was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.


One of my new jobs before Patriot games is to drive around the parking lot in a golf cart with another event staffer and a pair of Massachusetts State Troopers. We go up and down the lanes and make sure there’s enough room to get an emergency vehicle through. About an hour before kickoff, a dozen State Police horsemen trot through and one of the tailgate RVs plays “Rawhide” for them. It’s trippy.


Sometimes people give us crap when we ask them to move their stuff. But NO-ONE gives the State Police any shit.




A few games ago, the guy I work with out there - who is an excellent golf cart driver - decided to try a little drifting before we returned the cart. It skidded on some sand and started to tilt. I stuck my right leg out for some reason, I guess in an effort to correct the tilt. My foot stuck in the sand, and in an instant I had to decide between a twisted ankle or a scraped knee. So I jumped off, tucked and rolled, grazed the ground with my knees, turned onto my back, popped up and said “Nobody saw that, let’s go.” I had a small cut in my pants, and a dot of blood on each knee. But falling like that without getting injured was the single most athletic feat of my life.


The most interesting game to work was the recent Thursday nighter against the J-E-T-S. I swear to Pedro that EVERYONE, all 70,000 people in the Stadium of all ages was hammered out of their mind. Nobody could walk straight. People were staggering around like zombies, there were lots of Jets fans being obnoxious, and you just knew things would get out of hand. The Stadium always has a vibe to it, and you can tell early on how much trouble there will be later in the day.


Surprisingly, we didn’t have any ejections in the 1st half. We did have a girl who asked us to “convince” her intoxicated boyfriend that it was a good idea to leave. That’s a good woman right there. He was a beer or two away from mental and physical collapse, which would lead to detainment and/or arrest.


We had to deal with a lot of middle aged men acting like children. “He stepped on my shoe!” “He won’t sit down!” “He’s yelling too loud!” “He knocked over my popcorn!”


Then everything happened at once. A big guy - about 6’ 6” - was having difficulty standing. We started talking to him but he was too wasted to handle English. The police showed up to take him in, but that’s when another drunk All-Star made his presence known. He wasn’t as big, but was far from small. He too was losing an argument with gravity.


The second guy pushed me aside and tried to fight the first guy, who was being held up by the cops. But both were so drunk that they couldn’t get in any proper fighting positions. It was like they were standing on the deck of a ship being tossed about by a raging storm. One would take a run at the other and go right by his target.


Eventually they were separately hauled out, along with 4 or 5 more drunks that wanted to carpool in the paddy wagon. Very green of them.


As I mentioned in the beginning of this collection of event staff anecdotes, at BC football games, I was asked to guard the backdoor of the visiting team’s locker room. At Boston College, the visiting football locker room is the same used for hockey and basketball, so there’s a tunnel to the floor of the Conte Forum. I make sure nobody comes into that tunnel unless they’re with the visiting team.


It’s boring. It’s dreadfully boring. I counted the bricks in the tunnel, calculated that 130 laps around the tunnel amounts to a mile, snuck in an AM/FM radio to listen to the Red Sox in the playoffs. It was dull, my friends.





The one pleasure was telling BC people, who think their “All Access” credentials mean they can go anywhere in time and space, that they couldn’t enter my tunnel. “I’m just going to use the bathroom.”


“You can’t.”


I didn’t say “Sorry, sir,” I didn’t have my customer service smile on. You have a “V” on your credential or you don’t get in. No argument. Have a problem with that, take it up with the BC Athletic Department.


As part of the ACC, most of our visiting teams were from the South. Clemson, VA Tech, Maryland, Georgia Tech, and UCF people all came out of the locker room to examine the strange phenomenon in front of them: a hockey rink. Players, coaches, trainers, even the South Carolina State Troopers with Clemson (pay attention at the end of college football games, notice that most of the time visiting head coaches are escorted by police from their own state). By the way, Maryland had the hottest trainers.

