Life as a Sports Usher

Episode 34: What a Country(fest)

2010-08-22T08:00:00.001-04:00

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

2010-08-16T22:00:00.002-04:00

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.

Episode 32: Response Team Sampler

2010-07-25T14:00:00.014-04:00

In my previous episode, I bemoaned the fact that having my own response team meant no longer participating in the "special responsibilities" that my old team gets. Things like escorting Tom Cruise around. Be careful what you wish for.

Bon Jovi came to Gillette the other night, along with Kid Rock. And if somebody wanted to experience all the possibilities that being on a response team entails, they should have spent the day with us. Because we did it all: Customer service, security, "special responsibilities," assisting other departments when needed, VIPs, an ejection, several situations defused, and walking a few miles. It was a long, but uniquely enjoyable day.

That's a rudimentary illustration of our travels. Our travels BEFORE we got up to the 300 level for our "routine" roaming. Just a quick rundown of what we did that's shown on this map. It starts with the red dot in the upper left.

1) Provide security/intermediation for VIPs checking in near the Pro Shop.
2) Escort a group of VIPs into the Stadium.
3) Escort them through field access.
4) Escort them across the field, to the tunnel where they began their backstage tours.
5) Backstage stop #1
6) Backstage stop #2
7) Walk around catwalk in front of stage (Backstage stop #3)
8) Escort VIPs to catering on the suite level

Now we switch to blue:

9) Escort a separate group of VIPs back to the check-in area by the Pro Shop to check-in for a different event.
10) Return to suite level to escort first group of VIPs to their seats adjacent to the stage.
11) Guide VIPs to "The Pit" by the stage.

And now to the lime green:

12) Help divert congestion at a backed-up gate to a larger gate on the other side of the Stadium.
13) Divert traffic from will-call to the larger gate to ease the pressure on the backed-up gate.
14) Assist field entrance in wristbanding people with field tickets.

And then we went on break. In a 7 hour span, we did quite a bit.

As you can see, we spent the first part of our day with some VIPs. Nobody famous. I was hoping for Belichick (he's a big Bon Jovi fan), but I knew that was a long shot. But they were VIPs nonetheless.

There were some ruffles, some wrinkles that needed smoothing, if you will. There always are, especially with concerts. So many overlapping layers of Stadium security, tour security, Stadium PR, tour PR, facilities, parking, concessions, and so on. All this division is necessary. These events are massive, and it's impossible to have one unified command structure, especially with concerts that all bring in their own nuances and staff. It's imperative, therefore, to be able to have these cells communicate with each other so the larger creature can function properly. I'll pat myself on the back and say I did a good job being an intermediary between the tour people running the VIP stuff, and the Stadium.

Before the concert, I checked the weather. I don't know why, Gillette Stadium's climate is generated by a device Coach Belichick has hidden in the practice fieldhouse.

And when the Pats aren't playing, he puts it on Random.

The forecast called for "isolated" thunderstorms. A storm isolated itself over Gillette for a good hour, dropping buckets of rain. The VIP people fled into the Pro Shop, as did we. Then that started to flood. And not gradually, either. I thought the Stadium had hit an iceberg and was going down by the bow into the briny deep.

I had my Customer Service Moment (CSM) in the rain. One of the VIPs got lost trying to find the check-in table. She had previously been lost trying to park. She was on the phone with the woman in charge of registering the VIPs. Apparently, she was outside the Club entrance. I thought it was the one on the other side of the Pro Shop. I donned my poncho and said "I'm going out there to get her. I'll be back." And as the heroic music swelled, I ventured into Waterworld.

I checked the nearby Club entrance. She wasn't there. I turned to go back, then said to myself "I'm already drenched, might as well check the other Club entrance." That's at the far end of the Stadium. It's about a 300 yard walk or 1/6 of a nautical mile. She was at the second entrance. Good job, Rob.

The rain lifted, the floodwaters receded, and after dispatching a dove out into the Patriot Place Plaza, and having it return carrying a leaf in its beak, we ventured back outside.

Eventually, we escorted a few dozen VIPs to the stage. These VIPs must have been VVIPs because they got a real good tour. We were told to hang back and make sure stragglers didn't get lost or anything. We went under the stage, then went around the catwalk, and along with the guests, we enjoyed a thorough tour.

I had no idea being a musician was such an athletic endeavor. This catwalk was maybe 4.5 feet wide, about 6 feet off the ground, and slippery from the earlier rain. Lights, monitors, and plugs studded the slim path, and I could only imagine trying to walk on it in the dark, while singing/playing.

And wow, was the view from the stage surreal. I've been on the floor, I've been up against the stage. But never on it. I was hoping one of my friends attending the show would spot me and take a picture, because it'd be pretty cool looking. We were just hanging back a few yards behind the tour group, as they took pictures of the stage and themselves. But I think only one or two people I know saw me, and they were working too, so no pictures :-(

Then there was a lot of walking and riding elevators. To the suites, down to the concourse, to the Pro Shop, up to the suites, down to the floor, and finally we released our VIPs into the wild.

As we escorted the last group of them to their seats, one of them said "Thank you," to all of us.

"No, thank you," I said. "We got a backstage tour thanks to you guys"

I thought we might be able to take our break, but it was bad timing for that. The gates were getting jammed up pretty bad, so we were sent to one of them to help redirect people to a larger gate. On the way there, in the tunnel, we walked by Bon Jovi. I was disinterested.

Token helping out at gates, which is what our job is when they get really backed up. Redirecting people to a less jammed gate, siphoning traffic from one gate to another, that kind of thing. Then once we got all the people through the gate, the field access inside the Stadium was just as jammed. So we helped in wristbanding people. I'd never clipped bands to other people's wrists before, and I wasn't very good at it.

Oh, I should mention that the Friday night before this concert, I was a good boy and went to sleep at 12:30am. Only to inadvertently wake up at 3. After watching Rocko's Modern Life for a few hours, I took a nap from 8 to 10:30.

We also had to get there earlier than everyone else in order to do the VIP thing. I was so tired, that after planning on getting a small pizza for dinner, and fantasizing about that pizza all day, I got a chicken sandwich when we finally went on break. I just totally forgot what I'd wanted all day long and got what I typically order for Revs games.

Anyway, with the VIP details done, all the guests inside, and my stomach flooded with Mountain Dew, we went up to the 300s. We spent most of our time doing standard stuff: answering questions, making sure people weren't clogging the staircases, that sort of thing. We were supposed to go around to all the concession stands to shut down the alcohol, but every one of the stands shut themselves down a few minutes before we were told to do so. I didn't mind.

There were a few near-incidents. A guy tripped over his buddy's shoes and fell into the people the row in front of him. Both guys were very cooperative and coherent. Besides, tripping over a shoe can happen after the house lights go out, quite easily. We took their info down and bade them to enjoy the rest of the show without further incident. Which they did.

There was a sort of false alarm as we were told something serious was happening on a ramp leading up to the 300s. We ran for a bit, but upon arrival, whatever was happening had already happened. That's something that occurs quite a bit on a response team. It sucks to rush to get somewhere, only to find nothing. Then again, there are a lot of somethings that would be unfortunate to have to find at the end of that rushing.

After guzzling down water and stretching my quads, a fan told us that people in front of her were smoking "something" and passing it around. We went up to the section, and 3 rows of people pointed out the two culprits. So we brought them down to the concourse and talked.

It's not common for several rows of fans to indicate strangers. It's quite damning. So I suggested to the guy that we bring him to another section, and that he stop smoking. He denied smoking anything, and refused to move to another section. He couldv'e just admitted that he was smoking a cigarette, and promised to stop, then I would've been fine with letting him return to his seat.

Then he started swearing. Swearing is against the rules, but I'm not going to toss a guy just for swearing. Being a jerk, on the other hand, that's different. Calling me a "pussy" because I won't tell him what my name is, that's different. Getting in my face, repeatedly saying "Search me! Search me!" That's different.

I don't like kicking people out anymore, especially from the 300s. It's a long walk down. It's additional paperwork at the end of the night. So even after a long and occasionally unnerving day, my mounting irritability is tempered by laziness, which results in a calm, reasonable attitude. It's a good balance.

I kept playing Let's Make a Deal with him.

First Game:
Door #1: Admit you smoked, promise you'll stop, and go back to your seat.
or
Door #2: Don't admit you smoked, be belligerent, but move to another section to avoid any further incident with the dozen or so people who have had enough of you.

He chose neither door.

Second Game:
Door #1: Move to another section.
or
Door #2: Walk out of the building with my team.

He chose neither door, but was subconsciously striving for Door #2, I think.

Third Game:
Door #1: Walk out of the building with my team.
or
Door #2: Be escorted by Police.

He chose #2.

He kept accusing me of being on a power trip, but if he only knew how little I wanted to extend my day with added paperwork. If he only said "I was smoking a butt. It won't happen again."

We didn't know what he was smoking, just that people around them said he and others were passing it around. One even gave us her information and a witness statement. The cops didn't find anything illicit on him, or detect any sort of intoxication. I didn't mind his swearing much. I curse like a sailor with Tourette's who had truck drivers for parents, although not when I'm on the clock. But when he said "I was just trying to enjoy the fucking show," and I said "Watch your language," and he retorted "Kid Rock was swearing," I mean this meatball was just asking for trouble.

The guy was an escalator. The kind of punk at a poker table who just has try bluffing at every pot. And I wasn't the only one getting annoyed. He had a crack at everyone. The usher supervisor came by to try to mediate, but he gave the usher supervisor guff. Then he mouthed off to the cops. We gave him every opportunity to stay in the Stadium and enjoy the rest of the show, but he made his choices.

Ultimately, though, it was my choice. That's not a power tripping statement, it's just how it is. "He's leaving, either with just us, or with you guys. That part of it's up to him," I said to one of the cops.

He violated multiple policies, all minor in nature, but more importantly he was irritating guests then refused to cooperate after violating those policies. Instead of doing what 99.9% of Stadium smokers do (say "Sorry, I didn't know I couldn't smoke up here"), he decided to lie, to get tough, and refuse to cooperate in any way.

Not much happened after that. There was a spat between two groups of fans. "She threw a quarter at me." "She flipped me off." She said vs. she said. We just relocated one group to empty seats a few sections over.

We bumped into the group who made the quarter throwing accusation, and they went over the whole sequence of events, including a vivid ballistic analysis of the coin's trajectory. I made a "back and to the left" joke that went over their heads.

Get it? Over their heads? My sense of humor is hit or miss (like Ace-King), but when it hits, it hits hard (like Ace-King). If they'd seen JFK or were big Seinfeld fans, they would have laughed.

Then the night fizzled out. It took its time fizzling out, though. I didn't turn the ignition in my car until about 2:15. By then my contact lenses had sealed and laminated my eyeballs, my knees and ankles stopped sending me pain signals as they gave up on life, and my brain cells flickered out one-by-one, like overworked light bulbs.

We had a new guy on our team; someone who'd just started working. This was his first event at Gillette Stadium. He told me this when we were underneath the stage. "Yeah," I said, "the enjoyable part about being on a roam team is that it's never routine. We always do something unexpected."

He learned that right away, no doubt about it.

Episode 31: Movin' on Up, to the (300) East Side

2010-06-23T07:00:00.001-04:00

Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber came to Gillette. It was my first event supervising on my own. But of course, as I discussed in the last Episode, you're never alone. At least you shouldn't be.

I was designated Romeo-9 (response team #9), and would start out at the East Gate, then move up to the east side of the 300 level. For a normal concert, the cheap seats can get a tad harry. But this was not a normal concert. Normal concerts don't have large pick-up/drop-off areas for parents to collect their kids.

I was thankful for this irregularity. I felt it was a good way to grace into the whole supervising routine, with a crowd that would, for the most part, be sober. Then again, I've heard stories of full-blown fist-fights breaking out at an Alicia Keys show. And the possibility of two 13 year old guys slapping each other over a 14 year old girl did enter my mind before the concert. Especially since it'd be humiliating to get my ass whooped by some junior high sprat on my first day running a roam team.

I was more thankful to have a reliable and assertive female with us, because EVERYTHING we dealt with involved females. I'd estimate that 85 to 90 percent of the crowd were females. And most of the males were dads, apart from two jacked frat looking dudes that entered through our gate, and they stood out like blood on a wedding dress.

The whole supervisors routine was still not routine for me. We have our meeting in this auditorium, where I'm told the Patriots hold their postgame press conferences. I guess that's kind of cool. Before the meeting, all 4 and a half feet of Justin Bieber walked by. Not nearly as cool. During the briefing, it was vividly stressed that this would be a "HANDS OFF" event.

Now it's not like we roam around cracking skulls at other concerts or Pats games. But considering that most people in attendance wouldn't even have their learner's permits, it was heavily emphasized that we'd be extra careful with how we handled situations. We wouldn't HANDle them at all. We'd manage them. And if there were a female involved, we'd womanage them.

After the briefing, Taylor Swift walked by us. That's slightly cooler, but she's not my type. Sorry, hun. Bulk up, eat some Spaghettios.

After mustering my staff together, we took a walk up to the 300s before heading to the gate. My God that is a long trek. The ramp we took is 1,400 feet (a tad more than 1/4 mile) in length. And the grade is somewhere between 7 and 10%, at least that's what I'd estimate. It seems steeper the higher you get.

Meanwhile, I'm dragged down by a pair of pants that weighs around 20 pounds. I had 2 flashlights (one makes a harsh ultra-bright spot, the other is a broader and gentler light, and I wanted two in case someone on the team forgot theirs), my cel phone, my radio, my keys, ponchos for everyone (rain had been forecast, though all the storms would skirt around the Stadium), earplugs for everyone, my paperwork, contact lens moisturizer, contact lens case, 2 handwipes, chapstick, 3 small packs of gum, 2 pads of paper, and 3 pens.

That doesn't sound like much, but it adds up, especially in June, and especially hiking 1,400 feet to the Stadium summit. I felt like those cops on Flashpoint who carry a thousand different things in their overstuffed pants and jackets.

I even had a utility belt that toted my radio, my flashlight holster, and a cell phone caddy. I wasn't trying to look overly coplike or militant, it was just the best way to haul so much stuff around, but also keep it accessible.

Bart's New Belt

The Simpsons | MySpace Video

After that, we went down to the East Gate, which would be where a lot of the floor tickets passed through. The gate was set-up differently from normal, but was actually quite sensible. Bicycle fencing created a corral around the gate, and three tables were arranged inside for bag checks. It took some thinking over to realize how it'd work, but it all went according to plan.

There was a girl a few yards from the gate who requested first aid. Then some floozies wanted to know where to pick up their StubHub tickets. They then wanted an escort across Route 1 from me or one of the males on my team. Not much else happened. We went inside, took our break, then headed up to the 300s.

By this time, Justin Bieber was on stage. Or so I was told. His voice was an octave higher than the squeeling masses of tweenage fans who now filled Gillette Stadium to the brim.

And a tall brim it is. I don't have acrophobia. Heights have never bothered me much. Looking down from the top of a skyscraper doesn't bug me. But turning my back on that height does. I have no idea why that is. I guess because I want to know precisely where the edge is. But all and all, being up high in the 300s was no big deal. It was nice being so far above the speaker banks that I didn't need earplugs.

There were some minor, unremarkable incidents. Then a woman complained about the drunk girls in the seats behind her.

Don't stand out in a crowd. That's the best way to prevent being ejected from a game/show. Have a few drinks if you'd like, but don't get obnoxious and loud when you're drinking at a Taylor Swift show. As we accompanied the two girls out of their seats, other fans from adjacent aisles thanked us. And that's a reaffirming feeling. We usually enjoy torrents of slurred abuse when we evict someone.

We uneventfully had alcohol shutdown a few minutes after Taylor Swift took the stage. There was nobody in line for beer, so nobody to complain, or beg to be bestowed that one last drink.

After the 5th or 6th song of her set, Taylor Swift emerged at the top of one of the 100-level sections. She sang and strolled her way down the aisle, then stepped onto the floor. A few of our teams participated in the stunt, making sure the aisle was clear in front of her, and so on. As I looked down from my perch in the 300s, I thought to myself "That used to be me. The team I was once a part of gets assignments like that." Assignments like hanging out with Tom Cruise.

Meanwhile, up in the 300s, it was a by the book, no frills, no thrills kind of night for Romeo-9. No escort of Taylor Swift. No VIPs to look after. No cheerleaders to guide (yes, that happened to us before). No going on the field at the end of a hotly contested international soccer match to walk with the referees.

But that's the deal, isn't it? I equate it to being an offensive coordinator for the Patriots, then taking a job as the head coach of some mediocre college program. Yeah, you're calling the shots and running your own show, but you have to give up a little bit of the "glamor." You'll be the #1 guy in the spotlight, but the spotlight will be dimmer.

Throughout the concert, I strove to balance my own self-centered sense of personal responsibility, along with the fact that I can't do everything alone. At one point, a member of our team reminded me "There's no 'I' in roam team."

"There's an 'I' in Zeitz, though," I quipped, like a smartass.

And I'd say I did a good job of delegating responsibility, but also taking control of situations. Having good, trustworthy staff was the key to that. When I can ask someone to go do something and know it'll get done, it makes it easier for me to stay focused on what I'm doing.

Coordinating with the ushers also went smoothly. After the show we did the sweep of the 300 level, ensuring that only employees remained. The usher supervisors provided staff to check the ramps and stairs, and we swept the 300s with remarkable speed.

On the way down the ramp, three separate parties of people halted our snappy sweep. Two groups were waiting for friends/family to come out of the suites. Another group was trying to return their mother's Stadium ID to her up in the 300s.

And this was the last time I'll try to find that 100% utterly perfect solution to a problem. I waited 5 minutes, as all three groups said the person they wanted to meet was "Coming right now."

And of course none of them were coming to meet any of these people. It finally dawned on me to tell the suite people to meet up with their buddies outside the Stadium. I didn't know where to tell the kids with the ID to go. I tried calling it in on the radio, but my mind had been toasted to a crisp by that point:

"I have two kids, ramp, mother, ID, card, employee, where should they meet?"

I'm not kidding. It was a jumble of words pertaining to the situation, but completely out of order and lacking any coherence. I got a good lesson in teamwork as my radio girl called in a more intelligible description of the situation. Then the two kids started walking out so the problem solved itself.

We got to the bottom of the ramp and I released my staff, thanking them for a job well done. That's a nice treat for me that I've enjoyed, being able to thank people for helping me out.

A few minutes later, my former team arrived, completing their sweep. Not only did they get to staff Taylor Swift's walk through the crowd, they met her Dad, and they had the impeccably beautiful Ayla Brown dancing in the aisles of their section.

That would have been fun to write about. But I had a different kind of fun. And that's how it's been so far. Being a supervisor hasn't been better or worse than what I was doing before. It's been different. Of course, it seems better when paychecks are issued.

Next Episode: I supervise a typical concert and an atypical soccer game.

Episode 30: The Shadow

2010-06-21T04:00:00.003-04:00

Well after three years and countless events (I estimate it to be around 290 total, with around 70 of those being large-scale events), they've made me a supervisor. Scary, isn't it? I'm responsible for other people.

And to be honest, it took that many events, and that much time for me to be mature, decisive, and confident enough to be a supervisor. I still remember the overwhelming feeling of taking tickets at my first Pats game. How can one feel overwhelmed by taking tickets? I'm kind of ashamed to admit that I was, and only do so now because I'm not overwhelmed anymore.

I remember the power trips I'd go on as an usher. How thrilled I'd be to participate in the ejection of an annoying fan. Now I do my utmost NOT to kick someone out.

I remember chain-smoking before events to ease my anxiety, not being able to sleep the night before a Pats game, and needing 20 hours of lying down to rest my feet after a 10 hour event.

I've come a long way; from timid ticket taker, to uppity usher, to reserved and reticent roamer, to reassured radio guy, and now hopefully a sure-handed supervisor.

My first taste of supervising came when the Revs hosted Portuguese champs Benfica. I was "shadowing" another supervisor, leading a roam team. The shadowing process is a way to gradually introduce potential supervisors to the ins and outs of the position. But it's also a step in the evaluation process. I shadowed a roam team supervisor, but was actually told to run the team for the night.

Thankfully, I was working with people I've worked with dozens of times, and who I trust. Nevertheless, it was a very different, almost jarring experience. I learned a great deal, and in abrupt fashion.

As I mentioned, Benfica were in town to play the Revs. We had about 13,000 fans show up, almost all of whom wore the red colors of Benfica. One particular duty of our team was to cover the visitors' tunnel.

It's a fairly straightforward task, but it's a highly visible post, so there's little margin for error. For pregame, we had two staff at the bottom corners, and two at the top. Minimal coverage, but all that was necessary.

At half-time, we supplemented our coverage with staff from another team. This kind of interteam cooperation is something altogether new to me. It sounds so basic and simple, particularly in this cases, but in other instances it's been a very novel concept for me. Anyway, just before half-time, I had to brief the additional staff on what to do. I was surprised at how succinct I was:

"Go down the aisle, walk into the row about 1/3 of the way down, go all the way to the edge of the tunnel, crouch until half-time, then stand up, watch the crowd. DO NOT look out to the field, or into the tunnel. Watch for projectiles, and get my attention if anything happens."

That went off without a hitch. The Benfica fans were loud, passionate, and highly excitable, though quite orderly. And they didn't come to Gillette to hurl bottles at their favorite team.

But not everyone in attendance was a Benfica supporter. Two guys showed up wearing the green and white stripes of Sporting Clube de Portugal (which I erroneously called Sporting Lisbon, but that's a common mistake that even ESPN has made). Sporting CP and Benfica are bitter rivals.

And these two green and white clad guys not only stood out, they spoke out. It was all in good nature, but that's tough to tell when people are yelling at each other in a foreign tongue. And as a general rule, you always observe the guys/gals who stick out. Whether it's the Notre Dame fan at BC football, or the 60 year old guy loitering by the bathrooms at a Taylor Swift concert.

The two Sporting CP fans not only drew the crowd's attention (and subsequently ours), they drew some followers: more guys wearing the green and white. They coalesced into a gang of maybe 10 Sporting CP fans, and roamed from section to section in our corner of the Stadium, being annoying, but not antagonizing. They were pests, not threats.

In general, it was a quiet night, until the 85th minute of the game. This tends to happen. You'll spend most of your time roaming the concourse, fielding general questions about seat locations and the club-level elevators. You'll discuss with your team how quiet the night's been. Then multiple things transpire at once. And if you don't stay loose and relaxed in your head, you're toast.

Around the 85th minute, I had to brief some of the ushers to help us cover the visitors' tunnel, a missing child report was being broadcast over the radio, an usher pointed out a potentially drunk patron propped up against a steel column, and there was some sort of commotion going on a few sections to our left.

Two new charges/challenges for me as supervisor are:
#1: Delegating responsibility within my own team.
#2: Coordinating responsibilities with the other teams so that we work together in concert.

My radio guy jotted down the lost child's info (and yes, he was eventually reunited with his parents). The supervisor I was shadowing went to check on the commotion in section 120. But another team had shifted south towards our "territory," as they knew that our team had the tunnel, so they filled in and picked up the slack. I found a pair of policemen to give the potentially drunk guy a sobriety check. But I couldn't stay long enough to get the guy's information or ticket, as I had to brief a half dozen ushers for the tunnel. Over the radio, I called in the sobriety check, while simultaneously conversing with the ushers. And I do mean simultaneously:

"Romeo-2 to Observation. Alright guys we're going to be covering the visiting team tunnel. I have police already on scene giving a sobriety check to a male behind Section 117. We want to ensure that nothing gets thrown at the players when they come off. Copy that. Go down the aisle, walk into the row about 1/3 of the way down, go all the way to the edge of the tunnel, crouch until half-time, then stand up, watch the crowd. Romeo-2 to Observation. DO NOT look out to the field, or into the tunnel. That sobriety check behind 117 has resulted in a PC. Watch for projectiles, and get my attention if anything happens. I copy."

