Episode 34: What a Country(fest)

There is no event on the calendar like it. One's experience at Gillette Stadium is measured in how many Countryfest's they've worked. This event isn't about country music at all. It's about drinking. And 50,000 suburban kids, pretending to be hicks. And while I don't mind the girls with cowboy boots and daisy dukes, it's kind of ridiculous how many people walk around with shirts about the state of Texas, and why we shouldn't mess with it.

Driving in to work, I passed three vehicles adorned with Confederate flags. I've been to a few NASCAR races, where you'll see said flag all over the place. But it's typically attached to cars/trucks with Alabama or North Carolina plates. There's something sordid about a CSA flag on a car with Mass. plates and Red Sox bumper stickers. At least the guys from The South can claim it stands for regional pride. But what's a kid from Framingham trying to say with it?

They're probably not trying to say anything. They just want to be part of this silly trend. With my generation, it was the rap music.

Then came the rock/rap hybrid stuff like KoRn. We all wore baggy jeans, had wallet chains, tried speaking hip hop slang, et cetera. I'll admit to once owning a Limp Bizkit windbreaker.

So it's just kids being stupid, and simultaneously making me feel old.

My first CountryFest was in 2008. I had just started the whole response team gig. I wasn't on a permanent team, and didn't really know what I was doing. In '09, I was on a team, and had a very good idea what I was doing. And in 2010, I ran a team. Like I said, at Gillette Stadium, you're measured by your Countryfest experience. For me, Countryfest marks the end of the "event year." So with its passing, I'm now starting my 4th season at Gillette Stadium.

My team started at the gate. We had two teams out there, along with a phalanx of Police. Gates opened at 4, the first act went on at 5, and the headliner (Brad Paisley) would take the stage sometime after 9.

The first group of fans were orderly and sober. These were the actual music fans, and represented perhaps 10% of the actual crowd.

Then came everyone else. The two teams we had at the gate were augmented by a third. Trying to remember all the sobriety checks I requested is difficult. When I'm taking my notes on each incident, I'll usually write something to trigger my memory at the end of the night when filling out my paperwork. "Red shirt New York," "District Attorney," "Bloody arms," "Crying girl," "KG and Rondo," "Terrell Davis," and so on.

Most of our time at the gate was spent weeding out the people who "stood out" in the crowd. I put that in quotes because the best way to stand out is to have difficulty standing up.

Now, I don't expect anyone to just say "You got me, I'm intoxicated, you don't even need to have Police do a sobriety check, just take me to the station to sober up." I expect some sort of dispute. But the kind of arguing strategies employed by these people are simply comical.

"I was only stumbling because of the curb."

Curbs are minor and routine obstacles that are quite easy for sober people to negotiate, especially when the elevated sidewalk is white concrete, and the lower roadway is black asphalt. It's difficult to be surprised by such a curb.

"Come on man, my parents are really strict. They're gonna kill me if I get into trouble."

"I had parents too." The sympathy ploy isn't a bad one to try. It won't work with me, but it also won't irritate me too much. And the same goes for girls crying. I'm not going to yield for tears.

Then there's the spoiled brats who use an argument that really aggravates me.

"I'm just as drunk as everyone you're letting in to the Stadium."

I had one girl try this argument on me as a friend of hers was being given a sobriety check. "Okay, let's take your logic to the next step," I said. "Would you have the Police not detain any drunk people at all since they can't detain every drunk person?"

She stopped talking. But this self-centered logic is far too common. We'll stop one person who's stumbling, they might see someone else who seems drunk, and they'll feel singled out. It's the old "there are other criminals that haven't been caught" defense. Illic es alius scelestus, as it's known in legal circles. Unfortunately, it's never been very successful in a court of law, or with me.

Then there's my favorite disputant: the (wannabe) attorney.

Another girl asked me "Why did you single her out and how can they detain her? Isn't that a violation of public rights or something?"

"Well, this is private property. And even if it weren't, you can't just be drunk in public, can you?"

Then this girl kept going on about civil rights or something.

"Are you really feeling that oppressed right now?" I asked her. A friend of hers grabbed her by the shoulder and they went through the gate. I usually have a great deal of patience, and I don't mind briefly trying to explain to people why their friend will be spending the night with the Police, or why they have to leave the concert, or why they have to follow some rule about access points or red-lines. Some people are curious, and I like rewarding curiosity.