‎
There are four D-I hockey programs in the city of Boston, 10 in Massachusetts and 20 in New England. There’s one in all of the South (Alabama-Huntsville). I fielded all sorts of interesting questions about college hockey, hockey in general, and even the physics of ice…


“That’s not really ice, is it?”


“So there’s water under there like a pond, right?”


“They play hockey here?”


“It’s cold in here, but not cold enough for ice, so how is there ice?”


“Is there a hockey game going on?”


“Are they any good at hockey?” (I pointed to the recent National Champions banner)


“How do they play basketball here?”


“Are they the only school in the country that plays hockey?”


That last one was my favorite. I forgive the ignorance of college hockey in the South, but questions like that go beyond mere sport ignorance. Who would they play if they were the only team?


For one BC game I requested I be liberated from my tunnel and roam around on a response team. It was the biggest game of the year, a Saturday nighter against Notre Dame. That was a blast. We were never bored.


The first thing we did was create a perimeter around the visiting team buses when the players offloaded and went to their locker room. Then we controlled pedestrian traffic around the student gate. We must’ve disallowed entry to 15 or 20 students because they were too smashed to walk straight. Before you get on me for being a buzzkill and ruining everyone’s Saturday night, you have no idea how many times I’ve heard “drunk girl passed out in bathroom” on the radio at BC. And I didn’t hear ANY calls like that for this game so I think we did a good job.


We walked around the concourse, giving people directions, telling them not to stand in front of the luxury boxes. We had a few drunk people that we’d talk to and “wait with” until police arrived. At halftime we cordoned off an area to allow BC’s players to get to their locker room through the Stadium. There were four men fighting so we helped police show them the door. Then two BC fans were nose-to-nose with a Notre Dame fan. I stood between them and told them to go in opposite directions. “He likes Jimmy Clausen WAY too much!” That made me laugh.


A few more walks around the Stadium, talking to drunk people, kicking people out if they had alcohol, or at least making them throw it away. Saw that belligerent Notre Dame fan again, this time with a police escort, handcuffs, and a bloodstained Clausen jersey. Went onto the field to protect the goal posts, just in case. Cleared out the place, then went home. Lost count of how many people we kicked out, it was that fun.


For BC Basketball I’ve been working on the floor. It’s weird, basketball is the only sport we work that allows fans onto the playing surface with no barrier but a painted line. Anyway, I check tickets making sure the person either has the wicked expensive floor seats, the even more expensive courtside seats, or the cheap student seats.
Most of the time, I’m sitting down (so I don’t block anyone’s view) and watching the game.


The men’s team hasn’t played anyone exciting yet. We hosted some first round games of the NIT Tip-Off and St. John’s came in. Providence College played there Saturday afternoon and took the place over. We had about 7,000 fans, and 4,500 or more were PC’s.


I’m more of a fan of the women’s team. They just have a better attitude on the court than the men’s team. Both will struggle in ACC play. But only the women’s team has a cute American Idol finalist or semifinalist (or whatever they have on that show) as their guard. Ayla Brown: Great voice, great jump shot.





It looks like the season of big events (football and concerts) might be over for a few months. But the NCAA Lacrosse Championships are coming in May. Kenny Chesney is headlining another country show in August.


But stay tuned, because another episode of this series will be coming very shortly!

Episode 18: When In Roam

And now we enter the Roam Team Era. Re-reading this and comparing it to my other episodes, there's the same kind of excitement and exuberance that I had when I first started working events. The nuts and bolts routine things seem to thrill me. It's kind of cute.


There was a big gap between this episode and my previous one, which belies the amount of boredom I'd experienced between March (Episode 17) and August (this episode). The last time I ushered at Gillette was at the Brazil vs. Venezuela game, and I handled things in 3 different sections. That was exciting, and I wanted more. So I signed up to be on the roam team for Revolution games. Then got onto a team for the concerts and eventually football.