I sent the two staff from my team to the bottom corners again, then asked the ushers which side of the tunnel they'd prefer to cover. I then asked myself "Does that matter? And who the hell would have a preference anyway?" So I arbitrarily directed "You two go left, you two go right."

As you can tell form this blog, I think a lot. I'm pensive, contemplative, I drill down, I dissect, I analyze, I examine and reexamine. It's a strength and a liability. I rarely make the same mistake twice, but I've been prone to hesitate with simple decisions like which ushers should cover which side of the visitors' tunnel.

But I've learned that a lot of things don't need to be thought over or analyzed, they just need to get done. And I've also noticed that in high-stress situations, I just do what I do. Then when the proverbial smoke clears, I'll give it a think. And in the above situation, I spent more time thinking about who should cover which side of the tunnel, than I did about the sobriety check/missing child/usher briefing cluster.

There's an old poker adage: "Think long, think wrong." Don't think about that. It's true.

As Benfica slowly vacated the field, one by one, some of their members lingered in the tunnel, signing autographs. Fans would float down a jersey or hat, the player would sign, then toss the paraphernalia back. I thought it was pretty cool of them.

Unfortunately, this wasn't enough for some fans in another part of the Stadium. Several "invaded the pitch," which is soccer lingo for hopping onto the field. While our team couldn't really do much about that as we were fully enveloped by Benficans and 60 yards way, I still learned yet another lesson.

A roam team went onto the field too. They didn't try to tackle or apprehend the invaders. And nobody got tased.

The team went down to the field to DIFFUSE any incidents, to DETER against any further encroachment, and to be present to DEFEND the players/coaches if need be. The Three D's. I just made that up. And I was impressed by the gall and the initiative of the team, coupled with their composure not to escalate a manageable mess into a full blown YouTube moment.

The Police also deserve a big nod, as they ensnared the fans on the field without incident.

The lesson was: You've got to be firm and vigorous, but not aggressive.

I shadowed the next game at a gate. I've worked at gates countless times, taking tickets at Gillette and BC. I've heard those little scanners PING so many times I feel like the overworked, burnt out sonar operator of a submarine.

But supervising at a gate was still very new. It's not rocket science, but there's a lot of detail and nuance to it. Retrieving the scanners, gathering the required wristbands, mustering your staff, ensuring they all have meal-tickets/water/ponchos, briefing them, testing the scanners, deploying the staff, arranging the signage, setting-up the tables, unlocking the gates, distributing the scanners. Et cetera.

Then the gate officially opens and you have to support your staff. Give answers to the obscure questions that will invariably be asked of them. Stand by them when they tell someone that their umbrella isn't allowed into the Stadium. Tell guests that purses are indeed bags and need to be checked. Adjust and possibly repair the scanners.

It's weird. I've rarely had to keep my eyes and ears so wide open. Because I've never had staff before. So needing to be attentive was something new to me. And while I enjoyed it at this moderate Revolution game, I can't yet fathom how much more amplified all these tasks are for a Patriots game, where 45,000 people try to enter the Stadium in 30 minutes. It sounds challenging. I've been liking challenges lately.

After breaking off the gate, I did the roam team shadowing thing again. This was a much more typical event. The New York Red Bulls were in town, but fortunately, their wannabe-hooligan-firms were not. The US National Team was playing in Philly that afternoon, and the jerks from Jersey went down that way instead of up to Foxboro. So there was no repeat of the Boston Pepper Party.

There was one semi-incident that taught me a good lesson. A woman complained to an usher that some kids behind her were frequently and loudly swearing. The usher informed his supervisor, who summoned us over. The problem was that the woman didn't point out which fans were swearing, just that they were "around rows 5, 6 and 7." Then the woman went on her way along the concourse, disappearing.

So only the usher could identify the woman, and only the woman could identify the offending parties. I realized all this about halfway down the aisle into the section. And as I concluded that I had no idea who I was looking for, I decided to keep going.

In the past, I've been especially hesitant and uncertain when I don't have sufficient information. This would, at times, infuriate my old team's supervisor. Sometimes you just have to go in without knowing every available bit of information, and it took me some time to learn then implement that lesson.

But I honestly had no plan as to what to do or say once I got to the area around rows 5 thru 7. I arrived, and a couple fans looked at me and the usher. And like a substitute teacher I asked "Who down here's been swearing?"

And of course nobody answered.

I broke the silence. "Well, it'd better stop."

In retrospect, I should have gone down the aisle slowly, loitered a bit above row 7, hoping to catch the profanity myself, then talk to the ones spouting it. If instead, nobody sore, I could drop to the bottom of the aisle, give the old look-over of the entire section, remind people that we exist, then be on my way.

The lesson I learned there was that sometimes there is no perfect solution to an issue. Frequently, circumstances will conspire to prevent achieving that 100% satisfactory resolution. Recognizing this is key, and must be followed by an adaptation in approach in order to achieve as decent a result as possible. That's a fancy way of saying, sometimes you've got to compromise with reality, do the best you can, and understand your limitations.

Do what Pringles did, when they ordered rubber but got potatoes. They filled their tubes with chips instead of tennis balls.

mitch hedberg on pringles - Watch more Funny Videos

As much as I've learned in 290 events, there's still a great deal of education left for me. My last Episode was about how far I've come as an individual, both in my job at Gillette Stadium, and outside of it. But that individualistic focus is merely the beginning. I now have to refocus toward a collective and cooperative approach.

When supervising, I'm responsible for my staff, and they're responsible for me. There's no militaristic rank structure, no salutes. I'll giggle if one of my staff ever calls me "sir." There's no division between supervisor and staff, at least there shouldn't be.

I feel that a major aspect of being a good supervisor will be changing my attitude from a "me," to a "we," kind of perspective. Shadowing at the gates, and running a roam team was like being the quarterback, which means I was dependent on those around me, and they were dependent on me. I may have called most of the plays, and gotten the snap, but WE did things well, and WE made occasional mistakes, and WE will learn from them.

Now imagine that there are multiple quarterbacks, with multiple sets of receivers, rushers, and blockers. And all these groups are trying to work together for the same purpose. That's something more than teamwork, that's a coalition or alliance. Each undertaking separate specific tasks, but frequently overlapping and (ideally) cooperating.

You can peruse history and see a multitude of failed and successful alliances.

In World War I, for instance, the Germans, Austrians, and Turks never coordinated. They hardly communicated. Germany tried to dominate the alliance and get Austria to fight the Russians. But Austria wanted to fight the Serbs.

Meanwhile, the French and British had some strife in their alliance, but they eventually smoothed things out. They coordinated attack and defense, shared resources and ideas, and had a clear joint objective.

Alright, I know, it's not war at Gillette Stadium. But it's still a massive task to pull off a Full Stadium Event. To have 70,000 assemble, park, congregate, enter a Stadium, enjoy a show/game, leave safely, have a good night; is an epic achievement. And it takes a lot of people working TOGETHER to pull it off.

Being a part of this larger machinery is quite intriguing. And I'm loving what I'm learning about myself, about others, about how people function together. It's been quite fascinating so far.

Next Episode (coming very soon): I actually supervise on my own

Episode 29: Ushering on the Side

2010-02-03T19:30:00.005-05:00

Last night I went to the Bruins/Capitals game, and watched the B's extend their losing streak to 8. But the night was made more enjoyable thanks to some drama on the subway ride home.

In the last three years, I've grown a great deal. On the outside, I don't smoke anymore, don't drink as much, and I've lost weight. But psychologically there's been much more significant improvement. I've developed from a quiet, shy, meek, scared shitless wallflower into a boisterous, personable, confident and outgoing man.

L0ST STYLE FLASHBACK TO: ROB'S JUNIOR YEAR IN COLLEGE

Here's a good story to illustrate just how terrified I used to be of responsibility and/or control. Essentially, I was scared of making mistakes, so I altogether avoided making decisions. I was afraid of control.

There was this girl, we'll call her Eileen, who was in a class with me my sophomore year. Cute girl, beautiful eyes, nice smile. She was a bit different from normal. Not a psycho, just an Eat-Pop-Tarts-For-Dinner kind of weird. Interesting.

Junior year I'm smoking a cig before a class, she sees me, waves to me, walks up, and says "We've got to hangout sometime, here's my number."

For the entire semester, I waited for the "perfect" situation to call Eileen and invite her to hangout. We'd see each other between classes once and awhile and talk for 30-40 seconds. She once said to me: "You're real quiet."

"I'm tired."

"No, it's okay, it's cool just being around you."

Yeah, I know right! How did I not pounce on this girl?

I never took the initiative, never took control. I was waiting for one of my friends somewhere to have a party at their house that I could tell her to come to. I never even considered doing something at my place. And it never occurred to me to just ask her to my apartment on a Tuesday night to watch a movie and potentially make-out.

The whole semester, and into the next, I was doing nothing, waiting for the "right" time. It was like going fishing, sitting next to a pond, then waiting and hoping for someone to bring you a rod and tackle.

We never hungout.

BACK TO THE PRESENT...

So that was me then. This is me now. If I want something, I try to get it. I don't wait and hope for it to come get me. To steal from Swingers, I'm not the guy in the PG-13 movie that everyone's *really* hoping makes it happen. I'm more like the guy in the rated R movie, the guy you're not sure whether or not you like yet. You're not sure where he's coming from. At least, I'm well on the road there.

And a great deal of that is thanks to my working events. I've learned a lot from them, but learned even more from the people I've worked for and with. Specifically, my supervisor at Gillette and the other members of my response team.

And it's been a nice feedback loop of confidence helping me work events, and events helping my confidence.

I should tell you what I wore to the Bruins game. I decided to don my Vladislav Tretiak USSR (CCCP) jersey.

Why? Because we were playing the Capitals. Communist jersey... communism... anti-capitalism... anti-Capitals. It was a great example of my nerdly sense of humor. But I also love the jersey, and the player.

And if people can get away with wearing those Chiefs jerseys to a game, which were once funny and novel but are now tired and wornout, then why can't I be THE ONLY PERSON IN THE GARDEN wearing a CCCP jersey?

I was aware that the Capitals' also wear red. So just to avoid confusion, I wore a black Bruins shirt under the jersey, and my Bruins scarf.

During the game, one guy in passing praised the jersey. "Tretiak! Yeah!" Another guy asked me what it said (the name on the back is in Russian, so it looks like ТPET6RK with the R backwards). But there was little discontent.

After leaving the Garden, we walked to the North Station entrance at Valenti Way, went through the turnstyles, then rushed down the escalator for the approaching Orange Line train.

A group of three guys, in their mid 20s, challenged the validity of my jersey. Rather, they questioned my wearing it and also wearing Bruins gear, thinking that I was trying to represent both the Capitals and the B's.

So I explained to them that it's a goalie from the USSR who played in the 70s and 80s.

The train arriving next to us slowed and halted, and we all got on, the conversation continued. They asked if Tretiak played in the 1980 Miracle on Ice game. I told them he did but was pulled in the 2nd period (turns out it was the 1st period). My answers satisfied their original confusion, and my knowledge of the guy seemed to impress them.

Then I went into detail about my whole Communist/Capitals joke as the doors closed and the train pulled out. "Wow, that's deep man," one of them joked. "Are you an artist?"

"I'm a writer."

A voice rang from halfway down the train: "Are you a retard...?"

"...You'd have to be a retard to wear that!"

I saw the fat, mid-40s, salt and pepper bearded man who'd decided to disrespect me.

"You got a problem?!?" I yelled down the traincar.

He made a beeline up the car, like a bull charging my red jersey.

In the past, in situations similar to this, I'd get nervous, even anxious. My pulse would double, my adrenaline would surge, gooesbumps would poke through my skin. My body language would instinctively portray several things, a few tells. I'd take a halfstep backward with my left foot, I'd draw my shoulders slightly forward and in, I'd lower my head and neck, I'd have to do something with my hands like hold my keys in my pocket, I'd avert my eyes around the room, things like that. Weakness.

But as this puffed up ball of middle-aged angst rolled toward me, I did nothing. I stood rigid and firm, as if the train weren't even rolling. My eyes deconstructing his as he came nearer. No increase in pulse, no goosebumps, no twitches.

But in his body language, I noticed a great deal.

HIGHLANDER STYLE FLASHBACK TO: SOME HOUSE IN QUINCY - EARLIER THAT EVENING
When I picked up my friend to go to the game, it was my first time going to her new place. Two dogs that lived there, a pair of Yorkshire terriers, greeted me with barks. But not when I walked in (which would be when they'd smell and hear me) but when they saw me. I'm not afraid of dogs anyway, but their bluff of aggression was ridiculously easy to call. And they just wanted to put on a show.

BACK TO THE TRAINCAR...

This guy was bluffing. He was trying so hard to scare me, with how fast he moved up the traincar, with the billowing and wild swings of his arms, the almost inaudible grunts exuding from his nose, the puffed out chest, and the sourpuss grimace.

Plus he was wearing a Milan Lucic Fight Club shirt.

I like Lucic, but any shirt that says "Fight Club" on it and is splattered with fake blood is lame. If any male older than 15 wears it, they're a complete dink.

So this guy arrives at my face. We'll call him Tuffy. Tuffy answers my "Got a problem?" question:

"Yeah, you're wearing the wrong jersey."

"No, it's a Soviet throwback jersey, not a Capitals jersey. Anyway, what do you care? It's just a hockey jersey."

"No, it's not!"

I lean in toward his face, holding up the ridiculously wide longsleeves of this XXXXXL goalie's jersey. "Then what the fuck kind of jersey is it?"

"It's gay!"

"Good one, coming from a guy wearing a shirt with fake blood on it."

"This isn't fake blood!"

"It's real blood? Wow, I'm fucking scared of you."

He chuckles to himself, obviously proud of what he was about to say: "Man, you are ugly!"

FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL STYLE FLASHBACK TO: ROB'S COLLEGE DAYS - A HOCKEY RINK
Attending an Ithaca College club hockey game against some other obscure Central NY school. These were fun events to occasionally attend. Half our players were drunker than the fans, and we'd usually lose by 10+ goals. Still fun though.

I'm attending the Ithaca game with the same friend I went to the Bruins game with. I walk up behind the opposing bench, and start screaming at #22. "HEY DEUCES!! WHAT DOES #3'S COCK TASTE LIKE?" #22 turns around, looks at me, and says "Man, you're the ugliest motherfucker I've ever seen."

And I was devastated. No lie. Crushed. Back then my hair was ridiculously long, I had glasses, bad acne, was 30 pounds fatter. I looked and dressed like Michael Moore.

As non-photogenic as I was back then, I was 1,000 times more selfconscious. I let this guy's remark get to me. After the game, instead of having a good time hanging out with some of the hockey players, I went back to my apartment, downed half a bottle of vodka, and hated the ugly bastard looking back at me in the mirror.

BACK TO THE TRAINCAR...

I'm hardly George Clooney now, but I don't much care. It is what it is. If a girl I want thinks likewise, then ship it. If not, whatever. I'd prefer they did, but I'm not going to brutalize myself because of what someone else thinks. And I certainly don't give a rat's ass if a male finds me unattractive.

"Man, you're ugly!"

I laughed at him, "That's nice."

Behind me, those 3 guys who'd first asked about my red jersey, suddenly make their presence known. Apparently I'd recruited them to be my followers. One of them pointed his arm over my shoulder at Tuffy.

"Hey man, it's just a fucking jersey! He's a Bruins fan!"

This is when my brain changed gears. I'm fine with the 1-on-1 with Tuffy, and whatever happens happens. But now there's 3 semidrunk guys who've joined in spewing testosterone all over this cramped and poorly ventilated subway car. That's a recipe for drama that ultimately ends with police involvement.

Up until this point, I've had one priority in mind: Don't back down to this asshole.

But now a second priority enters the equation: End my night in my bed in my house, not at a police station.

My body language changes as well. I morph from a tower into a wall, spreading my arms and legs wider so I can box out the people behind me and keep them separated from Tuffy. I even try to negotiate a ceasefire with him.

"Listen man, you hate me, I hate you, you don't like my jersey, and that's great. Do you really want this bullshit to go farther than this subway car?"

I calmly presented him with an opportunity to walk away without losing much face. It was 4 against 1 at this point, there's absolutely no shame in discontinuing.

I know what he wanted to say. It was all over his face. This guy wasn't drunk, maybe 2 or 3 beers in, no big deal. But he couldn't bring himself to end things. Instead, he brought out his tough guy act for an encore performance.

"Shut up you fucking Guinea!" He yelled at the kid who'd stuck up for me.

The 3 kids behind me start laughing. They're all standing up behind me now, and I can feel their adrenaline as the traincar seems to heat up. They start yelling back at Tuffy. Tuffy yells at them.

Then enter the final clown in this comedy of ignorance. This guy we'll call Shorty, because he was short, 5' 3" tops. He was also twisted and trashed beyond recognition. His eyes were like black dinnerplates they were so dilated. He stumbles into the fray from behind Tuffy.

At first, I think Shorty might be there to reason with Tuffy, help convince him to back down.

"This guy a friend of yours?" I ask Tuffy.

"He's my fucking cousin!"

Shorty's entrance drew the involvement of my female friend, whom I'd attended the game with. She could've taken out Shorty even if Shorty were sober. She towered over him, and now the fight was 5 against 1.5 (Shorty=0.5). And at least now I had a true and dependable ally I could fully rely on, instead of just 3 random guys.

But the stage on which this drama unfolded was becoming too cluttered with actors. And being the chauvinist that I am, I kept my friend in check. But keeping her safe from any ensuing circus wasn't my sole motivation. Ulteriorly, I wanted to keep myself safe. Had Shorty put his hands on her (or bumped headfirst into her crotch, really, he was short enough), or had Tuffy spat some insulting slur, then I would have snapped, and stuffed Shorty up Tuffy's ass.

I convinced my friend to let me handle things. She respected me enough to not knock Shorty's head off, but she stood her ground with me.

FAMILY GUY STYLE FLASHBACK TO: A PARKING LOT, ONE OR TWO YEARS AGO

Drunk and disorderly mayhem, with the same friend. I grew ridiculous beer muscles (technically, grain alcohol muscles). And a friendly, joking insult in my direction riled a childish temper tantrum. An insult that came from a man that was about 400 pounds. The immature Junior Captain Ahab that I was back then, fueled by grain alcohol, tried picking a fight with this imposing man. My friend tried to restrain me, and I pushed her away, insulted by her offer of assistance. Thankfully the large man took pity on me and let me live.

But my friend, rightfully so, didn't respect me in that moment. And I didn't respect myself. I felt the need to prove myself to the world, to prove that I was a tough guy. I was a lot like Tuffy in those days, trying to get other people to beat the crap out of so I could look at the wounds and say "I'm tough."

"I'd strike the Sun if it slighted me."
-Moby Dick

BACK TO THE TRAINCAR...

Now it's just getting worse and worse. 1 of me, 1 partner, 3 pissed off allies/strangers behind me, 2 pissed of assholes in front of me. One of them small, but due to drunkenness is utterly unpredictable. This was like the start of World War I here, with some Serbian guy killing some Austrian duke, which due to complex strings of alliances results in Germany and Turkey fighting Britain, France, and Russia, and 10 million people dying over essentially nothing.

But I'm still as calm as can be. Not a bead of sweat in this boiling cauldron of masculine aggression. Why? Because I was in control of the situation. I felt nothing but confidence in myself, and confidence in my ability to handle things in order to achieve MY desired outcome.

Three years ago, even two or one year ago, I would have been terrified to assume so much responsibility. I'd be shaking, my toes twitching, sweating like Ron Jeremy trapped in an elevator in July.

Shorty wobbles around, then bumps into my chest. I push him back, but not in a hard, shoving way. Tuffy tries to restrain him. He says to Shorty "Dude, we don't want to get arrested tonight."

One of the 3 kids behind me yells: "So what the fuck are you gonna do?"

Tuffy explodes: "I'M GONNA KILL ALL THREE OF YOU!"

Tuffy was such a mess of conflicting goals. He wanted to fight 3 people in front of 20 witnesses and also not get arrested. Meanwhile, I had my priorities aligned, focused, yet flexible. To quote Henry V: 'We would not seek a battle as we are, yet as we are, we say we will not shun it.'

Tuffy continued to make idle threats.

"If this faggot weren't standing in front of me, I'd kick all your asses."

I'm not a very physically strong man. I can't benchpress my own weight, not even close. I was no obstacle to this guy. He was using me as an excuse to not throwdown, yet still seem tough by threatening to throwdown. Yelling from behind an imaginary wall.

I decided to raise my voice. "HEY ASSHOLE, LISTEN TO ME! YOU AND YOUR COUSIN BACK THE FUCK DOWN OR ALL THIS IS ENDING IN A POLICE STATION. DO YOU WANT THAT?"

Shorty continued to drift around me, repeatedly being restrained by Tuffy.

We rolled through Haymarket and State with this absurd dance playing itself out. We got to Downtown Crossing, my stop, and me and my friend tried getting off the train.

Shorty purposely wobbled into my way. This time I shoved him with authority and anger.

He muttered "Who the fuck do you think you're pushing?"

"You!" I snapped back.

Tuffy now felt free to threaten me again. "Yeah, walk away, fag!"

"It's our goddamned stop!"

The doors closed, and that's when I heard an exchange of yells, then the muffled sounds of bodies being knocked around a subway car. I turned around and saw 5 guys all dressed in Bruins attire, throwing reckless haymakers.

For some reason, call it event staff instinct, I turned around, thinking I could breakup the fight. Then my brains returned to me, I realized I wasn't getting paid, and decided to continue downstairs to the Red Line platform.

The train didn't leave the station, the doors re-opened and somebody summoned the MBTA Police.

It was unreal. I recruited 3 disciples without even trying, who stuck up for me and my Soviet jersey. And once I left the traincar, and released my handle of the situation, it imploded in an instant. But while I was there, it was mine, all mine. My group of assholes, my new friends, my new tough guy enemy, my friend's new diminutive drunk pet named Shorty, my subway car, all mine.

Riding the Red Line back to Quincy, we talked with 2 guys who'd witnessed the drama on the previous train. When they asked what I first said to the guy, and I told them I'd said 'You got a problem,' one of them criticized me. "Don't say that man, that's how shit with assholes like that gets started."

I smugly leaned back in my seat, and said with a grin "Yeah, I wasn't too worried about that."

Since then I've realized that my confidence during The Incident didn't just come from within. If my friend weren't there, I may have still performed the same actions, still said "You Got a Problem?" still seen the big guy's bluffing posture, still restrained myself, still ended the night in my bed. But my heart would have been racing, my palms sweaty, my eyes darting, my lips quivering. I was calm in my performance because my friend had my back. I trust her enough to support me in any shitty situation, and trust her capability to do so. She's got good nerves.

And appreciating that trust is kind of new to me. I've started learning it at Gillette with my teammates. I'm able to stare down some drunk bozo that's 10 inches taller and 100 pounds heavier then me, then ask him for his ticket, because I know I'm not alone. This series has focused a great deal on my own personal growth, but I want to emphasize how much that growth has been helped by people like my teammates/friends.

Episode 28: Back to School

2010-01-29T12:30:00.002-05:00

Each event brings a fresh lesson, a reinforcement of the cliché: "You learn something new everyday." Each event is an education. The stadium or arena is school. And quite often it's literally held on a school's campus.