Some people are just jerks. I don't like rewarding that.

Later there was the law student. Her friend was stumbling in line. I was accused of "singling her out because she's short."

I shook my head and said "that doesn't make any sense at all, and you know it."

Then her friend, the law student, tried coming to her rescue. "I'm a law student, I'm going to be a DA, I know the law and you can't do any of this."

"Why not?" I asked, with some curiosity. Maybe this law student had discovered something to change the way we do everything at the Stadium. OK, I wasn't curious at all, and knew she was full of it.

"Well she's short, so even like one drink and she's going to seem drunk," was her response.

I just shook my head. That's all I could really do. Had I opened my mouth, a stream of obscenities laced with logic might have escaped.

This future Marcia Clark then said that her friend was going to refuse the sobriety check. "Alright then," I said, "let's make it official. I'll request the check, and then you can refuse. These guys [the cops] know the law pretty well. And we'll take it from there." By now, there were officers available to administer (or not administer) the check. I requested the check, told the cop that the girl was stumbling in line, and suddenly the DA was silent. Good thing she won't be a defense attorney, because her client was placed into protective custody.

It wasn't all sobriety checks and arguments. There was a guy wearing a Red Sox hat and a St. Louis Rams polo. We talked for a little bit as all hell was breaking loose around us. I asked him if he was coming to the Patriots/Rams preseason game on Thursday. It turns out his son plays for the Rams, and he was just checking out the Stadium. "This is not a typical event," I informed him.

After a few hours at the gate, the ingress slowed. But these late arrivals were also the people dedicated to guzzling that last six pack before heading in. There was a guy being talked to by a few cops. I was several yards away. Then I noticed the guy walking toward the parking lots. At first I thought he'd been released, or maybe the cops had just been chatting with him in an unofficial sense. Then I noticed some of our staff walking after him. So something was wrong.

The guy walked quicker, so we walked quicker. Then he ran. So we ran.

For a few dozen yards, we were gaining on him. Then his sandals fell off. That made him faster and he started to pull away. While two of us continued the straight pursuit, I veered to the right, hoping to cut him off. The lot was closed off in the direction he was running, so he'd eventually have to turn right.

The black line is the runner, the orange line is two of our staff, the blue line is my path.

The guy we were chasing was not a small guy. Nor was he slow. I'm not a big dude, and I'm not nimble. While running, I knew the odds of me making an open field tackle would be slim. But maybe he'd run between some SUVs, not see me coming from the side, then get jacked up.

But that would prove unnecessary. There was a tow-truck in the middle of the lot. The driver asked us if we were chasing the guy. We nodded. Then suddenly the truck sped off down the parking lot, after the guy. I don't know what the driver intended to do once he got there. Adrenaline can sometimes prevent you from thinking ahead.

Then some cops on bicycles sped by us, like the cavalry at the end of a black and white Western, and saved the day. They reached the runner, dismounted, cornered him, and put him in cuffs.

With a light flow at the gates, we went inside. It wasn't too hot out, but the running had me sweating a good lather. We went up to the 300s for the rest of our evening.

At first it was quiet. I talked to the supervisors up there to get the mood of the section. It seemed like we might spend our time clearing stairways and telling people not to smoke on the concourse. I sent half my team on break. Then I went on break with the other half of my team.

I'd eaten 3 of the 4 slices in my small pepperoni pizza when a call came over the radio and it was back to work time.

A bit later on, we got a report from a fan of someone doing something in the last row of 307. So me and one of my team perched ourselves at the front of the section and watched (it was in between acts, so the house lights were on). As that was happening, we saw someone throw a cup at someone else. Talk about right place, right time. Everyone in the section pointed out the two culprits. We brought them down to the concourse and dealt with them. They'd thrown at a particularly large man, who we had to prevent from exacting his revenge.

Then there was the drunk guy in the Kevin Garnett jersey. Who was helped out by his buddy in the Rondo jersey. Ubuntu!

There was a group of people crowding an ADA platform in one section. We and the other supervisors talked to them about half a dozen times. And each time, they gave us increasingly more attitude. Especially one guy wearing a Terrell Davis jersey.