Now pretty much all I do is roam team. For BC football, I start off at the gates, then do roam team. Patriots games, Revolution games, and concerts, I do roam team. At Akon's show in BC's arena, I roamed. When the Dalai Lama came to Gillette, I roamed. It's fun because you never know what to expect, and I also have the pleasure of working with a fantastic team.


This was originally written August 26, 2008.


I've moved to a new field of work at Gillette Stadium. I went from being an usher to being on a response team (we call them roam teams, since when we’re not busy we roam around the Stadium). I figured that since I miss out on all the fun of being a fan - getting a nice buzz going, making noise on big 3rd downs, sitting - I might as well get into more of an action filled job. I did get to see most of the game as an usher, and even though I catch the big plays, I miss the seemingly little plays that set the big plays up, and wind up watching the game on tape anyway.


What a roam team does is basically every part of the job that isn’t customer service related. We’re still encouraged to be friendly to the guests, answer their questions, try to help them find their way. But the primary task of a roam team is to be there when the proverbial shit hits the metaphorical fan. When I was an usher, and things got out of control, my supervisor would call a roam team. If there’s a fight, a medical emergency, a lost child; a roam team is involved, or at least should be.


I’ve had some pretty solid assignments this “off” season. When Bruce Springsteen came, we were holding down the floor (field). Let me just say that Bruce puts on one hell of a show, and this is coming from someone who doesn’t even like his music.





And when Brazil played Venezuela, I ushered from a nice perch in the 200 level, right behind a 6' 2" Brazilian goddess.


Even though it’s preseason, a Friday night game against the Philadelphia Eagles will jump out at an event staffer. The Eagles travel well, and on Fridays people drink well.


The night started slowly. My roam team got stuck doing pat downs. I had three extremely awkward pat downs. The first involved an older gentleman with a catheter bag in his pocket. The second a man with a prosthetic leg (Me: “What’s that?” Him: “Fake leg” Me: “Oh… well, enjoy the game“). The third was a mentally challenged (if that’s not the correct PC terminology, someone please feel free to change it) young man who danced suggestively as I patted down his cargo shorts.


We had nothing to do until halftime. But then we got a special assignment. Recently inducted Hall of Famer Andre Tippett was going from the field to the press box, and we were going to escort him up.


People unfamiliar with New England Patriots history might not realize how Tippett was a rare spot of brightness in a history dominated by dullness. In fact, some girls from another roam team asked me “Who is Andre Tippett?” My response was to just stare at them. Eventually I muttered “A really really good football player.”





Tippett’s still fast. A few event managers and supervisors kept real close to him, but were out of breath by the time they reached the top of the stairs.


The night seemed pretty peaceful after that little thrill. At 9:25, we went up and down the concourse, shutting down the beer stands, making sure they unscrewed their taps. We found the occasional person smoking where they shouldn’t, and answered a few questions about where to buy ice cream, and where to get anything Dunkin Donuts.


Then things just went south. Or actually, they went north, to the north end zone, my old stomping grounds, where I used to usher in section 142. Like I said earlier, I have a radio set on my roam team, and so does my supervisor. A call came, there was a fight in Section 143.


You hear that, and you‘re off to the races. We were behind section 130. My supervisor and I started running. The other guys on our team, who don’t have radios, picked up on our reaction and ran with us. I yell to the team “Fight… 143.” We cut through lines at the ice cream stand and the ATM. We dodge and weave through the herds of slow moving people on the concourse. It’s like going 120 in rush hour gridlock.





Looking back, my reactions don’t make much sense. I’m not a strong guy, I don’t know any martial arts, and I have no clue what I’m getting into. It could be 8 Marines fighting 8 Army Rangers. But there’s a rush when you hear that call on the radio. You want to get there and get into it as quickly as possible. Maybe it’s the boredom of walking around so much (walked 6 miles that night according to my pedometer, which is relatively low. At the two summer concerts we did 10 to 15 miles). Maybe it’s knowing that the ushers are waiting for you to help. Maybe it’s the fear of not running into it and being ashamed. Maybe my German blood makes me want to follow orders.


