Submitted to Waxing Judgmental by Turbo

Baseball. Ah, America's oldest pastime. If you don't count short-sighted imperialism and general douchebaggery. Of course, those are hardly pastimes.

And the Red Sox - oh what a team. They provide college kids with an excuse to light shit on fire, and they provide police officers with an excuse to shoot college kids. Win, win. Well, almost.

You see, despite the fun of drinking at 2 on a Sunday, there's the added torture of dealing with the fans, an excruciating army of dumb motherfuckers with the combined IQ of a dog shitting in its own mouth. These are the families of 4 who take four separate Humvees to the game and double park all of them. The self-involved sociopaths who think the crosswalk is just a suggestion. The assholes who bob and weave through traffic like it's a game of Frogger, expecting you to stop on a dime and then glaring at you like you're fucking Gene Hackman at the end of The French Connection when you don't immediately yield the highway they're running across to them.

But, what can we do to them? We can't kill them all, and we can't ship them all to Connecticut. My solution is simpler: lower Red Sox prices enough that it might entice working people or even black folks (eek!) to attend the games. It'll send the idiots scampering away from Fenway like rats after a house fire or people with taste during a Police concert.