![](\"http:\/\/cyber.law.harvard.edu\/blogs\/static\/dowbrigade\/damoneye.jpg\")
The
\n swamp presses close to Alligator Alley out near the midriff of the State
\n of Florida, overgrown sawgrass creeping close to the highway, and science-fiction
\n pneumatophores thrusting from the red mangroves above the guardrail,
\n but when the rain ramped up we could barely see the white line marking
\n the
\n shoulder,
\n let
\n alone
\n the
\n dense
\n vegetation
\n that lurked beyond. With visibility periodically down to about 10 feet,
\n it was essential that we keep our eyes on the only piece of asphalt visible
\n – that directly
\n in front of our speeding Jeep Cherokee.<\/p>\n
Nervously, we stole nervous glances at the white line,
\n on the right which
\n we MUST NOT GO OVER, for any reason whatsoever. It’s not called Alligator
\n Alley
\n for nothing. When the rain lightens up, we can see long, narrow channels
\n in the vegetation, fading into the mist in a parallax of prehistoric
\n perspective. <\/p>\n
Word is, if you stop for photos, it’s OK to get close
\n to the fence, but don’t wander too far from the designated areas. And
\n if you break down after dark, stay in your car, and keep the doors locked. The
\n gators are hungry at this time of year, and none too pleased with the
\n anti-alligator flack they have been catching in the mainstream press
\n lately. Luckily, the Big Blue Brute lunged effortlessly down the highway,
\n sluicing
\n through
\n the rain which was falling in irregular fits and spurts like a celestial
\n water massage showerhead swinging madly through its several modes and
\n spray
\n patterns.<\/p>\n
As we drove, we ruminated on the preseason game we had
\n witnessed the day before between the World Champion Boston Red Sox and
\n their Series
\n nemesis, the St. Louis Cardinals. It had been a memorable and enjoyable
\n game, our first live baseball since a steamy August night last year and
\n our first glimpse of a diamond in any way since the last out of the World
\n Series in October. Not to mention, our first pre-season experience in
\n a long history as a baseball fanatic. It had been unforgettable.<\/p>\n
Except that we could remember almost nothing about the
\n game itself except that the Sox won, 9-3, behind 5 home runs. Embarrassingly,
\n we missed
\n the two most dramatic and titanic boomers, hopefully the first of many
\n back-to-back
\n homers by Boston’s Bash Brothers, Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz, our
\n impeccable sense of timing having inspired us to head to the sausage
\n line for a pair of franks at the crucial moment in the 5th inning.<\/p>\n
What we DO remember is the scene in the stands, and
\n on the field after the game. In many respects, the crowd resembled a
\n typical Fenway gathering
\n in high summer. We couldn’t keep our eyes off of the accumulated collection
\n of human flesh, exposed to the elements and on display, refreshingly
\n shocking after a weather-challenged winter watching bodies swathed and
\n girded in multiple layers of cotton, wool, nylon, gortex, insugard
\n and down, making it impossible to determine age, sex, weight, body modifications
\n and shapeliness of form. Winterwear as the great equalizer, works better
\n than saltpeter.<\/p>\n
Down in Ft. Myers it was all on display. Lots of ugly,
\n overweight legs, twisted and bowed from decades of hauling around
\n too
\n much weight.
\n A few gorgeous gams, sun-toasted to a range from alabaster to mahogany
\n according to length of exposure to the local sunshine. Lots of bulging
\n bellies supporting hideous shorts of every stripe; bermudas, khakis,
\n cargos,denims corduroys and seersuckers.<\/p>\n
The particular slice of Red Sox fandom surrounding us
\n in the bleachers (although the game was sold out, we picked up a $15
\n bleacher seat from
\n a scalper for $20 just before the first pitch was thrown) was what we
\n call the rich working class. Even at Fenway Park, you don’t get the real
\n working class anymore, let alone the poor. With ticket prices averaging
\n in the 30’s, plus parking and five-dollar hot dogs, taking even the demographically
\n average American family, with its 2.3 kids, to a game costs over a couple
\n of hundred bucks. For the same price you could by a 25-inch color TV,
\n a bucket of chicken wings and a case of Bud. With most of the authentic
\n working class mired in dead end jobs with few benefits and no job security,
\n and millions living from check to check and hand to mouth, we have to
\n consider these fortunate fans lolling in the Florida sun the working
\n rich. The idle rich were down in the boxes and up in the luxury suites.<\/p>\n
However, as the game progressed, we couldn’t help but The baseball chatter was a little weird as well. Behind me was a group "Hey, will you look at the basket on that center fielder."<\/p>\n "He’s cute, but the third baseman has a MUCH better basket than that!"<\/p>\n Fools! What kind of fan doesn’t know that there’s no baskets in baseball?<\/p>\n After the game was over, and we were contemplating dinner options on After about five minutes a new group of stylishly dressed and coifed As it turned out, they were filming the triumphant coming out scenes Varitek had on a cream-colored jacket over a ruffled rose shirt and Carson was so excited he couldn’t keep his hands off of his unmatched Of the five Sox, Kevin Millar was the one who most seemed They goofed around for about 10 minutes, while the Bravo camera crew When they finished the filming, athletes and esthetes alike signed autographs Although we are stubbornly hard-wired straight, our basic position on On a scientific level, we are in the camp of those who As we reached the East Coast of the Florida Peninsula, Once again, surreal weirdness had found us, and forever flavored our The season premier of "Queer Eye on the Straight Guy", starring the The swamp presses close to Alligator Alley out near the midriff of the State of Florida, overgrown sawgrass creeping close to the highway, and science-fiction pneumatophores thrusting from the red mangroves above the guardrail, but when the rain ramped up … Continue reading
\n notice that the crowd seemed a little, well, peculiar<\/em>. There
\n were really no married couples in evidence, or family units; rather there
\n were numerous
\n groups or gangs of rowdy boys and girls joking and flirting, drinking
\n beer and rolling their eyes. There seemed to be a lot of same-sex ass
\n grabbing going on. The men were better groomed and more stylishly dressed
\n than the women. It definitely seemed to be a very gay crowd, and we aren’t
\n just referring to the light-hearted celebratory atmosphere in the stands.