Or maybe it’s simpler. Maybe I know I have a good team around me. And I know from extensive experience that I'm capable of being beaten to a pulp, brush myself off, and go about my business.


When we got there, the fight had apparently reached it’s resolution. But in actuality, it hadn’t. One man was surrounded by police. He made a break for it (dumbass), and was tackled by 6 cops, and Alpha Romeo. Where you goin? Nowhere!


Our team’s job, at this point, is to cordon off the area and give the police room to operate freely. Out of nowhere, a younger guy in his late 20s, early 30s emerges from the crowd. I tell him to stop. He doesn’t. I yell at him to stop. He slows down.


“That’s my father!” he yells.


“You have to let the police do their work,” I reply. This wasn’t good enough for him. He tried getting by me. I block him, push him back a bit. Then 4 cops fly out from behind me and envelop him.


But this family wasn’t done yet. The matriarch steps up. She’s wife to the man being crushed by half a dozen cops, and mother to the man just handcuffed after trying to get by me. She too has lost control. I try quietly telling her to step back, but she isn’t having any of it. “He’s my husband! He has the car keys!” Understandable reaction, perhaps, but nevertheless unacceptable. She doesn’t even reach me. More cops appear from behind me and corral her.


All told, the fights and interference lead to about 6 or 7 arrests/ejections. I really couldn’t tell you, because right as this situation was beginning to quiet down, another one popped up.


“Observation to Romeo 3, proceed to section 136 and assist the usher supervisor with a patron causing problems.”


More running. Such a vague description. “Causing problems” could be anything from lighting a cigarette in a non-smoking area, to putting a cigarette out on someone’s face. And with adrenaline still flowing from the fight, a short sprint from 143 to 136 was inevitable.


We got there, and it’s just some guy who called a girl a name after she turned down his buddy’s inappropriate sexual advances. And I was disappointed at this mundane problem. Name calling? And then tattling? But the guy had to go. There was a legit claim, verified by others, that he called a girl a name (still not sure what it was) he shouldn’t have. Plus, he was from Quebec. And we all know what NHL team plays in Quebec, so I was all for taking him out. And he didn’t cause much of a fuss, so no big deal. (This is a joke, I’ve NEVER treated a fan differently because of the team they supported, at least not while I’m on the clock)


By now, the game’s nearly over. We went to the back of the broadcast booth to set-up another escort. This time, we’re taking the TV announcers from the booth to the rear exit of the Stadium. By the way, when Mr. Madden is escorted, he insists on being chauffeured everywhere via golf cart. I don’t think the man has walked anywhere in 6 years.





I don’t know the names of the preseason announcers. But they do thank all of us after we’ve gotten them to the exit, which is extremely nice, whether its sincere or not. It’s just nice to be thanked sometimes. (Note: just looked up who the announcers are: Don Criqui and Randy Cross)


Worst part about being on the roam team: you’re the last employees to be released. Let’s say a game gets over at 10:30, the seating sections are emptied by 10:45, the 300 level concourse is clear by 11:00, the 300 level is done with their sweep by 11:20, the 100 level finishes its sweep by 11:45. Then you can go home.


Best part about being on the roam team: post-game tailgate in the employee’s lot with the other roam teams. Kielbasa, burgers, ribs, BYOB, and stay as late as you want.
The State Police usually clear out the regular lots by 2 AM, I’ve stayed there until 4 in the past. And there’s absolutely no traffic by the time you leave.


Funniest moment of the night came over the radio: "Romeo 4 to Observation.. We're in section 238, row 12, seat 6. Someone has... ummm... defecated in their seat."