How many events have I worked at Boston College? All football games for 3 seasons, every hockey game but one for 2.5 seasons, almost every basketball game (men's and women's) for 2.5 seasons. I did a little calculating, and I've worked approximately 150 events at BC. That's staggering.

I know Conte Forum and Alumni Stadium inside and out. I've done everything there. Ticket taker, usher (upper deck, lower deck), luxury boxes, roam team, courtside, student section, press box, visiting team chute, home team chute, official's chute. Yet despite such a vast variety of experience, I'm still learning. Each event truly is a day in class.

POLITICS 101
Scott Brown, the recently elected Senator from Massachusetts, has a daughter on the BC women's basketball team. Ayla Brown's developed into a solid roleplaying, 6th off the bench kind of player. Good defense, fierce and fast rebounding, and a decent jumpshot. Her parents, the aforementioned Senator elect, and journalist Gail Huff, go to most games. And before a few weeks ago, that wasn't worthy of much notice.

The BC men's team had a big game against Maryland a few weeks ago, 3 days before Brown won his Special Election. The first major ACC clash of the season, with an 8,600 sellout crowd, RaycomTV broadcasting, and Ayla Brown singing the Star Spangled Banner... in a "Vote for Scott Brown" shirt.

I didn't think it was a big deal. Then again I'm fairly conservative. Then again, I didn't whine when Presidential candidate John Kerry throwing the first pitch at Fenway in '04. But I did laugh when he couldn't reach the plate.

After Ayla completed the anthem, a harried middle-aged gentlemen tried to get by me and onto the floor. "I have to talk to Gene," he exclaimed. Gene=Athletic Director Gene DeFilippo.

"Is he expecting you?"

It's always dangerous ground to traverse in this kind of situation. Like a snail crawling along the blade of a straightrazor. I don't want to be rude to a friend of the program, nor do I want to be overly deferential and yielding to somebody who thinks they're a somebody, when really they're just a nobody.

And I'm not Gene DeFilippo's personal secretary. Nobody gets down to see him through me unless they're properly credentialed, or escorted by someone who is. I'm not paid enough to decide who gets to see him and who doesn't.

Back to this frantic, agitated guy.

"No, he's not expecting me. But I have to talk to him. It's a business matter."

"Well, you can stand over there and try to get his attention," I replied.

So he did that, took a few steps toward the press box while remaining off the floor, and got Gene's attention. Gene moved to him and they talked for about 20 seconds.

Then this urgent guy approaches me again. "Thanks. I just wanted to tell him that the National Anthem shouldn't be used to make political statements."

I was flabbergasted. Too shocked to deliver any snide reply to that. He really wanted to consume 30 seconds of the BC Athletic Director's time with that? Kudos to DeFilippo for brushing it off and returning to the game (which had already commenced).

But I was beyond pissed. Granted, it's abnormal for a National Anthem singer at a college hoops game to wear political paraphernalia. Then again, what would you have BC do, tell her that she COULDN'T wear the shirt? Doesn't that also inspire some moral dilemmas?

In the end, who cares? Just some pissed off spoiled middle-aged brat who had to endure something he didn't like for 3 minutes and wanted to whine about it. 8,599 people were there to see a basketball game. 1 guy showed up just to bitch about politics.

BASIC ARITHMETIC
Working the BU/BC hockey game last Friday, it's one of my favorite events of the winter. It's a guaranteed sellout, and more than likely it's also a close, hardfought game.

I finally have a regular post for hockey. I usher between the student sections at the West End of the rink. My primary responsibility is to assure what I call the "Sanctity of the Goal Judge." The off-ice official that sits behind the net. He is untouchable. Nobody can even think about violating this most Holy of Holies.

My priorities in this post:
#1: Sanctity of Goal Judge
#2: Behavior of students (e.g. blatant drunkenness, open container, etc.)
#3: Clarity of Aisles
#4: No students leaking to reserved sections
#5: No banging the glass
#6: One student per one seat

99.9% of students, even at the BU game, follow all 6 of these Commandments. They have a good time, most are a little buzzed, but they generally behave. I'm very tolerant, very accepting. I forgive ignorance of my Commandments (except the Goal Judge one), at first. And I'll freely handout second and third chances.

But that 0.01% of cardinal sinners often do show up to these events. There weren't many drunks at the BU game, but those that were intoxicated were literally falldown wasted.

At the edge of the student section, just beyond my view, about half a dozen jerks managed to get my unfortunate attention. Out of around 300 students in my area, these clowns made the biggest mistake a fan can make at an event: they stood out in the crowd.

I saw them banging on the glass, breaking my 5th Commandment. I talked to them, calmly, forgivingly. Just told them quietly to stay off the glass.

"What if we score again? Can we hit the glass for like 30 seconds?"

"You can each hit it once, just once each." I know now that this leniency was a mistake. An error I won't soon repeat.

A few minutes later, they were banging on the glass again, and also standing in the first row, in front of other students who'd been there since 90 minutes prior to faceoff. Commandments #2, #3, and #6.

"Get back to your seats."

The Alpha of the group tried bargaining with me. Which never ever works, folks. His buddy eventually convinced him to find a seat.

Few minutes later, they're banging on the glass again. I walk down, they see me, and all but one scatters. I approach this brave/unaware kid, get a few inches from his face and say. "This is the last time I'm coming down here alone." He quietly skulked off to his seat.

As I turned and left, a voice said "Fucking asshole." I looked back, and asked "Who's the tough guy?" Whoever it was remained anonymous. "Yeah, stay quiet, kid. Real tough."

Few minutes later, and they're pummeling the glass, in the aisle and first row. No more warnings. I call my supervisor over, and another staffer also responds. We decide to pullout the drunkest one of the group, a kid wearing a brown suede coat, who'd stumbled everytime I scolded this group.

The whole time the police and EMTs are dealing with the drunk kid, his older brother is pleading with me.

"He's not drunk... He's not that drunk... We hardly drank... You're just pissed cuz we kept hitting the boards."

I won't disclose the exact BAC the kid registered, but it was well above 0.20. Vindication for me.

Now for the math:

300 students + 1 tolerant event staff = fun for all
5 assholes * 3 sins * 3 warnings = pissed off event staff
1 pissed off event staff + 1 stumbling kid = ejection
BAC > 0.10 = ejection

A few days later, I saw the end of the game replayed on NESN, an OT thriller with BC coming back from down 4-2 in the 3rd to tie it, force the extra period, then ultimately lose thanks to an unlucky bounce. But I also noticed the first few rows of my student section, specifically the area that'd been disturbed by those 5 or 6 fools. All of them were sitting quietly.

5 very courageous jerks - 1 ejected jerk = 4 subdued and castrated jerks

PSYCH 101
At the same BC/BU hockey game, as I stood in my perch atop my section directly behind the West End goal, a middle-aged gentleman stood next to me, watching the game. After I counted down 5 seconds in my head, I politely told him that he couldn't stand there as it was part of the aisle.

And then came the debate. The debate that does not die. This guy, who probably earned in excess of $80,000 last year as a doctor or lawyer or manager or whatever. He simply could not tolerate some $9/hr. 25 year old kid daring to tell him what to do.

It's an old, tired story.

"How many people do you think I'll block standing here?"

"Irrelevant. You have to move" I had no stomache for diplomacy. This guy was challenging my mandate in my domain. I was tempted to be a complete smartass, say something like "You'll not be blocking anyone, 'cuz you're gonna move." But again, BC is the client, and they want customer service.

I wasn't a jerk to him, I was simply inflexible.

"How come you can stand up here?" he interrogated. That got my blood flowing. This guy was challenging me for the sake of challenging me. Unwise.

Psychologically speaking, 2 years ago this situation would make me panic. I'd either get overly aggressive, or fold. Maybe become apologetic and whimpering, "Sorry sir, it's the rule sir, please don't be mad at me, master, I gots to follow the rules, sir."

But as a person, and as an event staffer, I've grown significantly in the past 3 years. I no longer turn to aggressiveness, things like yelling and trying to scare someone. I'm simply and constantly dominant. It is MY section. This guy was in my world, where my rules apply. He's a welcome guest, so long as he doesn't defy me.

I squared my shoulders to him, and although he was my height, I was somehow 3 feet taller and talking down to him. "I can stand up here because I'm working."

"Yeah, you're really working hard." I drew in a breath to respond. I still don't know what I was going to say to him. But he retreated and left.

I win. Ship it.

INTRO TO CRIMINAL JUSTICE
Going abroad for one class, let's go down to Foxborough. As kickoff approaches, our gate at the Stadium gets backed up. They all get backed up. So we start sending people to a larger gate. We don't force them to do it, just convince some of them that the other gate has shorter lines. And relatively speaking this is true. Although there are no truly short lines within 20 minutes of kickoff.

Some guys feel the need to declare to the world that they don't intend to adhere to our advice. "I'M GOING THIS WAY!" They'll scream out as if we care. I'd love to explain to them that I really only want to convince 10-15% of people to go to the other gate. Anything more would make that gate too packed. Anything less and our gate gets too packed.

Anyway, so one guy yelled that he didn't want to go our way. "Have fun waiting in line!" I jokingly responded.

The gall of me to joke around with this clown pissed him off. Again, just some 25 yearold, $9/hour kid. How dare me? He wanted to make a stand.

"What's your jacket number?"

"3-4-6-5!" I proudly answered.

"OK, I'm gonna report that jacket number 3-4-6-8 is being an asshole!"

"That's 3-4-6-5, sir!" I corrected him. But as I jokingly put the situation in the past and moved on with my life, a nearby State Trooper, on his horse, introduced himself to this guy.

The Trooper, and his steed, both got in this guy's face. "He's just trying to do his job! Get out of here!" The man shrank and fled.

Yeah, I never heard about any fan registering a complaint against me.

ADVANCED U.S. POLITICS
Back to BC, and back to Scott Brown. What were once calm, subdued, and frankly easy events - BC women's basketball - have now turned into a bit of a circus. A few days ago, the Senator attended his daughter's game against Virginia.

There were 1,000 paying fans, and about half as many press credentials issued. The camera platform on the South Side of the court was filled. Channels 4, 5, 7, NECN, it was endless.

So were the streams of "friends" who wanted to find the Senator and say "hello."

One woman asked me, "Do you know where Scott Brown is?"

"I know he's here, I don't know where he's sitting." A bold-faced lie.

"Oh."

"Yeah, we were told he just wants to enjoy the game." That's my polite language for 'Leave him alone.' The woman went off on a quest to find him anyway.

It's kind of funny, because last season, I had no clue who he was. Nobody did. He was #3 in that family in terms of fame, behind his wife Gail Huff and his American Idol contestant daughter Ayla. Hell, even this time last month, he was a relative nobody. Now these remaining women's games all have asterisks.

I don't mind the potential for added excitement though.

SOCIOLOGY 101
The study of human societies. I took no sociology courses when I was in college. That's one of many regrets. They just never fit into my scheduling.

A funny moment involving the interaction of 2 sub-societies. College hockey in Boston is like a cult, a subculture of fanatics. When Northeastern, BU, and BC meet, it's simply special.

Northeastern hockey fans travel well, and have taken over our Conte Forum several times. Visiting teams often do this in all sports. Maryland basketball travels surprisingly well. URI, Providence College, UMass, UMaine; their fans have all rented the Forum at one time or another.

So BC's student sections are behind the net. Northeastern fans painted two upperdeck sections black and red.

And although BC won the game on the ice 5-1, Northeastern won the verbal battles in the stands.

During the 2nd period, "We Can't Hear You!" rained down from sections BB and CC. I overheard a frustrated BC student condescendingly mutter "We're not saying anything." I wanted to slap the kid and say "That's the Northeastern fans' point!"

During the 3rd, as Northeastern mustered one of their softer chants (they were down like 3-1 at that point), my BC student section replied "We Can't Hear You!" Then the suddenly reinvigorated NU fans blasted back "YES YOU CAN! YES YOU CAN!"

I couldn't help but laugh.

I love a good chant. BC sort of struggles in this department. I don't like their sieve chant for hockey. (You call a goalie a "sieve" because he lets lots of things slip by him, like a sieve, a.k.a. a strainer or sifter) It's too long, too laborious, and seems to be an unedited collection of every other school's sieve chant. Take a nod from Cornell, passionate and intense simplicity is often best.

FILM AESTHETICS & ANALYSIS

Very short story about something only I would enjoy so much. BU/BC game again. Couple kids in the last row (right in front of me), try squeezing 7 kids in the space of 4 seats. Nice kids that moved when I asked them to. But I got to ask them while doing my Sonny from The Bronx Tale impression. I said "There's seven of youz, and four seats. Three of youz gotta leave." I even talked with three fingers.

INTRO TO HISTORY
Speaking of college hockey. I've had two odd encounters with the two biggest hockey coaches in Boston history: Jack Parker of BU and Jerry York of BC. At last week's BC/BU game, before gates opened, Parker was perusing the Wall of Fame on the West End of the Conte Forum. There's dozens of plaques honoring great BC athletes and alumni. And here was Parker, really studying each plaque. He only got through 2 panels before the student gate opened and he went back to the locker room. But it was cool to see someone who's a sportsgod in some circles, carefully enjoying a pantheon of other athletic heroes' histories.

To Jerry York. For some backstory, Jerry York is a bit of a sportsgod to me. On my sports blog, I once gave him a lifetime achievement award.

For one hockey game and one game only, I get to man the home team chute, where the team enters the rink and takes the ice. It was fun. I got to see the game from icelevel, and open the doors for BC to get on and off.

Fun fact: The visiting team can't take the ice until BC does. And BC can't take it until the officials do. And the officials can't leave it until both teams leave. I love the regimented nature of that. Unlike basketball, which is much more relaxed and haphazard during warmups.

Anyway, so I'm at the door right before start of game. The officials come out through their door across the ice. So I open my door. 22 Eagles go by me. Not really thinking, I just stand there. Coach Jerry York (who'd earlier greeted me with a friendly "Hi, how are ya?" before warmups) glares at me. It was the glare of an 800 game winning coach.

It hit me. The open door was blocking his way to his bench. In a panic, I grab the door, close it, and let him pass. His glare remained unphased until he turned from me and went to the bench.

From then on, I was insanely fast with the door. And he just glared at me everytime. It was kind of cool, actually. I got coached by Jerry York.

Photo Credits:
The picture of Ayla Brown and the one of Scott Brown & Gail Huff are both AP Photos

Episode 27: Freezer Burn

2010-01-11T14:00:00.002-05:00

Complaining about the weather being cold in New England is like whining about the ocean being wet. It is what it is. It gets cold here. It gets especially cold in Foxborough, around Gillette Stadium. I've no solid evidence, but I think HOK Sport (now calling themselves Populous) designed the Stadium to funnel wind, thereby making it feel much colder within the walls than it should be. Either that, or Coach Belichick has a device in his office that controls the weather in Foxborough.

On Sunday the 10th of January, the Patriots hosted the Ravens in a playoff game. It was cold. That is until the fans got heated.

The official gametime temperature was 20 degrees, with 12 MPH winds creating an 8 degree wind chill. That's cold. And this is from a chubby, pale, German-Irish, genetically engineered for cold weather guy with parents from Boston and Buffalo and who went to school in central New York.

It's cold, but it isn't that cold. Certainly the playoff game against Tennessee was really that cold. That saw a temp of 4 degrees, and a wind chill under -10. 20 degrees is quite bearable, so long as you know how to dress.

As I mentioned above, I went to school in Ithaca, NY. It's 20 degrees in Norwood, MA as I write this sentence, and 13 degrees in Ithaca. In the next few days, Norwood will see the mercury hit 40, while Ithaca will see it peak at 31. New Englanders are proud of their cold weather (people everywhere always seem to boast about how crappy their weather is), but Central and Upstate New York is much colder, folks.

My senior year, in order to save $50 on parking, I walked the 1.5 miles to class 3 days a week. And in that frigid trudging through snow and ice, I forged an uncanny wisdom. I learned how to dress for the cold. And I'll impart that knowledge to you...

#1 Keep it Homemade
You don't need fancy thermal underwear or space-aged technology. You can dress warmly with clothes you already have around the house. Pajamas, sweaters, t-shirts, anything. You just need a lot of them, and need to know what/how to wear.

#2 Loose Layers
Tight is not what you want. You want loose. What you're trying to do is create a pocket of warm air around your body. A tight layer does you almost no good. Think about when you squeeze a sweater's fabric, it's not tight, it's loose and fluffy. You want your clothes to be the same around you. You don't want to be a blimp, but you want some room for air.

#3 Keep (the) Warm
Think of the phrase "Keep warm" literally. You want to keep your warmness. Coldness is literally trying to steal the warmth that your own body creates. The human body can easily produce 400 to 650 BTU/hour of heat. That's a lot of warmth. Unless contained, that heat will naturally spread itself until evenly distributed. It's called diffusion. Your clothes should CONTAIN this heat and not allow a single heated atom of air to escape.

#4 The Tuck Rule
An extension to #3. Everything, especially in the layers close to your body, should be tucked in. Pants tucked into socks, shirts tucked into pants. Think of yourself as an astronaut in the vacuum of space.

#5 Thin to Thick
The outer layer should be the thickest. The purpose of the clothes closest to your skin isn't to be thick and cozy, they're just supposed to divide pockets of air and keep that warm air close to your body. But the outer layers are for keeping the cold out of these pockets. So thick sweaters and coats over thin shirts.

#6 Sequencing
The order you dress is key because of the tuck rule. It's so much easier to have a properly tucked-in shirt if you put the shirt on before the pants. On Sunday, I wore 2 t-shirts, 2 hockey jerseys, a hoodie, 2 pairs of PJ pants, my cargo pants, and 3 pairs of socks (1 long, 2 regular length). But I put them on in this order:

1: regular socks
2: t-shirt
3: mesh hockey jersey
4: PJ pants
5: long socks
6: t-shirt
7: double-knit hockey jersey
8: PJ pants
9: regular socks
10: cargo pants
11: hoodie

And I wasn't cold. Just after half-time, some guy passing by scolded me: "Put on a hat, I'm getting cold just looking at you."

I smiled and smugly replied: "It's not that cold out." Because for me, it wasn't. Here endeth the lesson.

Back to the event.

Our response team has been a bit bored this season. We haven't had much to do, at least compared to '08. But as we discovered several times on Sunday, when you start noticing the absence of something, that's when it's presence will return, and return in force. Like when we noticed nobody was wearing a Wes Welker jersey. Our supervisor then said "Now we'll see a ton of them." And we instantly did, 8 at once, in fact. And then there was the guy with "Edelman (just for today)" duct-taped across the top of his Welker jersey.

There was a nice A-10 flyover, but all the flyovers this season have paled in comparison to Week 1's...

We started inside the bowl (inside the Stadium, not at a gate), and were busy early, almost as busy as the Ravens.

We were walking along and a woman approached me, declaring "You look like you know what you're doing, can you give us directions?" I do know what I'm doing because as she pulled her ticket out, I noticed something.

"Why does your beer have a cap on it? Is that glass?" She was cradling a 16 oz. glass bottle of Bud Light. She pulled it close and said "No, it's plastic."

"Yeah, no, give it here." She got a bit snarky after surrendering her bottle. I wanted to explain to her that we could've taken her tickets instead, and let her drink that Bud Light outside, but why try to logically explain something to someone who sneaks a 16 oz. bottle into a game, then with it in her arms, walks up to 3 security staff? Logic is helpless against this kind of ignorance.

There was a large group of Baltimore fans in 125/126, and we received reports of some lewd behavior after Baltimore's touchdowns. Normally, we're not on this side of the Stadium, but most everyone else was outside at the gates. Apparently, one Baltimore fan pulled his pants down and told some Patriot fans to "Suck it."

Shortly after that, we were walking by McDonalds in the South End Zone, when we saw the usher supervisor getting forcibly hassled by a patron. Interdiction time. What happened was one guy was drunk, and being dealt with by the supervisor, then his buddy tried to help him (there's always an overly helpful buddy that winds up hurting his friend more than helping him. Bit of advice: just sit back, let security and police handle a situation, then bail your buddy out). That ended with 3 people placed in protective custody by the police.

Just as the police left the area, we noticed a big guy standing by himself, with a messy tray of french fries, slobbishly slapping them in the general direction of his mouth. He was just staring at the jumbotron above the McDonalds as he struggled to feed his face. I walked up to him and asked if he was OK. No answer. I asked several times before he was even aware that someone was standing right next to him. When he did answer, it was a simple "I'm good."

He repeated that a few times. We asked if he was with anyone. He wasn't. He asked me if I felt good about myself. "Not really," I replied "We're down 21-0."

I asked for his ticket, and he eventually pulled it out. It was tucked inside a plastic sleeve on a lanyard around his neck. His license was in there as well, which made getting his information unbelievably convenient.

The whole time I'm talking to him, he's trying to win a staring contest with me. Now, this was a big guy, and maybe he's intimidated people in the past with this stare. But a drunken, glazed pair of eyes doesn't really irk me. It doesn't really do anything to me. I've played too much poker to backdown from a staring contest, so I just stared right back with my poker face. And my poker face isn't a stern, solemn expression, it's just a blank face with blank eyes. My poker face actually looks like I'm about to laugh at something.

Then he turned his stare to my supervisor. And it was a triple threat staring contest for a few minutes before the police arrived, took away his tray of soggy french fries, and accompanied him to the bowels of the Stadium.

Seconds after that, we spotted a guy struggling to remain vertical. He had a mustache and a silly blank look on his face, sort of like the mustachioed guy who dances at Bruins games.

I asked him if he was there with anyone. He said "Yeah... Mark." That incoherence was all I really needed to here. I then asked for his ticket. No response. Ask for ticket. No response. Ask for ticket. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out four $1 bills. Then the police arrived, and asked him to give me his ticket. He reached into the same pocket, and produced the same $1 bills. This process repeated itself 2 or 3 times. Finally, I yelled at him, "I don't want your one dollar bills, I'm not a stripper!"

Then the guy tossed the $1 bills at me, making it rain on my feet.

That was enough for the cops' patience. Another protective custody. A fan in the last row of the section adjacent to this yelled at me to pick up his money and give it back to him. Stunned, I turned to her and stated "He wanted to drop it on the ground, I'm not touching it." It's unbelievable that some buttinski wanted me to bend over and pick up his $4 that he spent in an effort to disrespect me.

A much nicer member of our team gave the money back to the man.

At this point, our boss came over with a call on the radio that response teams were going to have a very busy day. No shit.

A bit later in the day, there was another drunk big fella. This one had peed himself. That's all I really have to say about this guy.

We got some complaints about spit landing on the 100 level. I saw a loogie myself and didn't really know what it was until we heard the complaint. One of our team then spotted the spitter in the front row of the 300s. So we got a hold of the response team up there and the situation was dealt with.

Moments like that make me love this job. Someone was being a chump in our Stadium, ruining other people's days just for his own personal amusement, and now he's duly paying for that sadistic fun. I love aiding Lady Justice to deliver her comeuppances. In less poetic terms, I love helping people get what they deserve.

A few minutes after half-time, we do alcohol shutdown. What we do is ensure that the beer stands aren't selling, and that they've unscrewed their taps so they can't sell. We typically get a few gripes from people, but nothing too bad. And it's actually a fun routine.

It usually leaves our team scattered across the concourse, though. So me and one other guy were off on our own at one point. He spotted a potential drunk dude he'd noticed earlier. We watched this guy converse with his friend. He'd randomly take a half-step backward. What I call the drunken fallback shuffle. We waited until his conversation was finished. He turned around and essentially walked right into me.

We started talking, his speech was slurred. So we hailed the nearby police. I think it may have been the first time I've handled an ejection without a supervisor's help since my very first ejection, when I spotted a BC student at a football game with a beer and asked the EMTs to call over BC Police.

