It never ceases to amaze me how things come in pairs.
Today I made a last minute trip down the Capitol Beltway to watch a bout between our very talented Detroit Lions and the Washington Redskins ( a
game time decision, as it were!) However, I think you'll find the game itself is the least interesting part of this story. The drive from my house in Kensington to Fed Ex Stadium in Prince Georges County is 18.6 miles according to google maps, so over an hour on the beltway....
Like at any modern massive sporting event, or anywhere around the DMV, parking is damn nightmare. As I pulled off of the beltway, it was about 1:30, (left just after noon) and the game was already underway. I pulled into the vast expanse of permit parking lots, all appropriately sorted by color. Many scalpers littered the area and try to flag you down to sell off their remaining tickets. Thus begins the haggle.
Now for those of you who don't know, I immensely enjoy the haggling process. I believe this fetish started when I was in Rome for WYD 2000. I would haggle street vendors just for the thrill of trying to get the lowest price, never intending to purchase what they were selling. I would haggle tshirt sellers to flower vendors, trying to drop prices from 2 dollars to one. My first big haggle was for a plate of the Colleseum. The vendor started the price off at 100 american dollars. As soon as I expressed an interest in the piece, the vendor was hooked, trying anything to sell off the plate too me. We started going back and forth, he'd ask what I wanted to spend, I'd say I wasn't sure, he'd throw out lower prices, I'd say still too steep. Eventually his lowest price leveled off at 50 American. Not wanting to drop a half Benji on this plate, I utilized my trump card of haggling technique, and simply walked away. It took about 15 seconds until the man chased me down, plate in hand.
I bought the piece for 15 dollars.
Thus the sight of scalpers ignited my senses, and I pulled off to one man waving me down. I rolled down the window and asked what he had. He had multiple tickets all over the stadium, starting at 80 dollars. The game was already a half hour or so underway, so I told him his prices were a little steep and asked what I wanted to spend. I said no more than twenty. He dropped to forty. I started to pull away. He held onto my window, saying twenty was ok, he could do twenty. Strategically, I had only ten dollars in my wallet, and upon opening it and showing him my funds I said sorry, I actually only had ten. He said ten was fine, he could do ten. He dropped the ticket on my seat and I handed him two fives.
So I was off! ticket in hand I just needed a parking spot. It turns out you must also buy a parking pass from the scalpers as well, as I found out from a parking attendant. So I pulled over to the next nearest scalper. He was only selling tickets and parking passes in
pairs, thus no use to me. On to the next scalper. He had one starting at 60 in the red lot ( about 20 min walk to the stadium). I said way to pricy, he dropped to 40. I told him I had no more cash, to which he replied, " Nigga watchyou gone do with no cash!" and walked off.
My friend was absolutely correct, so I sped off in search of a spot in the nearest residential neighbor hood. Now like many neighbor hoods around the DMV, even to park in the street requires a parking permit. Seeing as how I do not live in Prince Georges county, I lacked this pass. I drove and drove, passing houses that quickly started to dimish in value, passing a police station, passing project houses, and landing at a neighborhood that appeared not to have a street sign designated spots of pavement reserved for cars with permits. I parallel parked the lumina, hid my valuables, and walked to the stadium.
A half hour later I arrived at Fed Ex Stadium.
The stadium is a massive three story structure, home to escalators, corporate boxes, Budwieser, Miller light, scantily clad cheerleaders, and thousands upon thousands of Redskins fans, or as I like to call them, raging misplaced pirates.
Redskins fans should be the Webster's dictionary entry for the phrase "out of control". Like so many east coasters where football comes first, these fans live for Sundays
. My ticket was in the "12th man: Stomp With Pride!" section. I was flanked by couples
paired with jersey's and budweisers to my left and a group of 12th Man stompers
paired with tatoo's and miller lights. When the Redskins make a first down, the section blows up. Fans start chants like "You Suck, You Suck!", "Bullsh@t! Bullsh@t!" and my personal favorite, "F### Detroit!"
Needless to say, the fans of Washington were rewared for their passions with a blowout victory. The Lions were 3-1 going into this game, but after this disgusting loss, their record drops to a shameful 3-100000.
But enough about a this collective scream fest, back to my car, if it's still there. The walk back took me past Prince Georges County highschool, which is directly outside the stadium, Jericho Baptist Church, also right next to the stadium, and loads beyond loads of cars and pavement. eventually I reached the residential neighborhood where my car was. I saw multiple cars with tickets on their windshields, so I was expecting the worst. As the house values diminished I knew I was getting close to my car. Up and down a few hills, passing children playing football in the streets, various baptist churches here and there, a police station to my right, a project house to my left. I began to feel stares from people on the street, mostly out of curiousity I presume. After the 5th block of project houses, I was almost to my car when an undercover police car pulled over to the side of the road and turned on his flashers. I stopped walking as the officer rolled down his windshield to speak to me. "Hey, are you lost?" he questioned me. I quickly replied "No, just walking to my car." He turned his head toward where I was walking and then back to me. "In this neighborhood?" he rebutted. It was then that I noticed that I was the only white person I'd seen in blocks, except for this officer. I looked around me for a quick second and gave him a shrug. "Yeah." The officer gave me a quick once over glance, as if to remind me that I was sticking out like a sore thumb, responded, "Ok." and sped off. I reached my car, the
pair of us unscathed, and headed off to the Beltway for an hour and a half drive back.
Prince Georges County is one of the poorest counties around this area and notorious for being dangerous. Low-income housing, close quarters, and beat up cars lay only a short walk from the loaded corporate stage at Fed Ex Field. Its an interesting duality. How can these two separate entities exist within blocks of each other? It reminds me of crossing over into Detroit from Oakland county. The neighborhood where I parked my car drew memories of Nicaraguan streets in parts, where houses have iron doors, cars old and new are parked on lawns and behind houses, and the kids play in the playground that is the street. Yet practically next door is a beacon of cleanliness and hope. The dream of becoming famous, of being on the field, having thousands cheer for you, the hope of escaping your birthright caste. For one day a week, people from these poor neighborhoods travel up the hill to the stadium to cheer on their team, but really its more deep than that. At the heart of watching spectator sports is a hint of vicarious illusions, the thought that, maybe some day it could be me on that field, or me on that jumboscreen, or me winning that camera given to the person in section 223, row 22 seat 2. Could this be possibly the heart of the American Dream? Give me my 15 minutes?
To quote Hunter S. Thompson,
“For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled.”