We got into a bit of a debate about the difference between standing in the platform, or standing behind it. "What's the big deal if I'm standing in there?"

"What's the big deal if you're not?"

I said to TD: "This is the last time we're talking to you."

With the platform clear, we walked a few sections away, with the intention of returning quickly and dealing with anyone who'd returned to the platform. But when we got back, Terrell Davis was giving one of our supervisors a hard time. That was it for him.

The entire night, I dreaded all the paperwork I'd be required to fill out. The concert ended at 11:00pm. I didn't leave the building until 1:40am.

But now it's time to look ahead to my 4th season of doing this stuff. No more concerts at Gillette until next summer. BC football starts soon, the NFL's regular season shortly thereafter. There's still the Jets game to anticipate, along with visits from the Colts and Brett Favre's Vikings. But these events will pale in comparison to Countryfest.

Episode 33: 'Tis the Preseason

Football season will soon be upon us. Fantasy leagues are drafting. Compulsive gamblers are convincing themselves that this will be the year that their "system" finally pays off. In its annual tradition, the state of Texas has officially forgotten it has two baseball clubs. A mass of hot air is blowing out of Cortland, NY as Fatasaurus Rex Ryan bellows BS to his HBO camera crew. And the New England Patriots are back in Foxborough.

Photo Credit: David Silverman

I'd never worked at Pats' training camp, although I've attended a few times. In fact, that's how I got this job. I was back home, just after graduating college, and looking for part-time work. My buddies and I went to training camp, one of them picked up a pamphlet from TeamOps, I applied, and a few weeks later I'm watching the Pats dismantle the Chargers 38-14 as an usher in section 118.

A few years later, and I'm back at camp, on field and on the other side of the rope. I inadvertantly called that rope "the wire" a few times. I'm reading a book about World War I, so that's why. But I never once said "Enjoy the game," to anyone during camp. I said "Enjoy the practice" about 500 times.

I did around 10 sessions of training camp. My fair/pale/translucent skin survived intact. Thank God for SPF 70. Most of the time it was repetitive and kind of dull. Being on the field isn't as exciting as it sounds. Especially for a practice. I'll describe it this way: it never felt like I wasn't working.

But it wasn't awful, either. There were a few entertaining moments...

At one session, Mr. Brady was one of the last players to arrive on the practice field. When he appeared, the PA system blasted "Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred.

I was working the season ticket-holder night practice. It's basically a normal training camp practice, only held inside the Stadium. I was on the field for that, as well. The D-line were doing their sled drills in my corner, and nearly pushed it into me, which would have seriously wrecked my ankles.

Later that night, during goal-line drills, I was watching the crowd when a brown blur zipped by 2 yards to the right of my skull. It was a football fired by Tom Brady, and was a mere 6 feet from giving me a concussion, and possibly making me a YouTube celebrity. "You see that video of the security guy getting nailed by Brady? He dropped like a bowling pin." I'm glad I work in the stands, and not on the field.

Randy Moss signs tons of autographs. As I said, I worked 10 sessions. After each session, a group of players will sign, based on position. One morning it'll be linebackers, then receivers in the afternoon, then offensive linemen the next day, et cetera. Moss randomly signs of his own volition. A lot. He signed 6 of the 10 sessions I worked.

Photo Credit: David Silverman

Punt returns are crazy. The gunners trying to get to the returner will scream pretty much the entire play. They'll try to startle the him before he catches the ball. "I'm coming mother [expletive]!" They did this trash-talk to the rookie and sophomore players. When Kevin Faulk was the return man, you could hear a pin drop. That's respect.

The Saints came to practice with the Pats for 3 sessions. That was cool, to be on the field with Drew Brees and company. And to watch joint practices, a rarity these days.

Photo Credit: David Silverman

After one of the practices, NFL Network was going to interview Belichick by the field, so we had to make sure that the fans didn't interfere with the shot. This was the ultimate pinnacle of glory for a security guy/Belichick aficionado/film school graduate. I have to admit, I had goosebumps once I knew I'd be standing a few feet from Belichick. Then finding out that Sean Payton would be joining him only made me more excited. But once the Coaches arrived, my nerves settled as I did my job, and tried to look as bored as possible. That's my poker face.