Well I guess with police there at this one and that one. I didn't technically handle it myself. But one of my bosses congratulated me on "Coming a long way" the last two seasons, and this was one of those instances where that was apparent. Two years ago, or even at the start of this season, I would've been on the radio begging for my supervisor's help. And this time, I just called it in. Our little baby's all growneds up and he's growneds up and he's growneds up.

During the 2nd half, we helped deal with a needlessly complicated series of events. It started with a woman being loudly obscene and obscenely loud and then involved more and more people for different reasons.

There was a trio of guys watching us deal with this profane woman. I asked them, in my best customer-service tone of voice, "Guys, let's keep it moving, alright."

"It's a free country," the Alpha of the group defiantly replied. I had to take him down a peg. I took a step toward him, and out came The Finger.

When I get pissed, I talk with my finger pointed at who I'm talking to. When my finger comes out, it's like the opposite of a dog wagging its tail. I'm like an agitated cat with its hair standing on end. I can't help it, I don't even realize i'm doing it until after.

With my finger firmly erect, "Well this is private property, sir. And I'm asking you to move along."

It was backdown time. I'd essentially told him that he could stay and have more words with me, or he could go. He wisely decided that watching some drunk woman blather on and on wasn't worth the drama. But as expected, he walked away with a 'tude.

"Alright, we're leaving."

"Thank you, sir." (lower finger)

With ample sarcasm, the guy got his little jibe in: "You're a wonderful human being."

"Thank you, I try."

I don't act like a jerk to people, and I pride myself on my patience and tolerance of stupidity. But I also know from experience that the fewer people that are close to a situation, the better. The fewer people making eye contact in a situation, the better. I can imagine that Staring Contest drunk, and what he'd do if there were 3 guys watching us deal with him. He would've gone cross-eyed.

I don't usually challenge people the way I challenged this guy, especially over the little thing he and his buddies were doing. But sometimes challenging someone is the best course of action, which is one of the many things I've learned this season.

The day and season ended with a big loss, and that sucked. But this season was the most enjoyable to work. We had lots of fun, tossed out a lot of drunks, and helped lots of people enjoy their events.

And reflecting on myself, I've learned tremendously from the people I work with. I've learned when and how to use assertiveness and aggression in this job and outside of work. I've learned the value of controlling a situation. I've learned how to control a situation. I've learned how to instruct people better. I've learned to trust my instinct. And I've learned how best to get what I want done.

And don't fret, there shall soon be some more Episodes to this series, probably shorter, or maybe collections of random stories. And concert season isn't that far off.

Episode 26: Hermione and the Harvard Hounders

2009-12-30T15:30:00.001-05:00

So shortly after working the U2 shows, something rare happened: I worked an event at Harvard. I'd only worked one other event at Harvard in my TeamOps career, and that was a football game against Cornell. Ever heard of it?

I'll get to Emma Watson, a.k.a. Hermione from Harry Potter near the end of the post. I won't tease you, she was at the game as she is a student at Brown, and I did see her.

I have nothing against Harvard, I'd just rather work events at BC, which is a shorter and easier drive for me. Plus Duke never plays basketball at Harvard, Notre Dame never plays football there, and BU only rarely plays them in hockey. In other words, BC usually has much bigger events.

Harvard Stadium turned 106 years old this season. But it just recently added lights, and hosted its first night game in 2007. Since then, Harvard's opened its home season with a night game, this year hosting Brown.

Harvard Stadium at night is like some place that Scooby and the gang would go to in search of a group of zombies or something. The paranoid dweebs on Ghost Hunters would have a field day in there.

As I said, Harvard events are typically much lower key. Except this one. Which was one of the reasons I wanted to work it. Give a bunch of college students, even Ivy League college students, a Friday night football game, and there will be (high) blood (alcohol).

Now Harvard, similar to most events at BC, is much less security oriented, and more focused on customer service. The crowds are smaller, older, and much more self-controlled. Except when it's a Friday night and 17,000+ show up (the typical Harvard football game draws 7,000 or so).

At Gillette Stadium, I'm on a response team. There are no response teams at Harvard. There's no need for response teams at Harvard. But this Friday night, I was working for my normal roam team supervisor, as an usher.

I haven't ushered since June 6, 2008. That was when Brazil played Venezuela at Gillette.

I don't mind ushering, it can just be monotonous most of the time, and frustrating some of the time. 99% of the time, nothing unusual happens. And the 1% when the shit hits the fan, you've often got to call someone else to solve the problem.

That Brazil/Venezuela game, I wound up working in several sections, solving problems by myself. I never called my supervisor despite the occasional shenanigans I encountered. And that's when I decided to give the response teams a try.

Back to Harvard/Brown. I was an usher, but for the first half, my supervisor and myself became an ad-hoc response team.

I was officially an usher between sections 27 and 28. There are 37 sections in Harvard Stadium, and I found myself doing something in 18 of them at one time or another.

I cleared out kids from the upper seats from sections 20 to 31. I assisted other ushers with problems in sections 19-24. I gave ushers breaks in sections 25 and 26. And we made our presence well-known on the Brown side of the Stadium.

While ushering in 27/28, one poor dumb, inebriated Brown student stumbled through my section on the Harvard side. Lost, both in location and state of mind. He was handed off to the police.

After half-time, things in the Stadium had settled down. The alcohol had been discovered (or drank), and the hectic fray of the 1st half slowed into a nice relaxing melody. Which was fine with me, because the game turned into a real classic I-AA game, with Harvard turning a 14-10 halftime deficit into a 24-21 victory.

But there was one interesting moment for me before kickoff. That Hermione thing mentioned in the title and teased in the opening paragraphs of this meandering, wandering, listless stream of consciousness.

I was just walking down from my chute, on my way to toss out some gum. A flock of Brown students were noisily advancing through the concourse, making their way to their side of the Stadium. I hardly paid them any attention, apart from the normal scan-for-beers-in-their-pockets I always do (I do this 24/7 now, particularly at Bruins games, it's become habitual, even pathological. I can't stop giving ocular pat-downs).

After tossing out my gum and starting a new piece, a Brown student at the tail end of the flock approached me. "Yo what's up man?"

I rolled my eyes, and uninterested I responded: "Nothing."

"You know who Emma Watson is?"

"Yeah," I answered, suddenly remembering that she goes to Brown.

"That's her right up there, how cool is that?"

Lo and behold, there she was. She blended in with her fellow students so well, that had this overly excited wannabe frat boy hadn't been so thrilled to impress me, I wouldn't have noticed.

"Yeah, that's cool," I told to him, then went back to ushering.

No offense to Miss Watson, but seeing celebrities isn't too thrilling. Maybe my close encounter of the third kind with Tom Cruise 5 days earlier made celebrity sighting a been-there-done-that kind of thing for me. But I also remember that guarding Tom Cruise wasn't a big deal, and I was far from star-struck until he started talking to me. Then I malfunctioned.

So seeing Emma Watson walking by me was less than exhilarating.

But days after the event was over, I heard rumblings and rumors about things that happened to Emma at the game.

Excerpt from a post on LovelyEmmaWatson.com, which apparently from the title of their site, have never heard of that conversation between the black pot and black kettle, or at least ignored it. A site called "LoveleyEmmaWatson.com" criticizing others for obsessing over celebrity?

Emma Watson's hopes of being just another Ivy League student have been shattered. The "Harry Potter" star was stalked by Harvard students... Writers for the Harvard Voice who were Tweeting live from the game posted that they'd be "possibly stalking. Emma Watson, so keep your eyes peeled for that." And that they did, searching for the 19-year-old British actress... Tweets that followed read, ""Let's go Hermione! Lolz;" "In enemy territory. Lookin for a certain witch;" and "WATSON FOUND. I repeat WATSON FOUND."

The actress reportedly appeared shaken and had to be protected by security guards. Watson wanted nothing more than to fit in among her classmates, holding off on revealing where she would attend school until the last minute. She has even said, "I do hope that it will be only a short time before I am known as ‘Emma Watson, the student from the UK,' rather than ‘Emma Watson who starred in those Harry Potter films.'"

The Harvard Voice did deny "stalking" her, and did claim that the intensity of those Tweets were purposefully exaggerated. Nevertheless, they did go out of their way, at a football game, to find one particular fan among 17,000+.

To me, that constitutes stalking. Light and harmless stalking, but stalking nonetheless. But I'm not judging. To be honest, I don't care too much. Except, it was at an event that I was working.

There's a possessiveness I have about events. It's my event (in part), and I don't like my events going astray. If Miss Watson was being hounded/harassed, I wish we'd known about it. I know that we could have discouraged some/most/all of it and let her enjoy the football game just like the other 17,000 folks there. And I have Mr. Tom Cruise who can vouch for our skills in handling celebrities in crowds.

Game Photo Credit:
Dave Silverman/Harvard

Episode 25: Riding the Cruise Ship

2009-11-30T11:00:00.001-05:00

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

2009-11-10T12:03:00.001-05:00

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

2009-11-10T12:02:00.000-05:00

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)

2009-11-10T12:00:00.000-05:00

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

2009-11-10T11:54:00.000-05:00

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

2009-11-10T11:52:00.000-05:00

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

2009-11-10T11:50:00.001-05:00

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

2009-11-10T11:45:00.000-05:00

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?

2009-11-10T10:00:00.000-05:00

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.

Episode 16: Saturday Night Is Fight Night

2009-11-04T11:40:00.000-05:00

This episode is the end of my Niche Phase working events for TeamOps. I've had my regular spot for most of the football season. I miss half the game and don't care (I tape them to watch later). I have the routine stuff down, but still sort of struggle with the unanticipated happenings.

Re-reading this episode, there's two kids I would've ejected about 3 times if they'd crossed my path now. Some people are just trouble. I hate kicking people out for small shit, but when certain individuals break small rules, you can't let them get away with it, because it only makes them more brazen, and given enough time they'll push it to the limit.

I also see in these writings an underlying desire to solve problems instead of just spotting them. When that desire finally became realized, it marked the end of my Niche Phase and the beginning of the Roam Team Era.

This was originally written January 18, 2008.

Not surprisingly, the Patriots were given the Saturday night slot for their AFC Divisional Playoff game. Night games mean drunkenness. Drunkenness means rowdiness. And Saturday night was no exception.

It was in the mid 30s, so standing around during pre-game warm-ups was a bit chilly. Then they put the Green Bay game on the jumbotron. Watching the Seahawks and Packers slip and slide in the snow warmed me up. I felt pity for those poor S.O.B.s that were doing my job at Lambeau Field.

About 90 minutes before kickoff, Donald Trump’s helicopter made a Donald Trump style entrance into the Stadium’s airspace, buzzing right over the south end zone, back behind the jumbotron and onto the practice field.

The first quarter was relatively uneventful. We had people patrolling the Red Line, keeping the standing room people (SROs) at bay. The fans were all jovial and calm. But there were two people on my ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) platform who were causing some trouble.

Sometimes people who aren’t disabled have tickets to the ADA platform. They usually buy them on eBay. I had two guys, early 20s, who were giving me a headache. They just wouldn’t sit down. They blocked the view of the standing room people, who were behaving nicely until agitated by these two punks.

So the SROs would yell at the two guys. And the guys, being douchebags, would yell back. It was antagonistic stuff like “I bet you wish you had these seats.”

Technically, they could stand if they wanted to, but there wasn’t any reason for them to do so. The ADA platform is sufficiently elevated so that even if people in the last row of regular seats are standing, you can still see the field. After all, it was designed for people in wheelchairs. So I told the guys that it would help me out a great deal if they sat down.

A few minutes later, I glanced over at them, and spotted one drinking from a Busch Light can. Well we don’t sell Busch Light. And we don’t sell cans of anything. So I took the can from him and threw it out. I did this in full view of the SROs to make them smile a little bit. Eventually, the two punks would lose their buzz, and their energy, settling in for the rest of the game. Or so we thought.

A patron ran up to me and informed me of a man passed out on the concrete. So I ran over to investigate, paging my supervisor at the same time. The cops arrived just as I did, hauling the man up to his feet. He was stinking drunk. God knows how he even made it through the gates.

But at the same time, there was another man on the ground, two sections down from me. That was a much more serious situation. He had taken a punch to the nose, and slammed his head on the concrete, cracking his skull. Thankfully, my friend was working over there, and she’s seen it all, so she calmly kept the area clear for the EMTs and the police. Last I heard, the man was in a coma. From all the blood that was pooling, he’s lucky to be alive.

After that, everything just seemed trivial and extra stupid. Every near fight and scuffle seemed extra moronic to me. Fighting is necessary once and awhile, but not over the meaningless crap people fight about at a football game.

I got put on break, but I didn’t really trust my replacement. He just seemed, I don’t know, off. He kept asking about the little pager device we wear around our necks. He really really wanted it, the way a 2 year old really really wants that shiny dangly thing around his mother‘s neck. So I took the fastest break I’ve ever taken at Gillette. I left with 7:00 on the 2nd quarter clock, and came back with 0:09 left before half-time. I spent more time walking to and from break then actually being on break. I didn’t even sit down to eat my sandwich.

In the 3rd quarter, I got in between two guys who were ready to go at it. See, The Red Line that SROs have to stay behind juts out at the aisle. Even though the line continues across, people aren’t allowed to block the aisle. This causes a great deal of philosophical arguments. Even though there is a Red Line, behind which SROs are allowed to stand, the Red Line jutting out doesn’t really exist. This crudely drawn picture illustrates the problem:

I’m always amazed at the general stupidity of people. They see a patch where nobody is standing right in the middle of two packs of people bunched together. Instead of thinking “Since no one else is standing there, I probably can’t stand there,” people think “Wow! A place to stand!”

So this ticket holder navigates through a group of guys who thought they could stand in the way of the aisle. At the same time, I tell these guys to keep a path clear. This brings the tired old argument “I’m just trying to watch the game.” But the ticket holder has to have the last word in. He barks at one of the guys, telling him to move.

Now we enter the next level of stupidity: the Whose is Bigger level. The two start yelling at each other. I get in between them, telling the ticket holder to move along, and the guys blocking him to move aside. But the ticket holder was in the wrong section, so a few seconds later he tries to exit the aisle, but is once again blocked. This induces the high school shoulder bump as he passes the blocking guy. Now all hell is about to break lose, but I calm the blocker down and basically say that if he does anything or says anything more, he’s gone.

With 4 minutes left in the 4th, the two able bodied guys in my ADA section decide to once again stand. They had previously run out of gas, one of them even fell asleep in his chair. But with the game entering its decisive stage, they were back to being inconsiderate pricks.

So as these two guys are standing, the people behind them yell for them to sit. Then one of the guys takes a stroll over to an SRO, guy about the same age. At the same time, one of the girls working my section is standing next to them. The ADA guy extends his arm for a handshake. The SRO extends his. But the ADA guy tries a feeble Chuck Norris wannabe move, grabbing the standing room fan by the elbow. The girl next to them tries to break it up, but she only weighs about 110 pounds or so.

I see these shenanigans out of the corner of my eye, leap around a chair, and pull the offending ADA kid off the standing room guy. By doing so, the ADA kid had left himself open for a left, and I wanted so badly to deliver it and knock him out. But we can’t do that. I holler at my supervisor to come over and made the guy sit down in his chair. The police came, escorting him and his friend out of the Stadium. It was a real shame, too. They had acted like jerks all game, and were only 4 minutes away from completely getting away with it.

A few weeks ago, I got to work the Kansas/Boston College game. I found out a few things. Kansas is ridiculously good, and made BC look like a junior high intramural team. BC is nowhere near as good as last year. And Kansas has a lot more fans than you’d think. This was the first sellout of the season for BC basketball, about 8,500 people were there. And about 3,000 of them were chanting “Rock Chalk, Jayhawk, KU” at the end of the game.

Miami came to town the other night, and I got to work in the lobby connecting the visitor’s locker room to the court. It was actually pretty cool. I got to yell at the media and BC people to stop so the team could run through. I saw a little bit of the game. I got to hear the Miami coach berate his players at half-time and after the game. It isn’t a post I’d want every game, but it was still cool.

This weekend is pretty big for ushering. BC hosts BU in hockey on Saturday night. A few thousand liquored up college kids fresh off break should prove an interesting task to handle.

Then of course, there’s Sunday afternoon. The forecast has been fluctuating from 16 to 25 degrees at kickoff, with somewhere between a 10-30% chance of snow. The one thing that is certain is that the wind will be around 22 MPH. So that should be fun to deal with. Then again, I could be an usher in Wisconsin.

And even though it’s the playoffs, and the Pats are 17-0, I’m still a little sad. There aren’t any more holidays left in football season. Halloween was awesome, and Christmas was also nice.

Ushering Stats:
Events: 40
Ejections: 3
Uncomfortably hit on/fondled: 12
Times I’ve Heard “Shipping Up to Boston”: ∞

Episode 15: Fifteen and Ho Ho Ho

2009-11-03T12:12:00.000-05:00

These are starting to get boring to me, and I can see why I switched positions from ushering to roam team. This was originally written on December 28, 2007.

Sunday was the last home game of the regular season for the Pats, and almost everyone in attendance had another victory atop their Christmas list.

In events I’ve worked, the home team has almost always won. In fact, the home team has lost a mere four games that I’ve been ushering.

For only the second time this season, I was relegated to taking tickets. But it isn’t all that bad. You’re giving people what they want (entry into the Stadium) so they’re extremely pleasant. And after last week’s snowy mess, any job would seem fun and easy.

Let me just talk about the weather for a second. It was in the high 40’s when I got to Gillette. Although rain was in the forecast, it held off for most of the game. There was minimal wind, and the temperature stayed above 45 all night. It was truly glorious.

Back to ticket taking. It was fairly uneventful. I made sure to mix up my greetings. “Enjoy the game,” “Happy Holidays,” “Welcome to Gillette Stadium.” Some fans would say “Merry Christmas” to me, and I’d say it back, but I didn’t initiate any greetings with an allusion to that specific holiday. I didn’t want to leave anybody out. At the BC game the day before, I said “Merry Christmas,” but that’s because BC is a Catholic school. I’ve obviously thought to much about this.

There were a few people dressed in Santa costumes. I said “Merry Christmas” to one of them and he replied: “I’m Jewish” then laughed heartily.

By the time we got sent to the break room, it was 14-0 Patriots. After finishing my meal, it was 28-0 Patriots, and nearly half-time. It appeared as though another blowout was in store for us.

I saw a supervisor that works the parking lot (her husband is also my regular supervisor) and asked her how things were going out there. She told me there was a “major incident” but left out details. I didn’t find out until Monday that some drunk idiot jumped off a pedestrian overpass and tried to land in a snow bank. He missed. He was med-flighted out, but he‘s okay.

The Event Manager sent me to my regular spot in the North End Zone, along with four other redeploys. I got there just as half-time began. That’s when things got interesting.

On his way up the aisle, a man fell head first onto the stairs. My supervisor went down to check on him. He also called the EMTs. With the concourses clogged with fans getting food, beer, and hitting the bathroom; it took some time for the paramedics to get there. Meanwhile, about a dozen event staffers (orange jackets) showed up to block the aisle and keep a path clear.

As people tried returning to their seats, they met a wall of orange, and me in my green jacket yelling “There’s a medical emergency, you can go to your seats through another aisle, but we need to keep a path clear!” Most people understood and waited patiently, but some were restless. "But my seats are right there!" was a common plea.

Finally, the EMTs showed up. The fallen fan was hauled up the stairs, put on a stretcher, and brought out. He was showered with boos, but trust me, he deserved them.

When he got back to the first aid room, he popped up off the stretcher, good as new. He demanded to return to his section. But he was obviously tanked, so my supervisor gave him the choice of leaving the Stadium on his own, or leaving with the police. Once the words “sobriety” and “test” entered the conversation, he left on his own.
The second half of the game was dull, on the field and off. I had missed all the scoring Brady and the Pats would do, and had also missed the Red Sox pregame ceremony.

This girl working about 5 sections down from me was working her first game. She told me afterwards that she had a little chat with a blue wig wearing fan by the name of Jonathan Papelbon. I was insanely jealous. I’ve heard stories in this job of people meeting Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce, Ray Allen, Bill Belichick, Robert Kraft, Tom Brady, Gisele Bundchen, David Ortiz, Doc Rivers, Terry Francona, Curt Schilling, and so on. I’ve been working for 5 months and all I’ve met was Al Skinner, Jamie Silva, and Dan Reeves. But I did see undrafted rookie cornerback Tim Mixon at the Emerald Square Mall a few days ago. Does that make up for it?

The only entertainment in the second half was a drunk man clamoring for us to allow him into the section to find his make believe jacket, which was resting on a seat that didn’t exist.

After the game ended, I had my “encounter” with Dan Reeves. We were walking from our post, back to the break room to check out. One of my bosses ordered us to follow Dan Reeves from the press box area to the media elevator. Neither he nor his two associates acknowledged our presence, nor did they slow down to allow us to catch up to them. It was a C level encounter with a B level sports celebrity. But hey, it was still Dan friggin’ Reeves.

The employee lot was ensconced in ice, and once we left the confines of the Stadium, the heavens opened. Rain fell in sheets, and the once brisk 15 minute walk to Spooky World became a 40 minute expedition. But dryness, a place to sit, and beer awaited us.

We stopped at the McDonald’s up the road from Gillette. There’s always drunk Pats fans there, and this evening was no exception. A man in a Tedy Bruschi jersey in front of us ordered his food, and waited to the side. He got bored and started singing “I’m a Soul Man,” then lifted his jersey to reveal a Bob Marley t-shirt, as if that supported his claim.

Apart from the medical “emergency,” it was a simple day. It’s about two more weeks until the Patriots play at home again. But I’m excited for next weekend. Kansas is coming to the Conte Forum to play BC.

I hope everyone is having a happy holiday season, and will have a happy new year!

Ushering stats:
Events worked: 34
Ejections: 1
Ejection threats: 50
Uncomfortably hit on/fondled: 9
Times I’ve Heard “Shipping Up to Boston”: ∞

Episode 14: Snowballs Keep Falling on my Head

2009-10-28T15:10:00.000-04:00

This piece is about the 2007 meeting between the Patriots and Jets. It was my most anticipated game of the season, as it was the first post-SpyGate Jet visit to Gillette, and would be my first time doing a Jets game. The weather for this one was horrendous.

I'm into my Niche Phase here, with a regular spot and a regular job. But I'm also starting to get more and more frustrated. As an usher, you handle small problems, but you never get to deal with larger problems. You call your supervisor. And that becomes frustrating after awhile. Eventually, this frustration would combine with boredom and routine to result in my changing my role with TeamOps.

For every cool part of this job, there's a shitty part. In general, working this event was one of the shitty parts. This was originally written December 19, 2007.

The story of the day was the weather. For all of you who envy my job as an usher, this was one of those days which you might not be so eager to work. And you wouldn’t be alone.

I went to bed at 3 AM Saturday night (Sunday morning, really), and the snow hadn’t started falling. When I woke up at 5, there was 4 inches on the ground. By the time I left my house at 6, there was 6 inches.

Route 1 was unplowed, but the 6 mile trek to Gillette wasn’t so bad. Nobody else was on the roads, and four winters of driving the back roads of upstate New York have turned me into the Jimmie Johnson of snow driving. I got to the Stadium at 6:30, took a 30 minute nap in my car, then went in to work.

The timing of the snow was perfect for creating a mess. It hadn’t started early enough for Stadium workers to really get on top of it. By the time people got there, every row and aisle was buried in 8 inches of powder. Not surprisingly, the crews cleared the premium club seating first, even though most club members would stay inside their heated lounges for the duration of the game.

