 Are
Noisy, Emotional Sports Games Triggering Road Rage?
Differing
perceptions of who should go first in traffic. A perceived
slight. An exchange of angry words. A confrontation.
A blow struck. And a man lies dying. There’s an
expression for it: road rage.
It happened just a few weeks ago after a Kings basketball game at Arco Arena.
It could as easily have been after a River Cats game at Raley Field or an “action” movie.
And as I see it, there’s a possible aggravating factor triggering such
confrontations, one which no one has mentioned. It’s noise.
At professional athletic contests today — and in many films, too — there
is constant noise. The beat of music which is far from soothing. Recorded bugle
calls — “Charge!” — and drums beating. Scoreboard messages
call for more noise. Even the public address announcer stating the names — but
only for the home team — gives them a treatment accorded traditionally
to prize fighters.
Understand, I’m not calling for games to be played in silence. I’m
just saying that it seems to me the noise factor should be examined as a triggering
agent in hyping up fans’ emotions, which can lead to violence.
Those lineup announcements, by the way, with their drawn-out emphasis, also can
lead to some misunderstandings. My wife recently commented, “That’s
a funny name — Friendly Bottom,” and I had to agree. Except, that
when I checked the scorecard, it actually was Freddy Bynum. I think a simple
announcement — like that given the visiting team —would suffice.
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• • •
Back
when Sacramento was a much smaller city, it was possible
for my mother to tell new acquaintances, “Just look for
us in the phone book — we’re the only Gilliams.” And
she was right for a long time. She kept saying that for
years, never checking to see whether there might be another
listed.
There finally came the day when a new co-worker from the Capitol called the number
she found in the found phone book and was greeted by a pleasant, “Hello,” at
the other end.
“Is Flora there?” the caller asked, at which she heard the voice
call out, “Hey, girls, we got a Flora in the house now?”
Whoops. She’d called the number for Geneva Gilliam, operator of the Ace
Rooms, 300 1/2 J Street. That was a day when any “1/2” number on
J
Street was a “palace of joy,” and “rooms” definitely
were not rented by the night or the week to casual travelers. It took WWII to
end J Street’s reign as “Rowboat Row — oars (sound it out)
on either side.”
In answer to your question, Geneva was not, to our knowledge, a relative.
• • •
Stockton,
a few weeks back, was getting monumental amounts of TV
coverage with its Asparagus Festival. There was a time, many
years ago,
that the only Asparagus
Festival drawing crowds each year was Isleton’s. I’d hazard a guess
that some of that community’s gray hairs might have wished for a return
of that event in light of the furor over competing Crawdad Festivals in that
Delta hamlet.
Way back when, asparagus was king in the Delta, and canneries were strung
from Ensher, Alexander and Barsoom’s in Isleton clear up to the Del Monte plant
in Sacramento, which alone packed about 25 percent of the world’s canned
asparagus.
That plant was built between Front and 2nd Street, right on the river, because
most of the “grass,” a highly perishable crop, arrived iced on
barges. The canning process was a speedy one, while the product was at its
freshest,
but the butts were stored in the basement until enough had accumulated to
make hauling them away worthwhile.
The stench was unforgettable, nearly — but not quite — bad enough
in my days as a cannery timekeeper to make me avoid “Doc” Scheid’s
remarkably good cafeteria down in the nether regions of the block-square
plant.
• • •
While
I was long a holdout against such modern devices, when my sons
got together and gifted me with a computer for Christmas a few
years ago, I became a high
tech convert.
I had had my introduction before I retired from the daily newspaper grind
and developed a mistrust when I saw entire stories disappear completely,
forcing
a rewrite. As a result, I always wrote first on an IBM typewriter, like
the one I’m using now, and then transcribed my column on the computer.
I wanted that backup.
Today I use my computer pretty much for amusement, carrying on a lot
of correspondence and looking up things I find of interest. A lot of
the give and take involves
humor, and it’s so easy to forward items that it can become a consuming
pastime.
The e-mail that I tend to discard unread — thank the Lord for that “delete” key — is
material of a religious, patriotic or otherwise inspirational nature.
It’s not that I’m irreligious or unpatriotic and unappreciative of
inspirational items, but I’m resentful of the guilt trip that’s laid
on me as part of the package. Actually, it’s usually a threat or promise
type thing — forward this to everyone you know and good fortune will come
to you in a matter of days, if not hours. But fail in this imposed obligation
and it’s strongly implied you should look over your shoulder at
all times because something bad is creeping up on you.
So inspire me if you will, but please don’t make me feel obligated to inspire
anyone else. I guess I wasn’t cut out for missionary work.
• • •
By
the way, I’m still depending on this 35-year-old IBM
Selectric thanks to a typewriter expert who makes house calls.
Ole Kehlet worked
his magic
on the relic which is too heavy for me to lug to his shop.
After
retiring from a long and respected career with The Sacramento
Bee, Stan Gilliam found that he just couldn't stop writing. So
he brought
his "Stan's Sacramento" column
to the Spectrum,
where
it has been a favorite
of readers
for 15 years
... and
counting.
Senior
Thoughts Senior
Beat
55-Plus Aging
Lifestyles
• • •
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