I don't think that's really in question. I go to Fenway when I can. I listen to games on the radio, and watch them on TV. I read books about them, and watch documentaries on them. I write a Red Sox fan blog, after all. None of that, naturally, makes me unique.
I'm starting to think the "way" that I'm a fan just might.
I have always assumed fans of the Red Sox, or any sports team for that matter, were cut from the same cloth...or had the same origins. Dating back to the very beginning of baseball. The logical progression seemed to be...a sport (baseball) is created. Teams were assembled representing different regions. A neighborhood, a church, a city, a county, whatever. They would play the game against similarly assembled teams. People would see these games being played, and think they were interesting enough to watch. Eventually, lots of people would watch the games. At some point the teams realized that the could (or maybe even should?) charge people a fee to watch the games. That could help cover costs for uniforms, or equipment, or whatever. After all, the fans were there anyway. Eventually teams realized that if they used that money to hire better players to play on their team, more people would want to watch...and they could then charge them more money. After all, a better product meant more people would be watching. All of that escalated to where we are today. Players make tons of money, and so do these things called "team owners". All from people paying to watch their games (or, advertising to people watching their games).
Then, the pandemic hit...and the whole dynamic was thrown off. The games weren't being played. So, nobody was paying to watch them. It was then that "fans" starting calling for the games to be played! They needed the distraction. Or people needed their secondary revenue from concessions. Or, fans just needed that sense of normalcy that games provided. Suddenly, it wasn't fans watching a game being played. It was a game being played as a service to the "fans". It made me uneasy. It made it hard for me to really pay attention. It made it harder for me to write about the team like everything was normal. How could I analyze a pitching rotation under those circumstances? Players were expected to disrupt (and endanger) their lives solely for my entertainment. After all, if fans didn't exist they wouldn't be playing these games. It had a "dance for me" vibe that I wasn't comfortable with. Like I was a team owner or something.
That's when it hit me.
Other fans had been acting that way all along. It was generally the cause of many disagreements between me and them. I could never really put my finger on it. They act like they're owners, not fans.
What do I mean? A couple examples.
Salaries. I have always said, John Henry can spend as much or as little of his money as he wants on his players. If he wants to dramatically overpay for Chris Sale, that's on him. If he doesn't want to overpay Jon Lester, that's on him too. My only annoyance has been when they say "I can't sign player A because I signed player B." That's annoying. It's still, frankly, his choice...but it's annoying. Other fans argue with me. "My ticket prices pay that salary!" or "How can they raise my ticket prices, and then let Lester walk?!?". Which has always been true...to an extent. Sure, the price I pay for tickets is some small part of John Henry's fortune...or the operating budget of Fenway Sports Group, or whatever. But, I'm guessing it's not the major revenue source. Ticket prices are just the fee I'm willing to pay to watch the game. It's the 2020 season that made me realize the difference. They were treating it as if they were the owners. It's not that games are being played, so they decided to pay and watch. They feel that the games are being played "because" they are paying to watch. I had never made that distinction before.
It also comes up with "apologies" from the players. After every bad outing, fans want players to "take responsibility". They want the guy to stand at his locker for 20 minutes and talk about how poorly he pitched. They hated when Clay Buchholz would have a bad outing and then point out that he actually pitched pretty well mostly. Even worst would be skipping the media completely. How dare he not explain himself to the fans. I always argued that I didn't need an apology. I don't insist that Broadway actors issue an apology if they flub a line. I don't need one from Clay if he doesn't locate his curveball. His teammates? Sure. He can mention he's sorry for letting them down. His manager? Sure. Me? He doesn't owe me anything. I'm just there to watch the game, and I'm sure he didn't try to hand a curveball with the bases loaded. But, this year it clicked for me. Other fans weren't looking at it that way because they saw themselves differently. They think they're in the teammate-manager-fan chain of command. They actually think they're paying salaries, and demand accountability from their employees.
I don't really know what to do with this newfound clarity. My guess is that I can't change people's minds on the matter. But, at least I can understand where the argument is coming from. The odd assumption that by buying tickets they somehow own the team. Any future arguments will need to be with that in mind.
My Eyes are more open now.
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