My post was in the corner of the North End Zone, underneath the upper deck, so I was able to stay relatively dry.

A tarp covered the field, and as plows labored to remove the snow sitting on it, something unexpected happened in the concourse. Several Jets players ran by. With the field covered, they warmed up by running laps around the Stadium. As a fan, it was difficult not to blast them with obscenities. We’re not even supposed to talk to players, let alone verbally harass them. But I was able to contain my fanaticism.

At around 11, the snow turned into freezing rain. Tiny specks of ice bounced off the seats and aisles. When driven by the 30 MPH wind, these grains of frozen water turned into a sandstorm, pelting my face until it turned red. But this is New England. This is the weather the Patriots are supposed to thrive in.

Before the game, someone tried to bribe me. He handed me his ticket, wrapped in a $20 bill. At first I thought this was a mistake and said “I’ll take the money.”

But when he said “Thank you.” I knew something was up. I looked at the ticket and it said “Section 324.”

I was tempted to take the money. There’d be a lot of empty seats anyway. But all it would take for me to get in trouble would be one complaint about someone’s seat being occupied when they arrived, or one person seeing me take the $20.

Despite the weather, and the snow in their seats, people were still in a very good mood. I didn’t see Eugene Wilson’s interception and touchdown, but I knew what had happened based on the noises generated by the crowd. There was the low drone that precedes a defensive play, a high pitched rise in everyone’s voices as Seymour hit Clemens, a sharp blast of noise when Wilson picked it and ran it in, then the sustained music of jubilation and celebration.

After the touchdown, the snow flew. Playfully, everyone threw bits of snow into the air, reminiscent of the impromptu celebration that occurred when Tedy Bruschi returned a pick for 6 against Miami in 2003. But the launching of snow would soon prove troublesome.

The game itself turned into a dull grind of incomplete passes and punts. Special teams play provided the most excitement, with the Jets returning a blocked punt for a touchdown, and Kelley Washington blocking a punt to set up a Laurence Maroney score.

But the tedium was isolated to the field. When fans had nothing to celebrate, they got rid of their snow by rolling it into icy balls and indiscriminately chucking it.

Two men in my section approached me and complained that they had been hit with snowballs from the 200 level. Both men were irate, screaming at me to do something about it. I beeped my supervisor, but knew there was little we could do.

Both drunk men threatened to “Go up there and do something about it” themselves. That’s the last thing I wanted, and the dumbest thing they could do. I had to physically restrain one of them from going up to the 200s. The other one fell into line when both my supervisor and I yelled right back at his face.

Our only backup was a lone Foxborough Police officer.

So my supervisor and I became the roam team. We went up to section 240, which was a mess. The trampled and uneven piles of snow had been glazed by the freezing rain into uneven moguls of slickness. I couldn’t even stand up there, let alone run after the guy we saw throwing a snowball.

My supervisor convinced the guy to come downstairs with us. He was somewhat sober, relatively calm, and explained that he wasn’t aiming at anybody, he was just throwing snow - like everyone else. He said he’d stop, and we let him go. For his sake, he better have stopped, because the surveillance cameras were focused heavily on that section. We’d eventually eject 4 people from 240 for throwing snowballs.

During half-time, more and more people started complaining about snow throwing. One woman had red abrasions on her cheek where she was struck. About a dozen people came up to me to say that they had been hit with snowballs. Another dozen people came up to me and said the guy complaining had a reputation for being a jerk. Another group of people tried to convince me that he “Never gets this mad, so something must be wrong.”

One snowball that reached the field struck a cheerleader in the shoulder, nearly knocking her over. That’s when it became personal. Nobody messes with my TV timeout distractions. Even if they were wearing vests.

The third quarter began, and the whining only intensified. I felt bad for the fans in my section, but there was really nothing I nor my supervisor could do. EVERYBODY in the Stadium was throwing snowballs. And even though they were somewhat icy, they were still merely balls of frozen water. They weren’t throwing batteries, bottles, rocks, horseshoes, knives, ninja stars, grenades, or anything truly serious.

At one point there was a cacophonic maelstrom of people yelling at my supervisor and I. People complaining about the snowballs. Others complaining about the complainers. Guys wanting to fight people. People asking where the standing room section was.

“Where is section 143,” “Where’s the bathroom?,” and all the questions we get asked all poured on us at once. My supervisor yelled at everyone to “Back off!” And they did.

I had to go down into the section and stop a near fight between a complainer and a thrower. The complainer wasn’t thinking things through. By standing in the aisle and yelling at people, he was making himself a target.

I had beeped my supervisor and the police so many times that an Event Manager came over with the cop. Event Managers are like the Generals of our operation. They’re not in charge of everything, but they’re in charge of you.

The Manager’s first question to me was about the standing room people in my section, and whether or not two guys had tickets for the ADA section. I wanted to scream and say something like “I’ve had a couple hundred people yell and bitch at me for hours, it’s the third quarter and I haven’t had my break yet, I’m cold, I was one of the few people who made the effort to show up today, and you’re asking me about my goddammed ADA section?” But I didn’t.

The Manager went down into the section with the cop. After a few minutes, they came back up. He told me that if the troublemaking complainer lodged one more complaint, I was to call my supervisor and he was to be ejected. I asked the cop how it went down there. He laughed and said “Sucks to be you, buddy.”

Finally, they made an announcement over the PA system ordering fans to stop throwing snowballs, otherwise the game would be halted. The snow throwing essentially stopped. There was one incident later in the game that resulted in a delay, but nothing serious.

Near the end of the game, the snow throwing once again picked up. I dropped down to the bottom of my section at the 2 minute warning. As I crouched on the bottom step, trying to keep my balance on the uneven mounds of ice, a snowball clocked me right in the kisser. I stood up, and like a substitute teacher yelled out “Who did that?” Of course, no one admitted to it, nor did anyone squeal.

Speaking of squealers, in the first row of the section next to mine was a man dressed as a rat in honor of Eric Mangini. It was actually a good day to be wearing a giant furry costume like that.

When the game ended, a torrent of snowballs rained down on the field, the crowd, and myself. But there were very few balls actually thrown, just bits and pieces of snow flying around, drenching everything and everyone.

The parking lot was a slushy quagmire. I got more saturated from the walk to my car than I did from 8 hours of work. After 90 minutes of driving, I was back home, all dry and warm. I checked the forecast for Sunday’s 4:15 game against Miami. 40 degrees and cloudy. Sounds like beach weather to me.

Episode 13: Just the Pats and Steelers

2009-10-27T14:45:00.000-04:00

This was the heart of what I call my "Niche Phase" working for TeamOps. I've got a regular spot at Patriot games, as well as BC Hockey. I know the routines and procedures. Re-reading these pieces from when I started in my "Awestruck Phase" to this phase, I can also detect many differences in my writing.

A good example of this is the use of people's names in the piece. I'm also telling about the random and unexpected stories that occur at an event. I'm not longer describing the nuts and bolts operational side of things, I'm focusing on the colorful happenings.

I changed the pictures in this piece so they could fit into the blog here. I also added the video of the Brady-Moss-Gaffney play. This was originally written on December 14, 2007.

Evening (4:15 PM) games are my favorite to work. It’s not too early, it’s not too late. It’s dark, but people don’t have all day to drink. I get home at a reasonable hour, but I don’t have to get up at an unreasonable one.

Once again, I was stationed in the North End Zone (the one on your left on TV), behind section 142, on the ADA (American with Disabilities Act) platform. Great view of the field, the jumbotron, and the cheerleaders.

One of the many things I never really thought about before getting this job was all the stuff that happens in the sky during an event. The airspace around the Stadium is restricted on game day. This is a security precaution and a logistical matter. There are too many aircraft around the venue to allow unauthorized planes to enter. There are airplanes dragging advertisements, blimps, State Police choppers, Mister Kraft’s helicopter, our helicopter patrolling the parking lots, military flyovers, and so on.

On Sunday, an unauthorized and unwelcome plane invaded the skies above Gillette Stadium. Well, it might have been authorized, but it certainly wasn’t welcome. It towed a sign that read “Barry Bonds: 756* Bill Belichick: 3 Super Bowl Rings*.” It did 8 or 10 laps around Gillette before disappearing, probably forced to leave for an unapproved sign, or maybe even shot down by SAMs. You never know with the Patriots.

I don’t care what your opinion is on SpyGate, Barry Bonds, or any combination of the two. You don’t fly that crap over our Stadium. Ironically, there were probably a couple dozen surveillance cameras watching that plane as it circled the area.

Back to the game. There were slightly fewer Steeler fans at this contest than there were Eagle fans a few weeks ago. However, they still made their presence felt. Thanks to the Terrible Towels that they brought, it was easy to spot them throughout the Stadium. Nevertheless, it was mostly Patriot fans who caused problems.

I went on break in the middle of the second quarter. On my way to our break room, I saw my friend Joe and a few other TeamOps event staffers (orange jackets, more security oriented) standing in a semi-circle around something. Behind them were three cops kneeling on a guy as they cuffed him. The dude being arrested was face down on the concrete, a cops knees on the back of his neck. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

My buddy Mike was working the section next to mine, and four Patriot fans had been acting up. They yelled drunken obscenities, threw stuff, and were overly intoxicated. Another fan told Mike that this quartet of punks were planning on hitting him, so that was the last straw. Three of them were willing to be peacefully escorted out, but one of them decided to be a tough guy. He punched a cop. To quote Good Will Hunting : “You hit a cop, you’re going in.” The guy could have just left the Stadium and drank in the parking lot all night. Instead, he went to Norfolk County Lockup.

My section was calmer than Mike’s. The problems I dealt with were more stupid and silly than violent. There were two drunk guys who claimed that someone was in their seats. I walked to the seats with them and they were empty. One of the beer vendors approached me with a slip of paper that appeared to be a temporary Rhode Island license. He then asked me if he should serve the guy. How the hell should I know that? And of course, there were dozens of people asking where they could stand with standing room tickets.

Standing room people really piss me off. Most of them are okay, and some are fun to interact with during the games. However, they think that having an SRO ticket entitles them to something more than just entry into the Stadium. I had a man in a wheelchair and his wife enter my ADA section, and the SRO people behind them were screaming at the woman to sit down, even though they had just arrived. I summoned the meanest “STFU” glare I could at them and they piped down.

The Red Line (everyone must stand BEHIND the red lines around the Stadium) is seriously abused in the end zones because of the hordes of SROs. I’m very strict about enforcing the Line, because if you give these clowns an inch, they’ll take a mile. By the end of the game, they were calling me “The Red Line Gestapo.” I wanted to have some fun with that and start yelling in German. “Sie ziehen hinter die rote Linie um!” But I didn’t.

Being at the Stadium is so much better than watching the game at home (obviously). What I mean is, actually being there allows you to see things before they happen. On TV, the camera is aimed at the quarterback and the area around him. You can’t see downfield. But being there, you can see everything. On the busted double lateral pass trick play (it’s called “Raven”), once Moss threw back to Brady, the entire crowd could see what was about to happen. They saw Brady with space, and Gaffney about 10 steps ahead of Anthony Smith. The sound made by the crowd was like 70,000 people sharply inhaling in unison. Then the place exploded as Gaffney hauled it in.

But the best part of the game wasn’t the trick play, or the goal line stand, or Brady’s 4 touchdowns. It came late in the 4th quarter, when the game was in hand. A chant arose from the south end zone, and spread along the east and west sidelines. I don’t know if it was heard on TV that well. It was done to the beat of the “M-V-P” chant. But the fans were saying “GUAR-AN-TEE!” It gave me goose bumps. Then they put Anthony Smith on the jumbotron in between plays. It was the second best moment at Gillette this year, behind Belichick’s first pre-game introduction after SpyGate.

Thankfully, the Patriots won and won convincingly. I’m not just saying that because I’m a fan. As this winning streak progresses, any loss would be catastrophic, especially for Stadium security (and even worse for parking lot security). And blowouts are great because people leave early.

Last Friday, I worked the premier Boston College hockey game of the season: the BU game. It was lively, but still not nearly as intense as Alfond Arena in Maine or Lynah Rink at Cornell. But the Conte Forum still overflows with drunk students for the BU game. They fill the sections behind the nets and all of the upper level of the arena. But it was fairly obvious that for most of these students, this would be their first and last game of the year.

You have to be smart to get into Boston College. But apparently, you don’t have to be so smart if you want to run a BC sporting event. Someone decided it would be a neat idea to put those little towels fans wave on all of the student seats. In the 2nd period, the crowd realized that these rags could be tied into a ball and used as a projectile. Thankfully, they were just towels. Nevertheless, it’s not good to have fans throwing stuff around.

I had one interesting situation. I was on the top floor of the rink, making sure people didn’t wander into the press area. A very drunk BC fan was walking around the section, singing the theme song to Team America. He took a seat behind some of his buddies, and passed out. I called my supervisor, and we watched him dream his drunk dreams for a bit before his friends woke him up. There were only 3 minutes left in the game, and he wasn’t causing any problems, so we didn’t do anything.

Wednesday night I worked the BC/UMass basketball game. Stupidly enough it was scheduled for 9 PM right in the middle of finals week. I was at the gate the entire time, so I missed the 83-80 seesaw Umass win, BUT, the cheerleaders and dance team all warmed up in the gym adjacent to the gate. It was nice.

Speaking of cheerleaders, here’s a gratuitous pic:

Next event: Jets vs. Patriots in a Nor’Easter. Could get weird.

Ushering Statistics:
Events worked: 31
Ejections: 1
Ejection Threats: 35
Uncomfortably hit on/fondled: 8
Times I’ve Heard “Shipping Up to Boston”: 110

Episode 12: Eagles to the Left of Me, Eagles to the Right

2009-10-26T12:30:00.000-04:00

The BC football season ends with this post, or at least their home games did. This is also right about when I got my regular spot at Patriot games. After being sort of a utility infielder of the North End Zone, I became the 'full-time' usher at the 142 ADA platform. It was really fun going into Gillette knowing where you'll be (or eventually end up).

Writing-wise, I continue to include dialog, and create better scenes. The thrill of the event has waned, so my focus during an event, and consequently my writing about an event, has shifted to people. Not just myself, but to the unexpected characters and unexpected situations of an event.

This was originally written November 27, 2007

This previous week was a busy one for me. I worked four events in five days. Last Wednesday, Rhode Island nearly beat Boston College in basketball. Friday night, Northeastern beat BC hockey 4-3 in overtime, Miami lost in football to the Eagles, and the Philadelphia Eagles visited Gillette Stadium. I’m gonna start with the Patriots game and work my way backwards.

Before the season started, this game jumped off the schedule. Night games are always difficult to work, but the fact that this would be a holiday weekend, and a few thousand Philly fans would be in the house, made this game special.

Because of Thanksgiving, we were slightly understaffed. For a Sunday night game, the bosses would ideally deploy around 1,200 people. Last night, we had approximately 900. But we had backup. The police, as always, were there in force. And for the first time, they were authorized to use tasers in out of control situations. Our supervisors warned us that the police would repeat the word “taser” before using them so that we could get out of the way. If you’re at Gillette, and you hear a cop say “taser” over and over, run.

Although we were lacking in number, the Eagles fans were not. Judging by what I saw throughout the Stadium, and what I heard in terms of crowd reaction to plays; I’d estimate that of the 70,000 in attendance, 4,000 to 6,000 were Eagles fans. Without a doubt, this was the highest number of visiting fans we’ve had at Gillette this season.

I was working the ADA platform in the north end zone (ADA=Americans with Disabilities Act, we’re not allowed to say the H word). The end zones are great because I can watch the crowd while watching the game on the jumbotron. They also put the cheerleaders on the big screen during TV timeouts. Unfortunately the cheerleaders were wearing their jackets. The days of short shorts and skirts are over.

But the jackets and tight pants aren’t that bad, either.

The one thing that sucks about the end zone is the abundance of standing room people. These are the guys who don’t regularly come to games, wind up with crappy views of the field, and are also closest to the beer stands.

This game was the hardest to work all season. We had fights, shouting matches, bottles being thrown, people threatening me. There was a general feeling of unhappiness and misery at the Stadium. People were very mean to each other and occasionally vicious toward me.

The funny thing was, almost all of my problems were with Patriots fans, not Eagles fans. The Eagles fans in my section were drunk, loud, obnoxious, but extremely well behaved. They even joked around with Pats fans about Spygate, and McNabb choking in the Super Bowl.

I had a Patriots fan throw a plastic bottle at an Eagles fan, who took it in stride. I had two groups of Patriots fans jawing at each other because one guy kept calling Brady a homo. But there was one Eagles fan who really pissed me off. He was in my standing room area, and was a big dude, about 6’ 6” and 270, wearing a throwback Reggie White jersey. He gestured toward me to move because I was blocking his view. This set me off. No fan tells me to move, especially not some liquored up standing room Eagles fan. I spent the rest of the night telling him to move here and there. If he had one millimeter of his boots on the red line, I yelled at him.

I had another guy who refused to clear a path to the section. With a sh*t-eating grin he told me “I have a path, I’m fine.”

My reply was “There’s also a path to the parking lot, buddy, now move.”

He said “Alright, I’ll move, for your sake.”

“Gee, pal, thanks, I was really scared of you.”

Thankfully, we won the game, even though we played like garbage. As a fan, this was nice, but as an usher it was a godsend. As I said, there were a few thousand Eagles fans who knew how to make their presence known. Throw in 65,000 pissed off Patriots fans (40,000 of which probably had money on the game) and you’ve got a recipe for fights.

Apart from Asante Samuel’s game sealing interception in the fourth, the most satisfying moment of the event was when a trio of Eagles fans walked up to me and thanked me for dealing with two feuding groups of Pats fans. I had earlier talked to these drunk middle aged men as though they were 4 year old siblings fighting over crayons. “Just ignore him, if anything happens you just talk to me, you don’t want to spend the rest of the night in time-out (our holding cell), or be grounded (arrested), or go to sleep with no dinner (get tased).”

As much as I hate the Eagles and dislike their fans, I made a concerted effort to make their experience at Gillette Stadium an enjoyable one. I joked around with them, took their pictures for them, protected them when they needed protection, cooled them down when there was trouble brewing, and so on. I was extremely happy that these three Eagles fans would go back home and maybe tell their friends and family about the proactive security at Gillette Stadium, and how we treat visiting fans the way guests should be treated.

Then again, I’m glad those Eagle fans didn’t go home too happy… 11-0 BABY!

On Saturday, I worked the BC-Miami game. I was excited because the last time Boston College beat Miami was November 23, 1984; the day I was born. With BC being so good this year, and Miami being so horrible, I figured that I’d get a birthday present from the Eagles in the form of a win over Miami. I got that, but I didn’t get to see any of it.

Unfortunately for me, I’m reliable and I don’t complain. If given an assignment, I do it to the best of my ability. This reputation I’ve built for myself screwed me on Saturday. My bosses called me the day before and told me to report 30 minutes earlier (8:30 AM instead of 9). This means I’d be getting an early post position, usually babysitting a gate until the ticket takers arrive.

I got assigned to guard the zamboni door of the hockey rink. Alumni Stadium is connected to the Conte Forum, where the basketball and hockey teams play. During football games, the Forum is open for concession and restroom use. The zamboni door is where food is loaded and unloaded, spare parts are kept, an emergency generator is maintained, and so on. It’s a part of the athletic complex that is 100% utilitarian. Most fans will never see places like this when they attend a sporting event.

So I was going to be outside, and miss the entire game. That sucked, but I wasn’t too upset. My friend George was also working down there, the generator guy seemed cool, the BC employees were not bad to work with, I wouldn’t have to deal with any entitled Boston College schmucks, my supervisor told me I could smoke down there, and we could take turns going inside to warm up. Going inside was a very enticing notion as it was about 20 degrees in the morning, and 30 degrees by kickoff.

Then I got moved. I didn’t get moved inside the Forum, or inside the Stadium. I got moved to guard ESPN’s trucks just outside the Stadium. ESPN wanted a detail there to guard their equipment.

So now I had to baby-sit some trucks. The most important part of the job was to make sure nobody messed with the dozens of wires pouring out of these trailers. There was a game last year that experienced a 5 minute broadcast blackout thanks to a drunk BC student. Now I was pretty much by myself, in the shade (which made me even colder), unable to smoke, having to deal with BC people, missing the game, and having to guard four trucks. Anybody out there who watched the game on TV, all I have to say to you is “You’re welcome.”

It wasn’t all bad out there, though. They gave me an ESPN College Football hat, and when they had a free minute to talk, they kept me company. I developed a crush on Heather, the producer. She was kind of cute, but what really interested me was the way she carried herself. She was very confident and sure. It was clear that she was definitely in charge. I wouldn’t say she was dominating or demanding, but she was commanding. I like a woman who knows what she wants. Few women do.

The only trouble I had was before the game and after it. Boston College doesn’t allow public drinking anywhere but the designated tailgate area, and the entire campus is non-smoking. But these two policies are ignored by both students and campus security. Some kids were drinking from big red plastic cups, but most were casually carrying a can of Bud Light or a bottle of Heineken. At first, I yelled at anyone drinking to throw it out. Then I gave up. I’m not going to loose my voice enforcing a policy that 1) isn’t my policy, 2) is a somewhat stupid policy considering how difficult it is to enforce, 3) isn’t enforced by those who made the policy.

After the game, a BC student tried to get into the food the ESPN guys had outside their truck. “Hey buddy, you can’t go in there.”

“This is my dad’s,” referring to ESPN’s set-up.

“It’s your dad’s what?!?”

“It’s my dad’s tailgate.”

“No, it’s ESPN’s, get the fuck out of there, NOW!”

That was a very satisfying moment. I shouldn’t have sworn, but after a very long day, I had no patience to deal with some spoiled BC brat. But not all BC students are jerks. One offered me a can of Bud Light before he went into the Stadium. I couldn’t take it, so he left it for the ESPN crew. They gladly accepted it.

Two very funny things happened around the Conte Forum during the game. My friend Ron was working inside, making sure nobody snuck out onto the ice. Trainers, coaches, and even players from Miami would go out and take pictures of the rink. Apparently they don’t see ice too often in Florida, and this was probably the biggest patch of it they’d ever seen in person. It must have seemed like a glacier to them.

A very nice older woman walked up to me whilst I guarded the trucks and asked me if it was okay for her to pick up some leaves and take them with her. She was from Florida, and the descended foliage intrigued her. It took a lot of energy not to laugh because it seemed like a silly thing to ask permission to take leaves, as if each leaf were individually numbered and strategically placed to create an autumnal atmosphere.

The hockey and basketball games at BC have been fun to work, but both teams are struggling. The basketball team is 4-0, but has been trailing at half-time to UNH, Florida Atlantic, and Rhode Island. Against Mercer, BC was tied at half-time. There’s a stretch of 8 home games in 32 days coming up. Some of the games are against New England teams like UMass and Northeastern, but there is a big game against the Jayhawks of Kansas that I cannot wait to work.

A fringe benefit of working basketball games is that the BC cheerleaders are there, and are still wearing skirts.

The hockey team has been a disappointment. After starting the season ranked fourth, they’re on the verge of falling out of the Top 20 thanks to ties against bad teams, and a lack of wins against good teams. Northeastern is for real though, and the just might win their first Beanpot since 1988.

With both basketball and hockey struggling, I’ve been more inclined to volunteer to take tickets instead of ushering for the whole game. Taking tickets requires very little effort I also rarely have to tell someone that they can’t do something. The best part of taking tickets, though, is welcoming visiting fans to BC. I’ve been able to greet fans from Georgia, North Carolina, Florida, New Hampshire, Maine, Rhode Island, and North Dakota. Eventually there will be people from Maryland, Kansas, and Virginia.

