Fans are solely responsible for the scourge of sports in society. It is their money that supports the entire industry, and it is their over-exuberant zeal that makes it seem interesting and attracts others to become new fans. Their guilt is proven beyond a shadow of doubt so we can blame it all on them. They are the culprits behind this ongoing worldwide criminal enterprise and must be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law - and then some. There's no need for a trial because no judge or jury can be trusted to adjudicate the crime, because almost everyone on the planet is also a fan.
The term fan is short for fanatic, and that's exactly what sports fans are; radical, fanatical animals who sold their god-forbidden souls for two tickets to the super bowl. They take the word fun very seriously - like the fun in fundamental extremism. Sports fans are maniacal disciples who idolize Mike Tyson and OJ Simpson. With the utmost religious zeal their loyal devotion to supersedes all else, and their sacred mission in life is to watch as many games as they can during waking hours, and dream about the players as much as humanly possible while asleep.
The stadium is their grand cathedral where they flock en masse to pay homage to the God of Games. According to the tenets of their creed the only way they can stay alive is to attend live games. It's simple logic, they say. So great is their faith that they arrive early before each game to participate in a time-honored trailer trash tradition known as the Tail Gate Party. It's a festive celebration where the congregation gathers in the parking lot to eat grilled meat and drink cheap beer here, because it's too expensive to buy inside. Subsequent to the feast they all vomit and pee. Then into the epic arena they march like a procession of sheep after being charged a hefty fee to see what smart people can see for free on TV in the comfort of their home.
Towering high above the playing field tiered seating is arranged in a circular configuration forcing fans to face each other from across opposite sides so that the frenetic feedback of their combined minds generates a synergistic psychokinetic vortex effect that swirls around the circumference building up pressure to a fever level until it reaches the bleachers and releases an explosive outburst of mass hysteria by the cheering crowd who are overcome with extreme exultation. They are elevated into a perfect state of ecstasy and bliss - before running off to the restroom to take piss.
Where as ball parks and colosseums are major league monuments that draw fans on pilgrimages to the sporting Mecca, sports bars are rather like humble little chapels where even the village idiot feels welcome. It is a neighborly place where televised games are always on screen. Most have pool tables, dart boards, pinball machines, and video games. Some even have a bowling lane. And of course they all have a deck of cards and a set of dice handy. These pubs are the heart and soul many communities all over the world. It's the favorite place for friends meet on any given day, mainly because there's nowhere else to go in the boondocks.
On cold winter nights folks share good times in a cozy corner booth with the warmth of kindred spirits -- of the alcoholic kind. But don't be fooled by the modest facade. Whenever there's a big game on these bars come to life and turn into hot and sweaty pigpens, over-crowded with a bunch of dumb-ass drunks, horsing around like rowdy cowboys all hollering out loud, yelling and screaming obscenities, as they root for their team not to lose once again. The place stinks with the collective accumulation of farts and bad breath of at least 10 men, with no air conditioner or fan - except the hot air blowing kind.