April 21, 2011
Sports memorabilia? I get it. I get why people grab it, buy it, or save it.
The other day I came across a ticket stub from a Cubs/Cardinals game from 23 years ago, an afternoon that saw my dad pulling me out of school to introduce me to Wrigley Field (and, by extension, 90 percent of George Carlin's seven dirty words from the left-field hecklers), and it damn near drove me to tears. Autographs and pictures and bobble-heads and trinkets? They don't exactly fill up my living room, but I can see why they'd fit in the décor of others.
And while I would have loved a home run ball from Willie McGee from that afternoon, or a signed scorecard, I sure as hell wasn't sneaking into the locker room to steal a dirty towel from Vince Coleman's locker.
It's not even the part where you realize that, gross, that towel is covered in sweat.
No, it's the part that reminds you that Tyson Chandler was using that towel. That he was going to sit in a locker room and continue to sweat into it after a wild first half of setting screens for Peja Stojakovic(notes), grabbing six boards, and playing great defense.
And while we're not usually in the routine of ripping on little kids, there's something that tells you that a likely season-ticket owner's kid, wearing an expensive Puff Daddy-designed jersey, probably has a sense of entitlement that allows him to not only think for half a second that stealing a towel from a player is an OK thing, but a drive and a selfish push that forces him to think it the right thing to do. I get things, and that should be one of the things I get. I'm going to go get it, now. These are the people that don't use their turn signals, as children.
Something tells me he's not going to get all misty-eyed, looking at that ticket stub (assuming he deigns to keep it) 23 years later.