Up next for me is BC women’s basketball against New Hampshire, then a big event on Friday: BC hockey against BU. That could get raucous. We’ve also got a stretch of three straight Patriots home games in December, and with the Pats clinching the AFC East, we are guaranteed to have at least one home playoff game. The weather’s getting colder, which means Gillette Stadium will be heating up.

Ushering Statistics:
Events worked: 27
Ejections: 1
Ejection threats: 22
Uncomfortably hit on/fondled: 7
Times I’ve heard “Shipping up to Boston”: 75

Episode 11: Seminoles, Redskins, and Fighting Sioux, Oh My

2009-10-23T12:00:00.000-04:00

I'm really starting to apply the lessons I learned in personal essay class in this piece. Dialog, imagery, a touch of humor, and honesty. I'm also doing a better job of utilizing the characters I meet at any given event. Instead of just calling someone "drunk guy," I'm giving them more of a voice, and more of their own independent characteristics that turn them into multi-dimensional aspects of the story. I can then use them to bounce the story around a bit, creating a more vivid movement through a much more interesting and realistic world of the story.

I'm into the heart of my "Niche" phase with this job in this piece, which was written on November 5, 2007. I know more people, and by now I've got a regular spot ushering in the North End Zone. I know a bit more what to expect in games, and the routine shit doesn't even enter my mind.

Meteorologists must get commission from grocery stores when predicting foul weather. They always seem to call for the worst weather imaginable. The forecast for Chestnut Hill on Saturday included predictions of 40 MPH winds, with gusts in the 60s, and driving rain all night. The weather would be nowhere near as Apocalyptic. The most dismal aspect of Saturday night’s game would be Matt Ryan, not the remnants of Hurricane Noel.

I had been looking forward to working this game all season. I had gotten up early to work the Army game, the Bowling Green blow out, and the all-too-close UMass game. But this was special. This was Florida State. This was a nationally televised game. This was ACC football.

For those of you who watched the game on television, you do not require a summary of what happened. You know how poorly Matt Ryan played, how little Boston College ran the ball, how mistake free the Seminoles played, and the end result. Here are some things that weren’t on television:

The rain.
It stopped raining in the first quarter, but it had been pouring all morning, afternoon, and evening. The wind and the cold seemingly amplified the intensity of the rain. I was fortunate enough to be positioned underneath an overhang. But my feet were still soaked. By the start of the game, I could not feel them. The field was soaked through, like a big, wet carpet. This would be noticeable throughout the game.

Florida State’s immaturity.
After their pre-game warm-ups, the Seminoles ran to the BC logo at the 50 yard line and danced on it, mockingly. After the game, several FSU players took off bandanas from their heads and threw them into the BC student section. Almost all of the FSU players gave a mocking gesture toward the BC fans. The last instance of childish behavior was the most bizarre. Two of my coworkers actually caught a pair FSU players trying to get back onto the field after they had exited. They were both carrying scissors, with the intention of cutting a chunk of turf from the field. They were apprehended, their scissors confiscated, and they had to leave the premises.

I actually took this childish behavior by the Seminoles as a compliment to Boston College. Here was Bobby Bowden’s Florida State Seminoles dancing on the BC logo, celebrating an UPSET win over Boston College, trying to take a piece of the Alumni Stadium turf. When beating you becomes a major accomplishment for your opponent, that’s when you know that you’ve made it.

I wasn’t upset by the loss. In fact, I expected it. I always expect BC to collapse and lose a game that they should win. I was actually quite happy. Saturday night I got my first ejection!

I was positioned in the student section, the only part of the Stadium that resembles true college football atmosphere. There is a lot of drinking in the student section, even though no alcohol is sold or allowed. I was standing in the aisle, and this guy walks in nonchalantly carrying a Bud Light can. I was overjoyed. I’ve been looking forward to my first ejection ever since I got this job.

“Buddy hold on a minute. You can’t have that here.” He put the can down on the ground and tried to continue walking. “No, no, no, you’ve gotta go, you’re out of here.” I picked up the can, led him to some EMS workers, and asked them to call the BC Police. We waited, and the guy was actually very cooperative. He didn’t resist, didn’t argue. He commented on his stupidity because the can was practically empty. The BCPD arrived and dealt with him (escorted him out of the Stadium).

There was another incident that didn’t go as well. I saw a guy with a Busch Light can. He tried hiding it from me, but it was too late. He asked if he could chug it and I said “No, you’ve got to come with me.” He then took a swig from it, and I yelled. “Buddy, I can either tell the cops you’re being cooperative or you’re being difficult, which is it?”

He replied “I’m a law student, you’re just a…”

I interrupted him and said “Your pupils are dilated, pal, you’re drunk, let’s go.”

Here’s the thing, though: I can’t physically bring him to the police. At Boston College, we’re not security. Legally we can’t put our hands on the fans. I took the beer from him and he slipped back into the student section. Rule #1 when working the student section is to not go anywhere alone. I had to let him go. Even if I chased him, I couldn't do anything had I caught him. Oh, well.

After the game, my section was littered with a few dozen Miller Lite cans, an empty bottle of Jack, and a hotel mini-bar sized bottle of Brandy (very smart on a cold night). That’s what happens when you don’t do pat downs.

Since I got this job, I’ve been sexually harassed, had men dance with me (Brazilians), and have been come on to dozens of times. What happened to me Saturday night was full blown molestation. Or was it? Is it still molestation if one consents to it after the fact?

This smoking hot BC coed was walking up the aisle. I maneuvered to let her by. On her way, the palm of her hand grazed - caressed, even - my crotch. She then gave me a devilish smile and continued on her way. I don’t know if it was incidental contact, or if it was on purpose. I do know that the look she gave me was one of approval, and not one of “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

What does one do in that situation? Do I grab her chest in response? Do I say something like “Now that you’ve met me and my associate, want to do something after the game?” Or do I giggle?

I giggled.

Back to the game. There were many dejected BC fans after the loss. This was, after all, the #2 team in the country losing to an unranked opponent at home. However, there wasn’t much rage amongst the fans. I don’t know if this is good or bad. It was good for me and my coworkers, but on a larger scale, I’m still not sure. Shouldn’t you be pissed after your team plays like crap and costs themselves a bid at the national title? Shouldn’t you be pissed that Matt Ryan had 9 carries and your two RBs combined for 11? Shouldn’t you be pissed that your team was on national TV, being watched by possible recruits, and they embarrassed themselves? I was somewhat disappointed (yet also relieved) at the lack of anger displayed by the BC fans.

About a week ago, I worked the Patriots’ televised scrimmage against Washington. It was an uneventful game and an uneventful event. I had some really drunk, really loud Redskins fans in my section. I had to tell them to watch their language because kids were around. One of them said in a Virginian accent “But we use language like this at FedEx Field all the time.”

To which, I replied “Well this is Gillette Stadium, home of the Patriots, we cheat, we run up the score, but we do NOT swear.” Joking with them like this got them to watch the language, which was good because their team’s performance would have induced torrents of profanity otherwise.

The coolest moment of the evening involved a little boy, about 9 or 10 years old. He tried going down into my section. We stopped him but told him that if he could find someone willing to give him their ticket on the way out, he could go down. He found a ticket, and went all the way down to the front row. After the game, the Patriots players run by the section on the way to the locker room. Heath Evans ran all the way over and gave the kid his gloves. The kid immediately put the gloves on. It was the most adorable moment of the season.

The game also saw what was probably the last time the Patriots cheerleaders will be wearing skimpy clothing. But they went out with a bang. It was three days before Halloween, and the girls were dressed for the occasion. There was a schoolgirl, a nurse, a maid, a construction worker, a cop, a pirate, a fairy, Minnie Mouse, Snow White, Alice in Wonderland, Strawberry Shortcake, and strangely enough Sherlock Holmes.

Without a doubt, my favorite one was the girl scout. Her skirt was so short, it was more like a belt with little bits of fabric hanging down from it. With autumn upon us, it may be the last time the cheerleaders dress in their scandalous outfits.

I’ve been working Boston College hockey, as well. It’s a pretty easy gig, and I love college hockey. Conte Forum has a good atmosphere, but it’s nowhere near the intensity of Cornell’s Lynah Rink. We had some difficulties on opening night. #1 ranked North Dakota came to town (BC was ranked 4th then) but it was abnormally humid out. We were having difficulty keeping the building cold enough for the ice remain frozen.

Two massive dehumidifiers installed for the game caused such a power drain that we lost electricity 10 minutes before the puck was scheduled to be dropped. This caused a delay but was eventually fixed. Then in between the first and second periods, the lights once again went out. After two periods of play, the officials called the game, and it ended as a 0-0 tie. I was disappointed, but I was also happy to get out of there. I’ve never sweat so much in an ice rink before.

The humidity caused a layer of fog to form, hovering at ice level. This happened last year when BC hosted the Terriers of Boston University. But that game was quickly cancelled and easily rescheduled. It would have been much more difficult to reschedule a match with North Dakota.

The next week, BC hosted Merrimack College, thrashing them 7-1. I didn’t see a single second of hockey, but I did wind up with the best post on campus. In the adjacent gym, BC women’s volleyball hosted Duke, and I was assigned to guard the doorway. I don’t know what it is about tall girls, there’s just something about them, though. I fell in love with #11, who had the longest legs and shortest shorts on the team. She also had the most kills (15) for the Eagles in their loss to Duke.

Up next are some games of lower interest. The Revolution host the MLS Eastern Conference Finals on Thursday night, BC hockey hosts Merrimack again, BC football doesn‘t play at home until the 24th against Miami, and the undefeated Patriots don‘t play at home until the 25th.

Some of my ushering statistics:
Events worked: 17
Ejections: 1
Ejection threats: 14
Uncomfortably hit on/fondled: 6
Times I’ve heard “Shipping up to Boston”: 34

Episode 10: Laying Down the Law

2009-10-22T13:50:00.000-04:00

It's amazing how boring some of these stories seem to me relative to how exciting they once seemed. Anyway, this was originally written October 9, 2007. This was perhaps the high water mark of Boston sports, as the Pats were undefeated, the Sox were in the playoffs, the Celtics were about to start a season with KG, and BC football was ranked #4 in the country.

Writing wise, and working wise, I'm still learning things. I'm learning to mistrust everyone at an event. I'm learning how to calm two angry people down (treat them like children, don't escalate the situation by acting angry). Things are starting to happen to me more than once. This also means there's less and less new stuff to write about in the event itself. Therefore, I'm in the process of writing more about myself and my reactions to events within the event.

Just one quick observation from the BC-Bowling Green game. When you’re a fan at a game, and the outcome is no longer in doubt, you’ll either get out early to beat traffic, or you’ll stay and watch your team run the score up. As QB Matt Ryan and #4 Boston College (unbelievable, right?) continued to pass the ball, despite a 35 point lead against BGSU, the fans were cheering, and I was irritated. As an usher, when the game is essentially over, you want teams to just run out the clock so you can sit down somewhere.

Now to the Patriots game. This may have been my most difficult, yet most entertaining game to work. I got stuck taking tickets, which wasn’t that bad. I was working next to my friend, which made time fly by. The ongoing joke of the day was a fellow employee who looks like a 2/3 scale clone of Bob Dylan.

We were both working male ticket holder lines (lines are divided by gender for the pat downs), which meant that my friend (who is a girl) was incessantly hit on by drunk guys. It was pretty funny to watch. We counted 10 guys who asked her to pat them down. Oddly enough, I had 1 guy express a desire for me to pat him down. Drink responsibly, people.

Taking tickets is a monkey’s job, only we do it with a smile, and we know how to tell people where their seats are. And it’s pretty light-weight work, as opposed to the poor SOBs doing pat downs in front of us. They have to do about 700 squats and rub down 700 strange men.

Before the gates opened, a helicopter flew low over our gate, then turned and landed on the nearby practice field. And out came Bob Kraft, owner of the Patriots and Emperor of Foxborough. Now there’s a guy who knows how to show up with style. Although, had he landed in the Stadium at the 50 yard line, that would be truly high class.

After taking tickets, I got sent on break. I had a nice chicken sandwich, some cigarettes, and went up to the Managers to be redeployed. They like this. They’ll give you a good spot if you ask them to be redeployed instead of waiting around for them to get you. One of them also calls me a “veteran” because I’ve been working there for 2 whole months now. This also means that I get to choose where I go.
I got deployed to Section 140, which is in the end zone by the lighthouse. These sections offer a great view, but hordes of standing room only (SRO) people, who are the natural rival of the usher.

Everything was going fine until someone complained about two dudes who were standing in the aisle. I went down to talk to them, and they refused to budge, or show me their tickets, until I said “You guys can either leave this section, or leave the Stadium.” That got them moving.

This turned into a whole ordeal, as they complained that someone was in their seats 2 sections over. I made a mistake and didn’t check both of their tickets, just one of them. One ticket really was in the section they claimed to belong to. After much leg work, they both decided to stay in the standing room area, and the issue was resolved.

During the second half, some drama erupted right next to me in my SRO area. Some guy had sidled his way in front of some other guy, so the guy who was there first couldn’t see anymore. Both men were extremely hammered. Some angry words turned into pushing and shoving, which was when I stepped up. Now, I’m not a strong guy, and I’m definitely not intimidating, so I don’t even try to scare people with any sort of implied threat of violence. My power is my ability to eject you, or recommend you get arrested. So I stand in between these drunks and say “Guys, you know I’m security, right? Why don’t all of you just calm down so you can stay here and enjoy the rest of the game?” This was enough for one of them, but not the other one, the man whose “spot” had been stolen. Then the cavalry came… orange shirts! About 10 TeamOps personnel swarmed to my spot, which quickly quieted things down. Also, the guy who stole the spot left, and that allowed things to cool off. It’s nice to know that the cameras are watching your back and not just the opposing sideline.

There were some minor incidents. People refusing to put their cigarettes out, people not understanding the concept of standing behind a line, some guy who kept spitting into a big mug, looking tipsy and bleary eyed about to puke (but he didn’t), chasing off-duty vendors down into the section because they didn’t have tickets. Stuff like that.

Then we nearly had a brawl on our hands. There were five guys in the last row of my section who were standing. This pissed off the standing room people behind them, because they couldn’t see. One kid starting screaming obscenities at the last row people. So I started screaming at the kid. Then it settled for about 5 minutes, and erupted once more as the last row guys turned around and barked back at the kid and his friends. That’s when it had to stop. I beeped my supervisor and stood in between the people. It was essentially a contest between two groups of 5 guys each, arguing about whose was bigger.

One of the last row guys threatened to cut one of the SRO guys’ throats. Then the SRO guy (who was about 25, and the last row guys were in their early 40’s) said “Dude, I’m about 12 years younger than you, that’s like threatening your nephew.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

Eventually the supervisor came over and calmed things down.

I’m still waiting for my first ejection as an usher, and I’m really excited for it. I think we handled the situations perfectly, but any more BS and ejections were imminent.

Here’s a tip for anyone who has crappy tickets but wants to move down to good seats near the end of the game. As people are leaving, ask them for their tickets. Even if we see the exchange, the ticket is what matters, not who holds it (so long as it is legally acquired). We will let you down into the good seats.

At each half’s 2 minute warning, an usher will go down the aisle, crouch/kneel at the bottom until the half ends, then stand there. We call it dropping. At the end of the 4th quarter, I dropped. After the game, I’m standing, waiting for people to leave, and the Patriots cheerleaders run off the field right in front of me. They’re wearing tight tops with plunging necklines, and they ran right underneath me, about 6 feet below where I was standing. Yes, the view was FANTASTIC.

Oh yeah, when Ellis Hobbs broke up a pass in the waning moments of the 4th quarter, he celebrated with the fans about 5 feet in front of me. That was also cool.
After the game, a couple of us wanted to have some beers in the parking lot as we waited for traffic to clear up. But we didn’t have any. We had been told there was a liquor store across the street from the Stadium. So we walk about 2 miles starting from the Foxborough woods and the employee parking lot, and ending at a liquor store that had closed 10 minutes before we had started walking. Disappointment.

But the walk was cool. Some people have crazy tailgate set-ups. And no matter where you were in a parking lot, you could hear the Red Sox playoff game on the radio from somebody’s car. When the Sox went up 4-0, the parking lot went nuts.

HOWEVER, right next to our cars, was a group of TeamOps employees, about 10 or so, tailgating. See, we tailgate after the games. They had sandwiches, chips, and glorious beer. I only knew one of them, but they were all pretty cool. They gave us some free beer, and we chilled there for about 2 hours. It was nice. The next Patriots home game is the 28th. And I will be bringing at least one 30 of Budweiser, my mini tailgating grill, and some beer battered brats.

I can’t wait to see if the cheerleaders are wearing any sort of Halloween costumes. Sexy schoolgirl, perhaps?

Episode 9: BC's Near Embarassment

2009-10-21T12:30:00.000-04:00

By this point in my job, I'm finding the events less and less engrossing. They're still interesting, and fun to attend, but I'm less overwhelmed by them. My writing has become more about the random things that happen to happen at an event, rather than about the event itself.

Reading these all again, I like how much more personal my writing style is getting. Not only am I telling more personal stories, and including my own reactions and emotions. But the actual writing is getting more inviting to the reader. I'm telling a story, not describing a fact.

I was also really lucky to start doing this job when I did. My first season at Gillette Stadium saw the Patriots nearly go undefeated. My first season at BC saw the football team rise as high to #2 in the country. Then I saw their hockey team's regular season before they won the NCAA title.

This was originally written October 2, 2007.

With the Patriots on the road, my only ushering of the weekend came at Boston College, as the Division I-AA Massachusetts (UMass) Minutemen came to Chestnut Hill. It was either work this game or the Revolution game at night. I picked this one because I find MLS to be uninteresting, even though I’m a big fan of soccer. I also wanted to keep my night clear because I figured Auburn/Florida would be a good game. I think I was right in that prediction.

This game was the most intense home game for Boston College this season. It was also the closest and most exciting game they’ve played all year. UMass is only 90 miles from BC, which makes them the closest team the Eagles will be playing. Funnily enough, UConn, UNH, and URI are all closer to Boston then UMass.

Anyway, there was a bit of a mix up by my employers. I had signed up to be an usher (green shirt) but they said I was listed as event staff (orange shirt). Event staff leans more toward the security aspects of what we do. At BC, the line between green and orange is blurred since we’re not actually security there. I wound up ushering, which is ironic because had I worn green, I wouldn’t have been an usher.

They originally assigned me to take tickets, but the supervisor had too many people so I eagerly volunteered to be reassigned. I got pretty excited as my new supervisor said we would be working the student section. The student section at BC is quite visible on TV. It’s the section that is all yellow. It is also the only area in the Stadium in which an extremely intense college football atmosphere exists. The student section isn’t part of Boston, it’s a very small part of Tuscaloosa, College Station, Rocky Top, and Columbus.

But I didn’t wind up in the student section at all. I wasn’t too badly disappointed, though. The student section is the hardest to work. There are stories of TeamOps employees entering it, being consumed by the sea of upper middle class kids in yellow shirts, and coming out with broken bones. So I didn’t really mind working in one of the corners, in a section occupied mostly by retired alumni and families.

UMass came into the game ranked #2 in D-IAA (I refuse to call it by that other name). Honestly, I thought BC was going to lose. There’s no way BC would be coming into this game with as much intensity as UMass. And Boston College has a tendency to drop an egg right when they’re riding high.

I’ll quickly summarize the game, because with all that happened on Saturday, I doubt it was given much time on SportsCenter, and it was only broadcast on ESPN360. BC struggled to go up 17-0 by half-time. Then UMass came screaming back in the 3rd quarter to make it 17-14. BC nearly killed themselves with turnovers. A fumble on their own 30 yard line was reversed, and Matt Ryan threw an interception in the end zone that was nullified by an offside penalty. BC eventually pulled away and won 24-14.

I figured a near loss to a D-IAA team would result in BC dropping in the polls. Of course, I didn’t know what had been going on in the rest of college football until I got home. After beating UMass by only 10 points, Boston College rose to 6th and 7th in the two polls. They’re pretty much up there by default.

This game had more visiting fans than any other game this season. I would estimate that 1/3 to 1/4 of the crowd were UMass fans. Normally, this would be a cause for concern for us, but this isn’t much of a rivalry. Furthermore, everyone was still glowing from the Red Sox clinching the AL East the previous night. I didn’t have any problems whatsoever in my sections. There was one moment when UMass fans were chanting “Bullsh*t.” Since the fans were dispersed throughout the section, it was easy for me to put a stop to this behavior by staring down the individuals partaking in the chant.

I only went on one power trip when a couple of UMass kids were standing on my platform. Other than that, the event was hassle free.

One bright spot of the day was when a group of BC cheerleaders went through their routines in front of my section in the 1st quarter. One of them had previously caught my eye at the Army game. She was a redhead with a tan (I’m an absolute sucker for that) and she was the top of their pyramid. So she’s got that going for her. I think I’m in love.

This job has given me a new appreciation for cheerleaders. Not only do they look good, but that’s some hard stuff they do. I used to think cheerleading wasn’t a sport, but I was wrong. They do some difficult and athletic stunts and routines. And they look great doing it. So here’s to cheerleaders!

There was a bizarre fan in my section. He was dressed up as some sort of Native American, with orange shorts, an orange tribal looking shirt, and a pair of Armani sunglasses. He also had a strange little flag that was red with a blue stripe across it. He spent the entire game rain dancing in the last row. It was wicked weird. He looked like he belonged at a Florida State game, not Boston College.

In my previous article, someone asked how to outsmart an usher, or get on an usher’s good side. Well, I have an answer. #1 You should be polite. #2 You should be understanding of the fact that I have a job to do. #3 You should be a wicked hot girl. Simple, right?

With 5 minutes left in the 4th quarter, these 3 smoking hot UMass coeds came walking into my section. I never saw the word “Massachusetts” so beautifully stretched out as it was on their snugly fitting shirts.

They walked up to me and showed me their tickets: Section LL. I was at sections A and Z. LL is in the upper deck on the other side of the field. But they knew this. They also knew the power they had over me. Their leader spoke. “We know we’re in the wrong section, we were just wondering if there was any place down here we could sit.” She had #1 down, she was being polite.

Then she slammed down #2. “Could you just pretend to look at our tickets and point out some empty seats as if they were ours?” I was really impressed by this. She knew the situation I was in. She seemed to know that people are watching me. And since she and her friends also fulfilled requirement #3 in spades, I decided to help them out.

I know what you might be thinking. Rob went soft as an usher just because some hotties were nice to him. Let me just explain that I wasn’t even checking tickets by that point. These girls could have come into my section and walked right past me without showing me their upper deck tickets. There were 5 minutes left in the game, people were leaving, and I figured there wouldn’t be any harm done.

I told them to go to a spot of bleachers that had been unoccupied all day. But one of them had a problem. “You mean right next to that guy staring at us?” I looked over and this dude wasn’t even trying to be discrete. He was fully ogling these girls. Understandably, they decided not to go there. They found some place else to sit, then left 4 plays later, saying “Thank you” to me on their way out. You know, UMass begged me, and I mean BEGGED me to go there. They offered me a scholarship, a huge dorm room my freshman year, first dibs at picking classes, but noooooooooooooo, I had to go to film school at Ithaca. What an idiot I am. These 3 girls were just a small representation of what is out there at UMass.

Anyway, it was an easy and fun game to work. I know it wasn’t as glamorous as some of the other games I’ve worked, like Pats games, or Brazil vs. Mexico, but it was a nice payday, a nice game, and even though I have a sunburn on half my face, whereas the other half is still a bright Irish white, it was worth it.

