Respeck

You just get so used to the rich guys taking everything. They back their trucks up to the US Treasury to load up with your tax money. They take bonuses while their workers are getting salary cuts. They ask to take money out of your kids' school in one breath yet insist on getting tax money for their own private schools in the next.
Firefighters and teachers are dumped on in Wisconsin, the long-term unemployed are looking at no benefits at all in Arizona--over philosophical differences on the role of government, no less. If you want to be an optimist in the middle of this, the daily news will take you out to a deserted wheat field and forcibly beat the hope out of you.
That's why going to the Kansas City Wizards'--er, excuse me, Sporting Kansas City's--shiny new stadium is such a mood lifter.
Yes, it's beautiful and state-of-the-art and on par with Europe. And the seats offer a great view of the action no matter where you are. And yes, they won last night. But that's not what puts me in such a good mood.
It's something more simple and maybe even a little meaner-spirited of me than all that.
It's the fact that the priciest tickets cannot get you in to enjoy the best section of the stadium. My section. The cheap seats.
In a decision that upends the usual order of the world, the Sporting KC fans who pay the least for tickets gets some of the best advantages. The closest parking. Prime seats behind the goal. It's the first place triumphant players come to be congratulated after a well-fought match.
And---and!-we have a nice, enclosed, air-conditioned concession area close by filled with big screens. So far this season, while others are paying stadium beer prices for a Bud, we've been getting a somewhat smaller plastic cup of craft beer for $2.
Can the CEOs and fancy suits get in? No ma'am they cannot. We checked multiple times.
It goes without saying that this is the equivalent of reversing gravity in the world of American sports capitalism. Mike and I are so filled with wonder that much of our game night conversations go like this:
"Look at how far out this parking lot is. They have to ride a shuttle bus. Who parks here?"
"People who paid more than we did."
"Want a beer? It's $2! I bet all the guys behind that barrier over there wish they could have some."
"But they can't."
There is nothing like this that we can find in any other local sport. The Royals rebuilt it's stadium recently. Ask where the former "bleacher" sitters are now, and if they're bringing binoculars. But they have plenty of luxury boxes.
There are cheap seats at the T Bones. On a steep grass embankment. In the outfield. Facing the western sun. And the Chiefs? Aw hell no.
Of course we work for it. The Members area (aka the Cauldron) is what makes it a soccer event and not just an ordinary sports snooze. Members wear the colors. They stand for the whole game. They sing. They put up with big drums beaten with a sawed off piece of PVC pipe and constant flags and streamers. (Except for a little dogleg of seats facing the long edge of the pitch. Apparently this part of the Members area has not caught on about what's expected. We ended up in this section last night and were told by a lady near us that anyone who wants to stand for the game should just "go over there," pointing to the more animated area behind the posts.)
You have to give credit to On Goal. They know what a contribution the Cauldron makes to the atmosphere of the game. Without it, you'd have a bunch of people chattering amongst themselves and only cheering for the bold attack or good save. Or to do the wave. There would be no "12th man" bolstering the team when things aren't going well.
Maybe I'm naive. Maybe the Cauldron will be sold out one day and I'm a fool.
But for now, I'm enjoying the respect. And the $2 beer.
And if you're a six-figure company manager who got a bonus and free seats from your company to the match--well good for you. But you can't come in my section.
Sucka!