Here's a link to the interview.

At 2:33 you can see my elbow enter the frame from the left. It's that thing whiter than my white shirt. And at 4:02 you can see me climb under the rope to do something else. I don't care about being in the video, but that's how close I was to two of the most highly esteemed coaches in the sporting world. Pretty cool.

Oh, and just before that happened, I had a close encounter with another legend. As I said, there's an autograph signing session after each practice. The designated position group (plus a 60% chance of Randy Moss), will spread out along the sidelines and sign. The people working the field, like myself, carry Sharpies. Because obviously, the players don't have them. So we provide the pen, and then the players can sign for everyone.

I'm standing at the extreme end of the stands as practice concludes. And Tom Brady starts running my way. He's impossible to miss, with the red QB practice kit and the bouncy Justin Bieber haircut. He started signing autographs. I maintained a distant but watchful presence. Then Tom got to someone who had a football to sign, but no pen. "Anyone have a pen I can use?" he asked.

And faster than Clint Eastwood in the Man With No Name Trilogy, I drew my Sharpie, uncapped it, and handed it to Tom Brady.

"Thanks" he said. And with the same right hand that's thrown 225 touchdowns (plus 28 in the playoffs, 7 in Super Bowls), he signed autographs with my Sharpie, which I've been using to chart weight-loss during my current diet.

He probably disposed of the instrument unceremoniously. Or maybe, just maybe, he knows I'm an up and coming writer, and he's enshrined the pen on his mantle, with a plaque reading "Rob Zeitz Wrote With This." Maybe he sold it on eBay.

So that was cool. And to me, that's much cooler than an autograph. I don't see the big deal with autographs, especially for people over 12. I had one fan at camp suggest I casually bump into one of the players while they were on the sideline. "Why would I want to do that? I'm trying to not get hit by these guys."

And that's the truth. During punt and kickoff drills, I'd see the ball spinning in my general direction. I wasn't afraid of the ball hitting me, just the 22 guys that would arrive shortly after the ball did. So I'd casually take a step or two away from the field, and literally stay on my toes.

And it's not the Vince Wilforks you have to be worried about, even though he has 100 pounds on me. It's the DBs, with their speed. Like #24 on the Saints (Leigh Torrence), who was a gunner in a punt drill, got pushed out-of-bounds, and took the liberty of running the length of the field unblocked out-of-bounds behind 80 Patriots lined up on the sideline. He's listed at 5' 11" and 179, which sounds human, but a .22 calibre bullet is still a bullet, even though it's smaller than a .45. And #24 was certainly a bullet. Thankfully, I was well downfield, and aware of him. But he did get close to a few staff, who didn't even know he was near until struck by the wake of air trailing behind him.

Preseason games aren't the same, and not just for the players or fans. There are a lot of families in attendance, a lot of people who know someone with season tickets, who've never or rarely been to the Stadium. It makes for a pretty good crowd, at least from a security standpoint. I ran a response team, and our primary function was to make sure people were standing behind The Red Line that encircles the stands. After just one pass through our sections, and the fans were standing behind the line, even telling new arrivals to stay behind the line. I'll enjoy that while it lasts.

The Pats/Saints preseason game was a fairly quiet night for me. As I mentioned above, we did Red Line duty, and that was essentially done after just one pass. We did have a nice response team moment, when something unexpected to do quickly springs up. We had a new employee with us, and I kept harping about how much I love doing response teams because the routine is unroutine.

There were a few dozen former Patriots attending the game, in conjunction with Sam "Bam" Cunningham's induction into the Patriots' Hall of Fame. Our team and another team were to line the steps of an aisle as the alumni walked down and eventually onto the field. And of course, the other team gets called to help an usher supervisor with something 10 sections away. So it's just my team, supplemented by some ushers who got thrown into the mix.

It was uneventful, but I did have to go up and down all 38 rows about half a dozen times, quickly briefing my staff and the ushers about what was going on. Telling them to direct traffic up/down only the right side of the aisle, and to keep the left side clear for the players.

That was the only memorable or notable part of my first Patriots game as a supervisor. Which is good, because CountryFest looms on the horizon, and I'm sure we'll be slightly busier.