One problem, though, is that I’m sick and tired of hearing “Shipping Up to Boston” by the Dropkick Murphy’s. The BC band plays it, their sound system plays it, it’s played multiple times at Gillette, it’s jammed into my head like a diamond bullet and it is driving me insane. I’m shipping up to Boston, woah oh oh, I’m shipping up to…..AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That song had just become hugely popular in Boston. Every sporting event came along with the song. Here's all I have to say about that song...

Episode 8: Pats vs. Bills

2009-10-20T20:20:00.000-04:00

We're starting to leave the "Awestruck Phase" of these episodes and my working. By this point, I wasn't like a 5 year old kid in a candy store anymore. I no longer got goosebumps just from seeing Gillette Stadium. I was also becoming assertive and dictatorial in my job. But I was also getting funny with fans and finding ways to help make them enjoy the event moreso.

This is sort of the beginning of my "Niche" phase, which would eventually see me turn from wide-eyed rookie into a regular with a regular post at Gillette.

In this post I get to use a radio for the first time. It's hilarious reading how giddy I was just to listen to it as the event wore on. Some people I've worked with more recently would be shocked to see how giddy and childlike I was back then.

This was originally written September 24, 2007

Let me just start off with a few notes from the BC-Army game I worked on Saturday:
I got to wear a radio and headset for the game. I was positioned in front of some luxury boxes, and the position is in a weird place, where nobody can really see me. So in case I need a supervisor or anything else, I have the radio to communicate.

Listening to the behind the scenes radio for a game is interesting. I knew EVERYTHING that was going on in the Stadium and I couldn’t even see the field. I knew that the Army band was pissed because BC didn’t provide them with free water. I knew that the President of the College was getting flowers delivered to his box. I knew that some guy passed out from the heat, and that a child was missing. She was eventually reunited with her family.

Unfortunately, my radio call-name sucked compared to everyone else’s names. There were names like Romeo 3, Sierra 2, Alpha 5, Command, Observation. And there I was with Uniform 8-1. Shitty. I wanted to be something cool like Fire Team Bravo, or Red Devil 7.

I also got to see Al Skinner (BC’s basketball coach) on his way out after the game. He walked right by me. Nice guy.

Now to the Bills/Patriots game. I woke up at 5 to work this game. I had to get myself ready, drive up to Quincy to pick up my friend, then drive back down to Foxborough to get there by 7:15 AM. That’s right, 7:15 AM. That’s very early for a Sunday. I have never, in my life, woken up earlier than 7 AM on a Sunday before. But it was worth it.

My friend (the one I picked up in Quincy) got hired just this week. She told me a hilarious story from her orientation. The woman sitting next to her said “I know we can’t ask for autographs from the players, or talk to them, but is there any rule against dating them?” Now, I met this girl, and she was cute, but she wasn’t “dating an NFL player” cute. Not by any stretch of the imagination. It’d be like an average looking guy asking “Is it okay if we screw cheerleaders at halftime?” It’s not gonna happen!

The atmosphere at Gillette Stadium for a 1 PM game against Buffalo is much different than an 8:30 PM game against San Diego. There wasn’t as much fire (or alcohol) in the crowd. It was also pretty warm for the first day of fall, a sunny 82 degrees. But I was in the shade the whole time. The warm weather was good, because it means I won’t catch another cold, and it also means the cheerleaders weren’t bundled up in baggy jogging suits.

I was deployed to sections 137 and 138. If you’re watching on TV, I’m a few sections to the left of where the camera is sitting. It’s a pretty good view of the field. It was in the shade, and there weren't many standing room people.

The Patriots got off to a slow start, which definitely had an impact on the fans. People were more pissed off at me than normal when I asked to see their tickets. The standing room people were more belligerent about standing behind the red line. “Why? Why do I have to stand behind the red line?”

And I swear to God, the next person who comes up to me with a standing room ticket and asks me “Where should I go?” I’m just gonna eject from the Stadium for being stupid. Standing room only = only go where there’s room to stand!

Once the Pats started scoring touchdowns, the fans were much happier. Having the first few beers of the day probably didn’t hurt either. I still had to deal with a few complaints, but nothing major. The no-alcohol section is 238, right above mine, and a nice old lady complained that someone brought beer to the section. Call the supervisor over, he kicked him out. To quote my supervisor from the BC game “I love ejections.”

Another person complained about a guy puking in the section. She didn’t care about the guy as much as she cared about the puke. Call a supervisor, he calls housekeeping, they clean up the mess. Everybody’s happy (except the person who has to clean it, I bet).

I had one douche bag think he was cool. He extended his hand as if he were offering a high 5 to me. I complied, then he stuffed a wet paper towel in my hand. That pissed me off. He kept walking, but I told his friend “Tell your buddy it’s not smart to mess with a guy who can toss you out of the Stadium.” I didn’t say the best part, either. If he’s a season ticket holder, and gets one solid complaint from an usher, his tickets are revoked. BOOM! This game was definitely a power trip for me.

I’m not a mean guy. And I politely ask people to follow the rules. I let a lot of stuff roll right off my shoulders. And I’ll bend the rules and let people talk to their friends in the section, or take pictures and stuff. If you’re making fun of my hair (I’m in desperate need of a haircut but I’m too lazy), that’s fine. I’ll even laugh along. I had some guy call me Wayne Campbell last week and I thought it was hilarious. But when you try to push me, I have to push you back. I feel kind of bad doing it, but there’s about 1,000 people in my section, 100 trying to sneak into my section, and 100 trying to stand where they’re not supposed to. Any leak becomes a flood.

Back to the game, which was fun to watch. Another 38 special. I saw 4 Patriot touchdowns right in front of me in the 2nd and 3rd quarters. I also had a perfect view of Welker’s lateral to Moss, which was simply a beautiful play to watch. It was like they planned it.

The final touchdown, a Brady to Moss bomb, was going away from my end of the field, but I still had a great view. I could see Moss go deep right off the bat, and everyone in the place knew what was going to happen before it did. The Stadium exploded as the ball was caught, the points were scored, and the victory was sealed.
Then the gradual exiting began. People leaving right after the TD, then right after the Bills punted, then right after we punted, then when Samuel got an INT, then when we turned the ball over on downs, and so on.

Then people try to sneak into the section. “Excuse me sir, can I see your tickets?” “Umm, I forgot them” they mumble as they turn and walk away.

Then you get people who whine and complain. “But there’s only two of us.” Yeah, but then there’s 50 other people who will say to me “But you let them down.” Then there’s the one season ticket holder who will get annoyed down there that some kids from the 300 level are swearing or something. Then that guy sends an e-mail to my bosses, then we get in trouble.

One thing that kind of sucked was that I was the ONLY usher in the Stadium that was by myself. Everyone else was doubled up at their section. I saw a few sections with 4 or 5 ushers. But I was all alone. Which I guess means they think I’m the best usher there. Strangely enough, my friend got redeployed and wound up working the section next to mine. What are the odds of that? About 75 to 1.

But my skills as an usher are being honed, and I feel like I’m developing into a top quality customer service/security/event staffer guy. One important skill is being able to remember whose tickets I’ve already checked. It’s annoying to be asked for a ticket every time you go up and down for a beer, so I try my best to remember people. Sometimes, they’ll be wearing something, like a certain Red Sox hat, or a BC shirt, or a USC key chain, or sunglasses, or tattoos, anything to trigger my memory. Also, watching people leave the section is a good idea, because your short term memory will retain them for a few minutes while they take a piss and get some beer. Looking people in the eyes is also a good indicator. Do they look like they’ve seen you before? Do they look like they know where they’re going? Do they look like they belong?

The three best moments, apart from the touchdowns, were as follows:
3: Toward the end of the 4th quarter, this girl from the standing room section walked up to me and started talking to me. At first I thought that she just wanted a better view of the game, but she really seemed more into me than anything else. She didn’t even watch the game while talking to me. I told her I graduated Ithaca College, she was from Binghamton. I told her I was a film major, and my cousin directed Cold Case (actually he was the director of photography, but I didn’t feel like explaining what that was), and she said it was her favorite show. She was pretty cute, pretty drunk, and her boyfriend was pretty pissed.

2: A young intoxicated woman was lost. She was in the wrong section. I pointed to the section she should go to, but she insisted that I take her over there. She then begged me to take her over there. As I mentioned earlier, I was alone at my post so I couldn’t leave (there are cameras watching us constantly). I would have taken her over there if I had support, even if she wasn’t hot, which she was. Then she started essentially feeling me up, which I didn’t mind at all. But I still had to send her off by herself.

1: A girl with a generous bust asked me if she needed a ticket to get back down. She asked “Will you remember me?” then pointed to her chest and winked. I smiled and said “Definitely.”

I don’t know what exactly caused these girls (and that one guy I mentioned in my previous post about working the Chargers game) to go after me. Maybe the green uniform does it for them. Maybe it’s the allure of the power I wield. My guess is that it’s the alcohol.

Episode 7: Belichick Strikes Back

2009-10-08T16:54:00.002-04:00

This episode is about the Week 2 matchup between the Chargers and Patriots. If you remember back to 2007, in between this win over San Diego, and the previous week's victory over the Jets, that's when all the SpyGate stuff came out. So not only was this game on Sunday Night Football, not only was it the home opener, not only was it a rematch of the previous year's playoffs, it was the first game after SpyGate.

Back in these days of working for TeamOps, I was all about watching the game. It's amazing how little of the game I see now, and how little I care. I'm certainly no less of a fan, but when you can't sit down, have a beer, and enjoy the game; they can lose their glamor. But back in '07, I was still wide-eyed about working at Patriot games.

This was originally written on September 17, 2007.

I woke up at noon on Sunday, with a massive cold. I had worked the New England Revolution game the night before. I must say, that’s a pretty easy gig. There were only 12,000 fans at the game, most of them are families or groups of kids. It was fun, and the kids have fun. But it doesn’t feel like a true sporting event. We only open half of the lower bowl. I worked the Brazil/Mexico friendly on Wednesday and spent Saturday morning watching the English League, so watching MLS was a step down in intensity and level of play.

Anyway, back to football. Like I said, I had a nasty cold. And by the end of the night it would be a heinous cold, but by then I would wind up having more energy than I’ve had in maybe a month.

We have to get to the Stadium extremely early. I got there at 2:00 PM, 6 and a half hours before kickoff. See, the supervisors and managers have to figure out exactly how many people they have in each department, then they have to assign everyone to go there. About 1,000 people are deployed by TeamOps for a Patriots game. It takes a long time to divide that many people up.

I successfully avoided taking tickets and was assigned as an usher. YAY! I would get to see the entire game! I also had a sick vantage point. I was in between sections 116 and 117, which is in one of the corners. If you’re watching the game on TV, my section was on the extreme right of the Patriots’ sideline. Basically, I was in the last row of the lower level. Pretty good seats, people pay $89 to sit in my section and $49 to stand behind it.

Standing around doing nothing before a big football game sucks. It’s cold, windy, there’s pump up music playing on the Stadium sound system, but there’s nobody to pump up.

Talking to people working around me, we’d inevitably talk about what we thought the score would be. My prediction was 31-27 Patriots. Everybody was predicting a Pats win, but all by close scores: 24-21, 27-24, 28-24, and so on. We’d all be wrong about the scores, but we’d all be pretty happy when the night was over.

After a few boring hours of standing around, with only the occasional “Is that Tedy Bruschi warming up?” to offer any sort of diversion, people started to come in more and more. My section slowly began to fill up.

The atmosphere at any sporting event is brought by the fans, not the players. Fans create this contagious buzz that spreads through the Stadium like an airborne virus. And I was infected. Three hours before the game, the Stadium was empty, and I was a tired, sniffling mess. Two hours before kickoff a few people had arrived, and I felt a little better. One hour before kickoff the Stadium was 1/4 full, and I forgot I even had a cold. Thirty minutes before kickoff the Stadium was 2/3 full, and my heart was pounding. Fifteen minutes before, the Stadium was 7/8 full, and I truly was ready for some football.

Right before kickoff, they introduced the Patriots defensive players. Everyone got some cheers, with guys like Bruschi and Wilfork getting the most applause. Then they did something different: they introduced Coach Belichick. The place went fucking nuts. I taped the game and they didn’t show this on TV, but it was awesome to see/hear the support we gave to the much maligned Bill Belichick. If Bill had an emotion chip, he probably would have been happy.

The game was amazing. We totally dominated one of the best teams in the NFL. The first drive was moving away from my section, and I missed the actual TD pass to Watson because I was checking people’s tickets. But you can still feel the plays when they happen, and it is a great feeling. This was only the second regular season game I’ve been to, the first being a week 17 win over the 49ers in 2004. The atmosphere for this game was much better.

I had a good view of Colvin’s 1st quarter interception. It was far away from me, but I could see it happening before it actually did. Once the ball left Rivers hand, and I saw Colvin hovering in coverage, I could see him grabbing the ball out of the air, and maybe even taking it back for 6. We failed to score off the turnover, but you could tell we were in control of this game, even without videotapes.

I got sent on break toward the middle of the 1st quarter. This was right when Olivea was on the ground injured. It was scary for a few minutes because he didn’t move. And after what happened to Kevin Everett, everyone in the place feared the worst. But he got up and appeared to be somewhat OK.

Like I said earlier, there are 1,000 of us working Patriot games, and we all share the same small little break room. The cops assigned to the game also eat there, as do the vendors, maintenance staff, and custodians. So when I got there, I saw a long line or orange, green, and red shirts, and it wasn’t moving forward. I decided that eating a shitty meatball sub wasn’t worth missing the entire 1st half, so I went back to my post. I got back in time to see Randy Moss haul in a touchdown.

I had a great view of Adalius Thomas’ 2nd quarter interception return. That man is fast. He was running right at my section and nobody, not even San Diego’s receivers, was going to catch up to him.

By half-time, we were up 24-0, and we could have been up 35-0 had we been playing our best. The Chargers were being outclassed. Barring some major 2nd half adjustments, this game was over. Furthermore, with such a lead, the Chargers would be forced to run LT much less. San Diego has no deep threat WR, either. Their big plays come once and awhile with Ladanian Thomlinson on the ground, or Antonio Gates making yardage after the catch. Philip Rivers' performance was not very promising for a comeback. There was a general good mood in the Stadium.

During half-time, the most desired information was the Red Sox score. It was 1-1 at the time, but rumors were circulating that it was 2-1 Yankees, or 1-0 Sox. I couldn’t use my phone to find out the actual score. It kind of sucked missing the entire Sox/Yankees game, and it looks like it was a great game, but I didn’t want to be anywhere but Foxborough last night.

San Diego scored on their opening drive of the 3rd quarter, but it took 7:22 off the clock for them to do it. That was kind of fine with me and the rest of the fans. It was still a 3 score game, and there was only about 20:00 left on the game clock.
We only took 3:37 to go the other way and score a TD. This was one of the many nails in the coffin we would drive into San Diego.

During the 3rd and 4th quarter was when I had to deal with the fans the most. The people in my section were well behaved (95% season ticket holders who know if they screw around, they lose their seats), but the standing room people were a bunch of drunk children. It was all in good fun, but they refused to stand behind The Red Line. Actually, they’d stand behind it whenever I asked them to, but a few minutes later they’d cross the line again. But they were good natured about it, and they’d come over to where I was standing and celebrate whenever we scored. I only had a few guys be any sort of trouble. I told him he couldn’t stand where he was standing, and he tried to argue with me about standing there. I was 2 seconds away from calling over the TeamOps manager to dispense with this individual, but he left. Then there was another guy who also felt as though he could stand anywhere he wanted. He argued a bit, then did what I said, calling me a “fucking faggot” in the process. I let it roll off my shoulder, but it’s unwise to make enemies with someone who has the power to kick you out of the Stadium, or have you detained in our holding cell.

The funniest moment of the night came in the 3rd quarter. A drunk guy, in his early 30s, typical guy you’d see anywhere. He was wearing a Patriots shirt and a drunken grin. He walked up to me, I asked him for his ticket. He turned his back a bit, bent over slightly, and displayed the backside of his jeans to me. He pulled out the ticket and said, in a thick Boston accent “I was hoping you’d reach for it.”
“Sorry, sir, I don’t want to do that.” I replied. I checked the ticket, and it was for the wrong section. “Sir, this is the wrong section. Your section is two sections over that way.”

He replied “I know, but I saw you from afah! I just had to come over here, you big hunk. You’re a stud!” He tried holding my hand and hugging me. It was awkward. I knew he was kidding, but when people get that drunk, it’s very weird to be around them. He then asked if I would walk him over to his section but I said I couldn’t. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The Chargers scored again to open the 4th quarter. Ellis Hobbs fumbled a kickoff and San Diego recovered, but were able to do nothing with the ball. We then had a 10:07 drive that was a beautiful thing to see. Not only was I happy that we took time off the game clock. It also meant that I’d get home sooner. And when Sammy Morris scored, the Exodus of people trying to beat traffic ensued.

My favorite moment of the night was during the 4th quarter. You probably didn’t hear it on TV, but the 2 sections next to mine began a “Belichick” chant that was phenomenal to hear.

My 2nd favorite moment of the night was when the Patriot cheerleaders switched uniforms. They wore their tight shorts and small top for the 1st half, which are spectacular to behold, but I’m a big fan of the pleated skirt, white shirt, USC Song Girl look. To me, it just looks hotter. They wore their USC-esque uniform in the 2nd half. It’s nice.

My section is the one right above the tunnel to the visiting locker room. So after the game, the Chargers had to walk under me. They were greeted by booing. Shawne Merriman received a mock cheer. LaDanian “9 out of 10” Tomlinson was greeted the loudest as fans mercilessly yelled at him. He took it like a man and did his walk of shame with his head down…right under me. I felt 100 feet tall.

As an usher, blowout games are great! People leave, the Stadium clears out early, and we can go home early. We can’t leave until the Stadium is cleared. The Revolution game on Saturday took 30 minutes to clear, and was only 12,000 people. I feared that the Patriots game would take much longer with 70,000 fans. But it only took 20 minutes to significantly clear. Then traffic wasn’t that bad, it only took 30 minutes to go the 6 miles to my house. It normally takes 15 minutes when there’s no traffic.
I felt great after the game. I still had that cold, my nose was stuffed more than Route 1 after the game, and I had been on my feet for 7 hours, but I had all the energy in the world. I couldn’t sleep until about 4:30 AM.

This morning, I woke up and the cold is even worse than before. It looks like I’ll be in bed all day, eating Sudafeds. But all the Patriot haters out there will be eating crow for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And I saw it all live and in color.

PS: I know this is poorly written, but I’m very sick and I just had to write about this experience right away.

PPS from 2 years in the future. It's written well, Rob.

Episode 6: Brazil vs. Mexico

2009-10-07T21:38:00.002-04:00

This was one of the more entertaining events to partake in when I first got this job. The Brazilian national soccer team, fully complimented with its stars, made a trip to Gillette Stadium to play a friendly against Mexico. For those non-soccer fans out there, a friendly is like a tune-up game.

Looking back on my behavior as mostly ticket-taker/usher, I can't help but laugh. I was so shy in this job when I first started. I remember in this game being an usher in 124, and not even checking tickets. If this event happened now, I would've cleared my aisle every 5 minutes, especially as I had another usher with me.

From a writing perspective, this episode kicks-off my more personalized style. I talk about how much I enjoy leering at hot Brazilian women, and so on. Instead of trying to describe the events I worked, I'm describing myself through the event. Or something like that.

This was originally written September 13, 2007.

I’m going to go slightly out of chronological order for this part of the series. I worked at the Boston College/NC State game last weekend, was in the middle of writing about it, then all hell broke loose when the Patriots were caught committing the heinous act of video espionage. Sarcastically, I considered quitting my job as an usher when that story broke. But anyway, for my two or three loyal readers out there, expect my NC State episode to come soon. This episode is all about… Brazil vs. Mexico.

Let me try to set the scene for you. All us ushers are at one of the gates at Gillette Stadium. The supervisors are briefing us about taking tickets. But we can barely hear them. Because beyond the Stadium walls is this constant symphony of salsa music, air horns, whistles, and Portuguese yelling/singing.

We walk up to the gate, and there’s a sea of yellow clad Brazilian fans, with a few Mexican fans intermixed. They’re yelling, jumping, singing, dancing, playing soccer, and there are thousands of them. And this is 2 and a half hours before the game starts.

None of us know what to expect. This is a different kind of crowd for all of us. Frankly, I was nervously excited. I love soccer. I’ve been to 2 EPL games in London, but I’ve never seen an international match. And I’ve certainly never seen the #1 team in the world (Brazil) play.

But logistically, this game was a massive challenge for us. We were understaffed (difficult to get people to work a Wednesday night, 99% of TeamOps employees have other jobs). We had about 250 people, for an anticipated crowd of 65,000+. There were the potential language problems. Almost all of the fans would be making their first visit to Gillette Stadium so they‘d all be lost. We didn’t have enough people for pat downs at the gates. We just checked bags and turned everyone loose inside.

I remember driving down to Foxborough for the game, and once I hit the town line, I entered a new world. There were Brazilian and Mexican flags everywhere. There were signs in Portuguese, there were people yelling at each other from their cars. It was madness. But this isn’t madness… THIS, IS, SOCCER!!!

Anyway, back to the gates, right before the game. The first thing I had noticed was the masses of people there. For a Patriots game, there are maybe 100 people at the gates right when they open. People are tailgating and stuff and take their time coming in. There were maybe 2,000 to 3,000 people already packed in front of the gate for this game.

The second thing I noticed were how many smoking hot Brazilian women there were. These women are on a level of beautiful that is purely divine. And they were really friendly, too. You know when you have to deal with an American girl who knows that she’s a 10, and knows she owns you, and acts like she‘s pissed off all the time. Well these girls were really nice and seemed really happy. They would be a constant entertainment for me for the remainder of the evening. Maybe I’m being a tad misogynistic or chauvinistic, but when a girl dresses up in skin tight pants, and a two inch wide tank top that has “Brasil” stretched across her chest, I think staring is acceptable, if not expected.

Seeing these hotties made me question something: If these are the kind of girls they produce in Brazil, why the hell are all the men spending so much goddamned time playing and watching soccer? You guys can’t think of anything better to do with your free time?

We opened up the gates and people began streaming through. The language problem wasn’t that bad. The only person I had difficulty understanding was actually an Englishman. He said something like “My friend has my ticket on the nine five, can I get in though?” I had no clue what he was referring to until I finally realized he meant I-95.

Scanning tickets went along with few glitches. The usual stuff, tickets refusing to scan, people at the wrong gate, and so on. But I’ve never had so many men trying to dance with me. Come to think of it, I’ve never had any man try to dance with me until last night. These guys would dance their way through the line, come up to me, I’d scan their ticket and they’d say something like “Brasil djonill!!!” and start dancing next to me. It was strange, but funny.

Finally, I got a break, ate a crappy hamburger, and was redeployed as an usher. I missed the entire first half, and the score was 1-1 when I got stationed at section 124 behind the goal Brazil was attacking.

The place was a madhouse. No rules applied. Normally, as an usher, our job is to keep people from standing in the aisles, going where they shouldn’t go, and from sitting in the wrong section. But this stuff just wasn’t happening tonight. There was me and this other guy at this one section, and there were a few dozen people standing where they shouldn’t be. We were told before the match that we should let a lot of small things go because we were understaffed and so long as people were just having fun, it wasn’t a big deal.

Our job description for this game was to make sure nobody was dying, be a set of eyes to report any fighting (the fans were undivided, so Brazilian and Mexican fans were side by side), help people if they were lost, and ensure that the smoking hot Brazilian hotties were sufficiently leered at.

