I Was One Cranky Old Lady

A few weeks ago, a team of teenage boys likely voted me MVP—that is, a ‘most vexatious person’. I guarantee I made no fans with our local minor rep baseball team, but I stood my ground—by reminding them of their own sport’s core values.

We were at an inter-county league baseball game, and that Saturday afternoon was the hottest, most humid day we’d had this summer. The lineup at the concession booth for cold drinks snaked around the stanchions, and I tagged onto the end of it. There were about 15 people ahead of me, in single file. Two early-teen boys were directly in front of me. Their baseball jerseys were familiar to me—the boys were members of our local minor rep team.

The boys often hang out to watch the ‘pros’ play after their own games are over, and we often see the same kids in the park every game day. They get into the park for free because of their association with ‘the big guys’, and they proudly wear their jerseys to identify themselves. They’re good kids, and solid baseball players.

As we crept forward, the lineup grew behind us. There had to be another 20 people, lined up to quench their thirst in the heat. Folks were dripping sweat, patting their foreheads and wiping the backs of their necks.

Finally, the two boys in front of me were next to be served. Suddenly, the rest of the team emerged from their shade-protected areas; one, two, then seven extra boys squeezed into the space in front of me.

They thought it appropriate to head directly to the front of the line, while 30-plus other fans—seniors, guests, and moms with kids—waited patiently in the grueling heat. I’m always watching out for the safety of our guests and fans; I’m a volunteer on game days, and we’d already had to assist a senior who had become ill in the sweltering temperatures. I was on high alert.

So what was it that irked me? Was it the heat? The perceived privilege? Sheer annoyance at the kids who didn’t think they had to wait with everyone else?

At any rate, I snapped. “Hey, you can’t do that!” I exclaimed. “You other kids, go to the back of the line. These two boys were in front of me. They can order. The rest of you, to the back!”

I think I shocked myself, taking on nine teenagers, but I kept going. When they refused to step back, I stepped in front of them. I leaned against the order counter and spread my arms so they couldn’t get past me.

Nonetheless, the concession staff started to take their orders. I told the staff to stop. I explained why. The players in uniform were often admired and given special privileges. But it wasn’t going to happen this time.

Yep, I think I was off my head in the heat. I repeated myself to the boys: “Those who just stepped in front, go to the back of the line!”

They were flummoxed but undeterred. They stood, trying to order while I spoke over them, which garnered attention from the rest of the folks in the lineup.

I thought of the multitude of people swooning in the heat, standing in the scorching sun awaiting cold refreshment. And I wasn’t going to put up with a bunch of kids who thought they were special.

“Look, you’re not going to get in here,” I explained to them. “Do you think it’s appropriate when all these people have been standing here for almost half an hour?”

Shrugs ensued, as did lowered eyelids, with kids suddenly staring at their feet. Still, they were holding their ground.

“C’mon, you guys,” I continued. “You’re a team. You’re good kids. You know how teams work. Tell me, is this sportsmanlike behavior?”

I looked at each one of them in turn. I said, “These two get to order. You know what the rest of you need to do to be sportsmanlike.”

And slowly, one by one, the boys walked away, either to the end of the line or simply to head back to their seats.

Here I was, a 60-year-old childless woman, telling a bunch of kids that their actions weren’t appropriate. Horrific or heroic, the jury’s still out.

I understand privilege in sports; I grew up in a sports family, and more often than not, my relatives (especially my dad) were recognized in public for their sports acumen. Being good at sports got you into places in ways that others are denied. We were taught to never take advantage of the extras we were afforded because of our talents. To me, that’s a lesson that should stand today.

My own actions that day weren’t particularly well-received, especially from the kids who were at the receiving end of them. Even my friends didn’t really get my point. But it made me reflect on privilege, especially at a time when our national hockey governing body, Hockey Canada, is embroiled in scandal.

It’s been widely reported that since 1989, Hockey Canada has paid out almost $9 million to settle 21 cases of alleged sexual assault. The organization diverts a portion of its membership fees to a special fund that “pays out settlements in cases of alleged sexual assault without its insurance company, and with minimal outside scrutiny.” So each player pays into a fund that will protect them if they find themselves charged with group sexual assault or other heinous actions. Talk about privilege. Don’t worry, you’re special. You can do horrible things no one else can get away with, and we have your back. And besides, it must have been consensual. You’ve never been told no before, have you?

Big stretch, from butting in line to sexual assault? Let’s not kid ourselves. Privilege starts small. Yeah, I suppose there was part of me that was simply annoyed with bold behavior on a steaming Saturday afternoon. But it’s worth considering. It’s a bigger question than, “Who do you kids think you are?”

I turned to look at the people waiting in line, turned back to the kids, and wondered instead, “Who teaches us this kind of behavior is ok?”