STEP AWAY FROM THE DEVIL BOX
I consider it a personal insult when I am relegated to watching the game on low-def television, and I see some moron (either gender) camping out in the best seats in the house (like first row, 20 feet behind home plate), talking on his/her cell phone for 6 innings. Leave the friggin phone in your pocket. Sure, call the fellas between innings to brag about your seats, or about the foul ball you caught. Feel free to quickly text your vote for player of the game or to win the special seat upgrade promotion. Use that peachy camera function until you max out the memory. I might even forgive you for strategically checking scores or pulling up radar to check incoming weather (in small doses). But who the hell do you need to talk or text to while Jeter hits a triple to complete the cycle? Watch the damn game! Beyond catching a glimpse of history now and again, another bonus is you won’t have to ask me what just happened every other play. Even better - you might have a moment to enjoy the company of your child, spouse, or buddy.
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