The game was amazing. I had to keep telling myself “This is the best team in the world out there. There’s Ronaldhino, there’s Kaka, and I’m getting paid to watch them.”

At the 78h minute, I told my fellow usher: “Brazil is going to score soon, the entire game is being played in this half.” Two minutes later, Kaka slammed home a goal and the Stadium shook. A few minutes later, Brazil added the clincher and won 3-1.

We cleared out the Stadium, waiting for fans to take their pictures of themselves with the empty field in the background. Getting out of there was slow. Traffic was at a standstill at the exits. The parking lot was filled with dancing and singing fans, some playing soccer on the asphalt, and a set of tremendously loud speakers blasting Brazilian music.

I got out of the parking lot 30 minutes later. On Route 1, there were a lot of hitchhikers on the side of the road. I was paying too much attention to navigating traffic and avoiding pedestrians to notice a few of them in time. There was a group of 4 beautiful girls, absolutely perfect (from what I could see at night going 40 MPH). But by the time I noticed how hot they were, it was too late for me to slow down and pick them up. Oh well. Maybe the next time Brazil plays in Foxborough, I’ll keep an eye out for these kinds of fans. I’ll also brush up on my Portuguese.

Ei menina sexy, quer uma carona?

That's Portuguese for something close to "Sexy lady, want a pickup?"

Episode 5: Welcome to Boston College

2009-10-07T21:26:00.002-04:00

This episode describes the experience of working my first Boston College event: a football game with ACC rival Wake Forest. This was sort of the end of my naive and bright-eyed period of working events. My natural cynicism and hatred of people really comes out to shine thanks to this event. I've since grown to love BC. I've worked EVERY single hockey game they've hosted the last 2 years, and most of the men's and women's basketball. This was originally written on September 4, 2007.

I had never been to a Division I-A football game before. I’ve seen football in Alumni Stadium, but it was always high school football. My first day working at Boston College was one of highs and lows. I went from wanting to quit at one point, to realizing why I got this job in the first place.

I also worked the Patriots pre-season game on Thursday. I didn’t see a single play, but that was by choice. I volunteered to take tickets. Kickoff was 7:38, but it’s amazing how many people will show up late, I mean real late, for a pre-season game. I didn’t go on break until about 9:30, and people were still streaming into the gates.
After working the gates, I went on break, had some food, and a supervisor asked who wanted to go home. Since it was the 3rd quarter of a pre-season game, and the traffic was going to be in mid-season form, I raised my hand and went home early.

Navigating the concourses during half-time of a football game should be an Olympic sport. Getting from the north side of the Stadium to the south side took me about 10 minutes, which might be close to a record for half-time.

One thing I like about this job is the variety of people I work with. The guy taking tickets next to me was a civil engineer who specialized in water treatment and storage facilities. He explained to me the science behind water usage at a facility like Gillette Stadium. Then a guy doing pat downs in front of me was a semi-retired man who gives speeches to companies and consults them on how to rebuild themselves during struggling times. Then there are a few recent college grads like myself. There’s a very good cross-section of people.

Anyway, back to BC…

Getting to Boston College on game day is tricky. There is nowhere near enough parking for fans, let alone employees, so they have us park in the Needham Industrial Park right off of 128. Those familiar with Eastern Mass know this area, it’s right around exit 19A, by the Coca-Cola bottling plant. BC runs buses from here to Merket Hall, next to the Stadium. It’s about a 20 minute bus ride because they take the most circuitous route possible, going through Newton, Brookline, back to Chestnut Hill, then Salem, Gloucester, Portsmouth, NH, then back to Boston College.

Working the gates at Patriot games is fun. Working the gates at Boston College sucks on more levels than I thought something could suck. There’s no security in front of you, the scanners often go offline of their wireless networks, and the people at BC are simply obnoxious pricks for the most part.

Boston College people are the cream of the upper middle class in Boston. These are the doctors, lawyers, teachers, corporate middle managers, and small business owners of New England. These are the people who got rejected, or never applied to, Ivy League schools, but still had good SAT scores and GPAs. These are the people who could easily afford the $38,000 a year, or whatever it was they had to pay to go there. These are the people who sat atop Chestnut Hill, looking down on the rest of the schools in Boston, and thought they were better than BU, Northeastern, Emerson, Suffolk, UMass, Bentley, Brandeis, and because they had parties and weren’t complete nerds, thought they were above Harvard and MIT people.

Now, this isn’t every BC student/alum. And it wasn’t every BC fan I encountered at the gates. But it was about 40% of the people who came through my gate on Saturday.
BC had just implemented a new policy: Fans must enter the gate that it tells them to enter on their ticket. I was assigned to Gate D. At first, as traffic was slow, it was easy to tell people to go to Gate C, or Gate E, or Gate A (the student gate). And most people were fine with that.

Then this one kid came through my gate. His ticket said “Gate C” so I told him to go to Gate C. But the ticket taker next to me had already scanned in his father. His father started yelling at me from inside the gates. So I said “OK, I’ll scan him in then. Sorry, I didn’t know you were together.” And the father gave me the most condescending look from under his BC hat. It was a look that said “Who the fuck are YOU, kid? Telling ME, an alumnus of THE Boston College, where I can and can’t go?”
Then an older gentleman approached, also with Gate C tickets. I politely told him to go to Gate C. And he yelled at me. He yelled at me about how he was old, and handicapped, and how he’d been coming to games for years, and how his seats were right there. I quickly gave in and said “Sorry, sir, I’ll let you in. I apologize.” It was the first time I wanted to quit this job.

I gave up on the whole wrong gate thing, and just let everyone in. Then my scanner went offline. You see, they’re on a network, and they send and receive info from the database to see if a ticket is valid, and to get the correct attendance figure. But mine kept floating off and on the network. And even when it was online, it had trouble scanning, so I went to the backup plan, which is ripping stubs and putting the bar code in my pocket.

By this point, about 45 minutes before game time, I had met a fairly large number of mean, nose upturned Boston College fans. I had also met a few really nice BC fans, including a priest, which tends to happen at a Jesuit run school. But I must say that the Wake Forest fans were the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life. They were all wearing black and gold, and most had strong North Carolinian accents. I’d say “Welcome to Boston College” and they’d start up a conversation with me. I’d say “How are you today?” They’d politely respond and ask me how I was, AND ASKED ME WITH SINCERITY! It was amazing. These people actually gave a rat’s ass how the lowly ticket taker was. For a few hours, I wished I was an usher in Winston-Salem, NC.

After scanner malfunctions and obnoxious BC assholes, I was ready to quit. If I had seen the guy that runs TeamOps at BC, I would have told him I was done. I went on break, didn’t see him, smoked 3 cigarettes in 10 minutes, then was redeployed. I got sent to the East Side of the Stadium. I was placed at Section R, which was right behind the Wake Forest bench, at the 40 yard line. In other words, the best freaking seat (I had to stand) in the house. I was standing in front of where Row 1 would be, right next to the 50 yard line, about 5 feet from the Wake Forest players. And all I had to do was make sure nobody was standing near the entrance to the section or on the stairs.

I had a sick view of some amazing plays. The interceptions Dejuan Tribble hauled in. BC’s 4th and 1 stop in the 4th quarter. The big hits, the big passes, everything. I could hear the Wake Forest coaches talking to their players, and could see the plays they drew up on their white board. I knew what the Deacons were going to do before anyone else in the Stadium. When there was a big play, and the band would start up, the Stadium would vibrate, and I’d get goose bumps. It was truly awesome. And it was why I applied for this job, to be close to, and almost a part of the action.

One absolutely horror filled moment came in the middle of the 3rd quarter. I had expected to see kids from my high school at the game, even kids I hadn’t really liked. So I was ready for that. But I wasn’t ready for my former principal and dean of discipline, sitting in my section. God, what a shitty moment that was. I wanted to go the rest of my life without dealing with that fucker and there he was, in Section R, with his kids, in the 1st row, right in front of me. Real unfortunate moment there.

Near the end of the 4th quarter, I got sent to guard the players’ exit off the field. Pretty simple stuff. The players go through the concourse underneath the stands. They curtain off the area, and we stand in front of it. Then we had to go out and “flush” people from the Stadium. One woman and her friend gave us some shit, saying “Her husband works for Boston College.” The game had been over for nearly an hour by this time, but the Boston College attitude was still in full force.

Anyway, I got paid about $70, had to deal with assholes for about 2 hours, but also got to see 3 quarters of great football from a great vantage point.

I love my job.

Episode 4: A Day at the (Conte) Forum

2009-10-06T19:33:00.002-04:00

This episode is an excellent example of how excited this job was to me at the time. This isn't even about an event. It's about learning about a future event. It's funny how lost I was in BC's Conte Forum, a building I now know inside and out. From a writing perspective, I'm getting looser with my style, a bit warmer voice along with more anecdotal stuff instead of just a straight-up description of events. This was originally written on August 23, 2007.

I had orientation for Boston College the other day. No, I’m not going there as a student, I’m working there! HAHAHAHA! Man, I focus way too much on making myself laugh.

Anyway, TeamOps, which is owned by Bob Kraft (the Patriots owner) handles sporting events at BC, as well as Harvard. I think this is a really good way for a sports team to make some extra dough, outsource your employees, who have experience handling events, to other local events.

I was excited when I found out that TeamOps does Boston College events. It’s funny, I hate BC kids (their sense of entitlement combined with the arrogance that comes with any large/good school), but I love BC sports, particularly hockey.

Getting to Boston College is no picnic. It’s about 20 miles from my house, but it took about 40 minutes, most of which were spent meandering through Newton and Chestnut Hill on Route 30, which is just a delight at 5 PM on a Wednesday.

The orientation was supposed to take place in the Shea Room in the Conte Forum (BC’s hockey/basketball arena), but was moved to the Media Room. I got inside the Conte Forum with ease (every door was open, anyone could have gone in and played hoops in BC’s court), and realized quickly that I had no idea where the Media Room was. After a lovely tour of the building, I found someone who directed me to the orientation.

A few fun facts about Boston College’s athletic facilities:
The Conte Forum and Alumni Stadium are connected. The Media Room we met in is accessed by walking under the basketball court in one direction, or walking off the football field in the other direction. The visiting locker room for hockey teams is also the training room for visiting football teams.

For some reason, they place their student section right next to the sections allotted for the other team’s fans. That’s why you’re not in the Ivy League, BC.

Alumni Stadium is all aluminum seating (they should call it ALUMINI Stadium, HAHAHA!). The Event Manager at BC (the guy in charge of TeamOps there) described this. “It’s a gigantic lightning rod.” The Stadium has evacuation procedures in place, because there are literally acres of aluminum out there. Once again, we see just how smart BC is.

The sections of the Stadium are lettered, not numbered. So they go A, B, C, not 1, 2, 3. In the upper deck, they are double lettered, AA, BB, CC. There is no section I, but there is a section II. There are no sections M or N, but there is a section MM. Confusing things even more is that the gates are also lettered, but have little to no correlation with the seats. Section letters go up counter-clockwise, gate letters go up clockwise. Gate A is outside Section H. Gate B is outside G, Gate C is outside A, Gate D is outside Z, Gate E is outside W, Gate F is outside O. Seat numbers also go higher clockwise. This poor (and easily fixed but somehow ignored) design is the complete opposite of Gillette Stadium. At Gillette, the gates are named, not lettered or numbered. Also, the sections get higher in the same direction as the seats. Gillette is easy to navigate, Alumni Stadium is not.

There is no alcohol allowed in the Stadium, except in the luxury boxes. Luxury boxes are not exclusive, and a luxury box owner can let in anyone he/she wants to. Anyone can drink as much as they want in the box.

BC uses its adjacent baseball field as a tailgate area. To curb student drinking, alcohol is not allowed to be carried in. However, cars can bring in as much alcohol as they want to.

A ticket is required for the tailgate area. Friends and family of players get their tickets inside the Stadium. There is no readmittance to the Stadium, so friends and family cannot go to the tailgate area, because they get their tickets once already inside the Stadium.

The Boston College police handle all security at sporting events. We’re there to provide customer service and be the eyes and ears of the BCPD. Last season, the BCPD found themselves a bit too thin to handle security at big games like Virginia Tech (a Thursday night game), and this year we’re hosting Miami and in state UMass, so I wouldn’t be shocked if the BCPD once again begged us for security assistance.

The head of Homeland Security will be inspecting Alumni Stadium during an upcoming game. He’s going to love the fact that the parking garage lies underneath the grandstand, and that the BC Police do not search bags at the gates.

The weirdest moment of the orientation occurred when the Event Manager asked a strange question. See, he was in the Army, and was from Louisiana. He was kind of an “Anything can and will happen” type of guy. He used to work for the Saints until Katrina. When talking about lightning striking the Stadium, he asked us “Who here fears death?” Oddly enough, nobody raised their hand. Apparently, I’m working with a very brave and heroic bunch of ticket takers and ushers, that will gladly look death in the eye, laugh, and say “Excuse me, may I please see your ticket, sir?”

Episode 3: First Event

2009-10-06T19:21:00.004-04:00

As you might guess, this episode discusses working my first event, a pre-season game between the Patriots and Titans. It was originally written on August 27, 2007. This is a great example of my style and mood in the early part of the series. I'm very descriptive, but in a cold, clinical way. I'm also utterly awestruck by small details. Rereading these now with countless events worked, and I can't help but laugh at how much of a newb I was. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and with less than half a clue as to what was really happening.

Friday was my first real day of work at Gillette Stadium as an usher. It was, to say the least, an interesting experience.

I didn’t really know what to expect. I left my house in Norwood (about 6 miles from the Stadium) at 2 PM. My report time was 4 PM. But Route 1 (the only road to Gillette) tends to back up on game days and I didn’t want to be late on my first day.

I hung out behind the Stadium at the employee’s entrance for about an hour before checking in. The place was a madhouse of activity. I was surprised by the number of State Police troopers there, and even more shocked by the number of police dogs. There were about 12 police cruisers, and the same number of dogs. An almost steady stream of employees flowed into the Stadium. There were also dozens of golf carts and fork lifts ferrying cargo in and out of the building. Even in the pre-season, an NFL game is a massive undertaking.

After checking in and waiting around for another hour, it became apparent that the supervisors were freaking out. I could overhear them saying things like “We’re fucked,” “How did this happen?,” and “so and so is wicked pissed that this happened.” Finally they told us what the problem was: there weren’t enough ticket takers to man the gates. There also weren’t enough female security workers to pat down female ticket holders. So they used all us ushers as ticket takers.

I wasn’t prepared to be a ticket taker, but I had been told it was the simplest job in the stadium. And it was. You point an oversized iPod kind of device at the ticket, scan it, and when it says “Go” you let the person in.

The gates opened at 6 PM, and a small number of people waiting there walked in with ease. Then almost nobody came in for about 45 minutes.

The skies were growing darker, and it was obvious it would rain soon. My supervisor said “Don’t worry, it isn’t supposed to rain down here.” On cue, the heavens opened and the rain fell. The ever vigilant police officers outside the gate soon found something better and drier to do inside the Stadium.

Then the lightning came, and the rain poured in buckets. Us ticket takers were underneath an overhang at the gate, so we were able to stay dry. But when the rain really picked up, everyone in the parking lots sprinted for the gates, and a tidal wave of people rushed us. I must have averaged scanning 50 tickets a minute. If ticket scanning were an Olympic sport, I’d probably win the silver medal behind some Norwegian savant. The problem was, my speed inspired people in other lines to hop over to mine, so I wasn‘t given any sort of respite from my ticket taking toil.
One thing I liked about ticket taking was that it was a thank-filled job. Everybody loves the guy who lets them into the stadium. 99% of people said “thank you,” and 90% of people engaged in some short conversation, joking about how wet they were or something.

I was scanning in one of the male lines (lines are divided by gender because only men can pat down men, and only women can pat down women). This kind of sucked, because a lot of nice looking females go to Patriots games, and they were all the way on the other side of the gate. And when it rained, there were a few thousand young women in white shirts entering the Stadium. Quite a show. But I had to deal exclusively with soggy and drunk men. Not that I’m gonna pick up a phone number from a girl or anything as a ticket taker, but something to entertain me while standing in the same place for 3 hours would have been nice.

At 8:30, I was sent on break. They provide us free dinner. Friday night it was a sausage in a bun, with a brownie dessert. Not exactly gourmet, but sausages on the concourse cost about $7.50.

The bowels of Gillette Stadium are the exact opposite of the colorful and vibrant public places you see on TV or when you go there. It’s basically a multi-storied basement with all the spare parts (including us) crammed wherever there is space. No windows, minimal lights, minimal ventilation, not even a TV to watch the game on.
I got “redeployed” as an usher and saw my very first football of the night with 4:26 left in the 2nd quarter. This didn’t bug me much because it was only a pre-season game. I saw the big goal line stand at the end of the first half. It was the only time the crowd really made some noise, apart from touchdowns.

I stood at the top of the seating sections, randomly checking tickets (then I just gave up on that). The primary job of the usher seems to be to keep people behind The Red Line. The Red Line is a few feet behind the seating section. There are 4,000 Standing Room Only tickets sold each game (SROs), and these people are the #1 enemy of the usher. They try to sneak into seating sections. They stand way over The Line. They wander about, drinking and causing problems. I really hate them now.

I experienced two incidents with drunken assholes. One was with a group of kids about 20 years old who gave me shit about The Red Line. I was polite and nice to them, and asked them to stand behind The Line. But some people are just mean, and think that an SRO ticket gives them immunity. They mocked me and danced on my Line. I turned and laughed at them, brushing it off and giving them a thumbs up, and they stopped.
Then some shirtless drunk guy asked me where Bob Kraft was. I talked to him for a while before he dropped his beer bottle, then he faceplanted into the concrete in an effort to pick it up.

Then I got relieved, and told that I could go home. Six hours at Gillette Stadium, five of those on my feet, an hour of watching football, three hours in the rain, and $54 in my pocket. Not bad, it was fun.

Just a few random notes:

The New England Patriots cheerleaders use the same entrance as us. They were wearing their warm ups (short shorts, and tight tops, it’s nice) when they entered the Stadium. And I really liked their new uniforms. Can anyone say USC? Very hot.

We get issued parking permits for the P1 entrance. People familiar with Gillette might know that this is a special entrance. It’s for employees, club members, and suite holders. In other words, the best of the best. And like those douche bag skiers and snowboarders who keep their lift tickets pinned to their coats all year long, I’ll be keeping my employee parking permit hanging on my rear view mirror for the next 2 weeks.

I saw Vince Young warming up before the game. I also was nearly run over by a former Patriots player (who I didn’t recognize) as he flashed his “All Access Pass” in my face, while refusing to slow down at the gate.

I also saw one of the best shirts ever. On the front it said: I Hate Peyton Manning. On the back, it said And Eli Sucks Too.

I’ve gotten a newfound respect for stadium workers. It’s a tough, and often thankless job, particularly in the security aspects. I’d say that 99.5% of Stadium patrons are cool, and some will even help you do your job (someone walked up to me and told me that someone was passed out in the bathroom). That other 0.5% are drunkards and assholes, mostly SROs, not the season ticket holders who know that any trouble and their tickets will be revoked.

All and all, a good day/night of work. An interesting one, too. Up next I have orientation for Boston College sporting events. Then I’m working the next home Patriots pre-season game on the 30th, and BC’s first football game on September 1st. I could have signed up for the Jimmy Buffett concert, but Jimmy Buffett sucks. You’d have to pay me at least $30 an hour to work a Jimmy Buffett concert.

Funny moment of the night: Standing outside the gate, taking tickets, in the pouring rain, one of my coworkers says “You couldn’t pay me to come to a pre-season game in this weather.” To which I replied: “But, someone is paying you to be here.”

Episode 2: Harvard?

2009-10-06T19:11:00.002-04:00

This article is very short and to the point. It was originally written on August 16, 2007. At this point, I still had yet to work an event.

As some of you might know, I recently got a job with TeamOps, which is a company that handles sporting events, providing security, ushers, ticket takers, et cetera. I’m ushering at the Patriots two home pre-season games, as well as Boston College football’s home opener against Wake Forest.

I just wanted to share my first major disappointment with my new job. The bosses had told us that this week TeamOps would be announcing their partnership with another venue in the Boston area.

I was hoping it would be TD BankNorth Garden, so I could go to Celtics and Bruins games and get paid to do it. I thought it might be BU, which wouldn’t be so bad, working Hockey East games, or Northeastern. Plus I have a lot of friends that go to these institutions.

The new venue for TeamOps was, drum roll………………….

Harvard University.

I shall not be working games for Harvard. As much as I’d love to see Ivy League basketball (yawn), I’d rather watch my toe nails grow.

I've actually worked a pair of football games at Harvard, and enjoyed both of them. If their football and hockey games didn't so often conflict with Boston College's, I'd like to work there more often. I've also become quite a fan of the Harvard women's hockey team.

Episode 1: An Evening at Gillette Stadium

2009-10-06T19:02:00.003-04:00

This was the first time I wrote about what was then my new job. This was originally written on August 9, 2007. This is my "Awestruck" phase of the job, where everything seemed amazing and unreal. This was when I got goosebumps just seeing Gillette Stadium's light-towers peer over the horizon as I drove in to work.

I just got hired by a company that does a the customer service stuff at Gillette Stadium. You know, ushers, ticket takers, people in parking lots with little orange flags, that kind of stuff. Actually, the company is owned by Bob Kraft (who owns the Patriots, by the by), and also does the same sort of customer service stuff at other sports arenas, like Boston College. I think that’s wicked smart. Instead of paying some other company to do your customer service crap, why not make your own company then contract its services it to other arenas? There’s a reason why Bob Kraft is rich.

I had my orientation last night in the suite level of Gillette Stadium. The job descriptions seemed fairly obvious and simple. Basically, I’ll be getting paid to check people’s tickets, while I watch the Patriots play. Is there a better job? Perhaps, but not in Foxborough on a Sunday.

Soccer fans will appreciate this: The LA Galaxy are coming to Foxborough to play the Revolution on Sunday. Throughout the evening of power point presentations, this upcoming game was referred to as “the Beckham game” or simply “Beckham.” Example: “We’re expecting over 32,000 fans for the Beckham game on Sunday.” Or “We need a lot of people to work in the parking lot for Beckham.” And of course, Beckscum might not even play in the game. The orientation lasted for about two hours, and never once did I hear any of the following words: “Los,” “Angeles,” or “Galaxy.”

As I said, this all took place in one of the clubhouse suites in the Stadium. There’s an amazing view of the field from up there. A soccer game was being played on the field. The Revolution were playing the Harrisburg City Islanders in front of a crowd of about 800. These were the friends and families of the players, as well as the sparse number of ultras waving their flags (including the historic and obscure New England flag, which I thought was cool). Anyway, the match was a quarterfinal for the US Open Cup, America’s version of the FA Cup, open to most professional teams in the country. Actually, I guess it’s kind of like the League Cup. Harrisburg advanced to play New England after beating DC United 1-0. These games are not taken all that seriously, by fans or players.

I just felt like the evening demonstrated the state of soccer in America. An upcoming Revolution game referred to only as “Beckham.” A game attended by under 1,000 people in a competition that even I (a soccer fan) had never heard of before. But still, money to be made, and a few hardcore fans supporting the game.

Anyway, my first task is to be an usher for the August 17th pre-season Patriots game. I’ve only been to one Patriots game before, and now I’m going to be paid to go to ten or more this year. And yes, I will write throughout the season about my new life as a Gillette Stadium usher.

The original title of this article (which appeared on ArmchairGM) was simply "An Evening at Gillette Stadium." But as you can see, I came up with the title of this series (and now this blog), within the last sentence.