Professional sporting events contain what I refer to as the “Three As.” Alcoholics, autistics and assholes. This popular trinity cuts across every social and cultural line with some lucky individuals check all three boxes. The game itself is a major source of frustration. What happens on the field of play is perceived as anti-democratic. Fans are not consulted, and yet, they must also live with the consequences. When cheers and boos are not enough, everything from D batteries to dead octopuses find its way onto the court. The WNBA has recently discovered this curious trait, searching for answers and ways to clean up their sport.
For those who find hurling things an empty gesture, hurling insults and epitaphs may be preferable. It’s not hard to imagine that many of our least funny comedians would benefit from confronting a flying Jersey tomato face-to-face. Silence isn’t adequate punishment for a bad punchline. Too bad every celebrity’s image is meticulously managed to the point of absurdity. So no publicist is about to let a misplaced, moist seed derail a budding acting career.
And to paraphrase Reggie Jackson, “they don’t throw sex toys at nobodies.”