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2000-09-18 to 09-20 - 16:36:25

Atlanta bites

ATLANTA, Ga., Sept. 18

The traffic was hell to Newark Airport and I have my father drop me off at the wrong terminal -- most of Continental flights leave from C, but Atlanta flights fly from A. But OK ... bumpy ride, but not bad considering Tropical Storm Gordon just off the coast.

Atlanta-Hartsfield Airport provides a long trip to baggage claim, laid out in a line, with my plane arriving at the far opposite end...

I got my car, a tiny Geo Metro, but stood in the rental lot not seeing it. I could see the parking spaces: 89 ... 90 ... 91 ... knowing my car was supposed to be in space 91. But it didn't seem to be there, only a mid-size car in space 90. But my Metro was there -- I just couldn't see it on the other side of the bigger car.

After checking into the hotel, having lunch, resting up and making plans for tomorrow, I head to the ballpark for the Mets/Braves showdown, an important division matchup.

Is there a team in the majors that doesn't play "Who Let The Dogs Out?" Probably not -- the Mets, Braves, Giants, Mariners, and it goes on ... and I hate it. At all of them.

I blame the Mariners.

In my seat, I converse with an older woman next to me.

"Are you from New York?"

"New Jersey."

"You're not from Georgia then?" Uh, no, I just said New Jersey, you dumb Georiga hick.

"No."

"Are you for the Braves?" What? You crazy? Not if they were the worst team in any sport in America, with a roster filled with gorgeous young models who all wanted to date me, not even then would I root for them.

"Un-uh."

"You can't sit here then," she jokes. I laugh.

Through the course of the game, I take in the Southern accents. When the hidden ball game comes on the video screen, I notice it moves a lot slower than it does in other parks, particularly New York. They probably slow it down for the southerners.

The Arby's Fan of the Game wins Arby's every month for a year and is eligible for Fan of the Year - what do they get then? Arby's every month for life?

But the big problem I have with Atlanta -- and the reason for my disdain for the city and area -- is they do not deserve the Braves. The "fans" of Atlanta do not deserve the "successful" Braves franchise they've had the last decade. There's no cheering, except for hits and the annoying chop, which is always prompted by the scoreboard. They have no initiative. If they weren't told to cheer -- by the scoreboard, the action on the field -- they wouldn't cheer at all. In New York, in Chicago, in college even, people know how to cheer to fire the team up, to inspire the players and other fans. Not here.

The fans finally stand for something, on a 1-2 count on Daryl Hamilton in the 7th inning. Weak. The only chanting is "Let's Go Braves" from a kids group on an outing in the upper deck. The Mets fans almost drown them out.

When John Rocker sprints in from the dugout, all the damn rednecks in the park stand and cheer for the ignorant fuck. Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter are among them, and I lose a little respect for the man.

Then a guy behind me says, "It got a little spirited there that last inning." Pitiful that he would have to remark on it. They get up later for a full count on Joe McEwing, but then sit down again for Benny Agbayani, the next hitter. Gimmie a break.

With the Braves ahead, some fans get up to leave early, beating whatever traffic there might be. No one would leave an important game in New York when their team is winning.

I notice that it's not a pretty sight when southerners dance to Motown.

Down here, they need the scoreboard to tell them, "Let's hear it Atlanta!"

Sept. 19

I take the tour of CNN Studios, then head out to the Carter Library and think to myself, "Maybe I'll see the former President." I stumble upon the dedication of Freedom Park -- a trail and greenery project linking the Carter Center to the Martin Luther King National Historic Site. At 207 acres, it's the largest urban park developed in the last century, though it was done in pieces.

Along the bike trail, a jogger runs through just as the ceremony begins. I actually laugh when the mayor of Atlanta jokes when introducing Jimmy Carter, "He and Mrs. Carter helped the Braves beat the Mets last night -- there's no end to his public service."

Later, after shaking hands with the former president, I wait in the theater for the movie presentation to begin, and one man in the group of four -- two couples -- in front of me tells his wife, "You'll never see a secret service man with his coat buttoned."

That night, back at the Ted where Frankly My Dear is a hotdog stand, I ruminate more on the fans in Atlanta.

And I decide there are few baseball fans in Atlanta. If the Braves didn't win so much, the park would be half empty. Before each game, a 20-minute rally is put on out in the plaza. I heard a man say last night that those entertainers -- t-shirt throwers and that sort of thing -- are Turner employees who work the Hawks and Thrashers games as well. They sing and dance to the band, getting people to cheer for shirts. What happened to coming to the park, watching batting practice, getting a hot dog to eat while looking through the scorecard and taking in the game? It must've gone out when skyboxes and small markets came in. You just don't see long-suffering Braves fans in faded shirts and throwback jackets -- their wardrobes are spiffy and new.

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