Where Have all The Pink Hats Gone?

pink hat

Picture from www.massholesports.com

There is no surprise that after a 93 loss season, the fair weather fans retreat from Fenway and spend their spare time following Tom Brady on Twitter, which leaves me asking— where have all the pink hats gone? Frankly, for me, I could care less if the Red Sox win 93 or loss 93 because I love the game of baseball.  But there is a group of people out their who’s dads’ company owns season tickets on the first base line and who only come out when that 93 is in the win column. These people are called pinks hats. Whether boy or girl, cougar or State Street executive, these people only like it when the Sox are the big ticket in town. Showing up to Fenway on any given night gives them a chance to update their Facebook status and share a picture on Instagram so everyone knows where they are and what they are doing. The sad part is that the game is second to the whole show of being there.

It was late last season when I was sitting at Fenway, looked around and felt like I was a kid again. The stadium was half empty by the 6th inning and the only people who were there were die hard fans who cried the night Grady left Pedro in too long. There wasn’t a pink hat in sight or a divorced mom wearing club wear out on a Monday anywhere. For a minute I was happy the Sox were having a rough year. It was, in a sense, “cleaning house” of fake fans. It was nice to finally see the hot girls that I stalk on Twitter (who are very far out of my league) not putting pictures of them next to the dugout during a Friday night Yankees game.

Now don’t get me wrong, looking at a hot Northeastern chick with money gives me a reason to get up in the morning, but losing 93 games and missing the playoffs broke my heart. I want nothing less than the Sox having a good season this year, but there is some relief that the fair weather fans will be across town or down in Foxboro for a little bit before cheapening the brand which is The Boston Red Sox again. I guess that is the price to pay for loving a team who is more popular then disco music in 1978. At least we don’t have a sausage race during the 7th inning like our friends in Wisconsin do.

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