Upcoming events:
8/30 - Los Angeles Galaxy (David Beckham) vs. New England Revolution
9/6 - Georgia Tech vs. Boston College
9/7 - Kansas City Chiefs vs. New England Patriots

Ushering Stats:
Events: must be over 100 by now
Ejections: 30 (this doesn’t count the 5 or 6 arrests Friday night)
Ejection threats: well over 100
Uncomfortably hit on/fondled/tickled: 25
Times I’ve heard “Shipping Up to Boston”: ∞

Episode 17: Do UNC What I See?

BC events can often be a nice break from the grind of Pats games. But they can also be the opposite. It's nice to work at both venues, and occasionally Harvard, just to break the monotony. And I have to say that a good chunk of my top 10 favorite moments working here have come at Chestnut Hill.


All the photos of the game were taken by Michael Dwyer, representing AP Photo. This was originally written March 5, 2008. I added the video from "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" because it's too funny to not be below that paragraph.


So Saturday afternoon I had an interesting post. I guarded the locker room of the North Carolina Tar Heels during their game at Boston College. It was a good post, one I’ve had before (for Virginia Tech and Miami), but this was UNC. This was different.


The locker room is connected to the skate lobby, which is basically a big square room with five doorways that lead to five different places: the referee’s room, the media room, bathrooms, the visitors’ locker room, and the court. When the visiting team is in the skate lobby, it’s their room. No ifs ands or buts. NOBODY is allowed to pass through the room when either they or the referees are passing through.





When the team is in their locker room, I had to check credentials and make sure only the right people got in. For the record, Roy Williams refused to wear a credential, but I let that slide, of course.





UNC comes out of their locker room very slowly, walking 2x2, rhythmically clapping and chanting “We are the Tar Heels.” It was pretty cool. But their slow entrance irritated a cameraman trying to get onto the court. Once they entered the lobby, I halted him.


“But I was walking faster than they were,” he whined.


“Yeah, but they’re North Carolina,” I replied.


I did get to see most of the game from the tunnel, which offered a sensational view of the court. And for a time, it was pretty exciting. Tyrese Rice had 23 points in the first 7 or 8 minutes, and BC held an 18 point lead early in the 2nd half. Rice finished with 46. But no other BC player had more than 8. UNC was simply too strong, too fast, and too consistent to give the Eagles a big upset win.





The crowd was the most raucous it’s been all season. It was about 40% Tar Heel fans, but the big lead gave the other 60% of the 8,500 in attendance a lot to cheer about. And because it was the #2 team in the country, there was the possibility of fans rushing the court.


There was a Locker Room discussion a few months ago about rushing the court. I was against it because it jeopardizes the safety of the referees and the visiting team. But we had a contingency plan in place.


Trying to stop a few thousand students from rushing a basketball court is impossible. The student sections are already on the floor, and if 1,000 students want to get to the court, they’re going to get to the court. So we placed people in front of them in an attempt to funnel the fans away from the Tar Heel bench. We had people specifically assigned to the referees, Roy Williams, and the UNC players. These people would act as escorts. They were also the biggest guys working the game.


But there was to be no rushing. UNC won 90-80, which allowed them to move up to #1 in the rankings earlier this week.


After all the post-game press conferences, the team left the locker room, and my assignment was over. It was a 6 hour shift, the longest I’ve had for basketball this year. As you can guess, there was a lot of media there, including the Boston Globe’s Bob Ryan, who dashed out of the building with 5 minutes left in the game.


It was a pretty cool experience. Roy Williams got lost in the maze of hallways so I gave him directions. Tyler Hansbrough and other players asked me how I was doing. One of the players, I think it was Alex Stepheson, had a small Pirates of the Caribbean backpack on, to go along with his UNC equipment bag.


BC basketball has been mediocre this year. They’re 13-14, with a 4-10 ACC record that puts them 10th in the Conference. But I did get to see the KU Jayhawks come in and blow them out back in January. And unlike any of the BC players, I can tell people I successfully guarded Tyler Hansbrough and the rest of the Tar Heels.