\n It could have been a home game for the Provincetown Pirates.<\/p>\n
\n of four or five that could have been junior partners at a Boston corporate
\n law firm, immaculately attired in Polo playwear and tailored shorts,
\n who seemed to be cheering at inappropriate times, like whenever a player
\n bent over to pick a ball off the ground. Yet they really seemed to be
\n appreciating the game.<\/p>\n
\n the drive back to the Bates Motel, we noticed that not everyone was leaving
\n the stadium. Sizable groups, including the five guys behind me, were
\n filtering down to the front rows and the grassy viewing area along the
\n first base line. They were obviously waiting for something to happen,
\n so your intrepid reporter followed them down for a closer look.<\/p>\n
\n men strolled out of the Red Sox dugout and made their way to the pitching
\n mound. Was there a second game we didn’t know about? A charity
\n thing, perhaps, Red Sox against some pickup team of local disk jockeys
\n or cancer survivors?<\/p>\n![](\"http:\/\/cyber.law.harvard.edu\/blogs\/static\/dowbrigade\/carson2.jpg\")
Wait! Wasn’t that a famous face jumping around out on the mound? Where
\n had we seen that face before? It couldn’t be – but it was! Carson Kressley,
\n America’s most famous Queer Guy. And, in fact, the entire Fab Five, who
\n have brought a warm and cuddly homosexual agenda into the living rooms
\n of middle America. Of course, we had been reading for weeks that Queer
\n Eye for the Straight Guy was going to be making over Johnny Damon for
\n the premier of their new season on Bravo Network. But that wasn’t scheduled
\n until June!<\/p>\n
\n for that very broadcast. And not only JC Superstar Damon. As we
\n watched in stunned amazement, one by one Jason Varitek, Kevin Millar,
\n Tim Wakefield and Doug Mirabelli. emerged from the bullpen area and trotted
\n to the mound. Each one was more fabulously dressed and styled than the
\n last. What
\n sartorial splendor!<\/p>\n
\n tight pegged pants riding low on his hips. Wake was in some sort of smoking
\n jacket and suede gaucho boots! Kevin Millar looked like a Las Vegas pimp
\n on Easter! Johnny Damon was the last one out, and we must admit, looked
\n absolutely spectacular, despite the fact that, contrary to intense media
\n speculation, he still had his beard, albeit meticulously trimmed.<\/p>\n
\n set of Eliza Dolittles. He kept running his fingers through Kevin
\n Millar’s hair, and trying to jump into the muscular arms of Doug Mirabelli,
\n who seemed to be doing his best to help Carson fall on his ass.<\/p>\n
\n to be getting into the spirit of things. He was primping and posing,
\n flopping limp wrists into the faces of anyone who got near him, pinching
\n cheeks
\n high
\n and low, and mugging for the cameras. Jason Varitek looked like he was
\n in one of those airline "Want to get out of here?" commercials and his
\n body language created a buffer zone around him as he stood cautiously,
\n arms folded, a few yards to one side.<\/p>\n
\n filmed all of it. Everyone recited a few obviously scripted lines,
\n but there was a lot of ad libbing and physical slapstick. The only
\n line we remember was Carson’s: "How can I not love a team named after
\n a fashion
\n accessory?"<\/p>\n
\n for the fans. We declined to join the scrum, and felt vaguely disturbed
\n by all that we had witnessed. A bit of latent homophobia perhaps? We
\n hope not, as we have always considered ourself not only tolerant, but
\n a real fan of the gay aesthetic.<\/p>\n
\n male homosexuality is that it is a good thing as it reduces the competition
\n for the available supply of nubile females. As far as lesbians go (and
\n who knows how far that is), like most red-blooded males we secretly believe
\n that most of them are in reality bi, and have just been turned off by
\n the incredibly boorish and messed up mind set of the majority of American
\n male pigs. Given the right stimuli, they can surely be turned back on
\n again.<\/p>\n
\n believe that almost all homosexuality is conditioned rather than genetic,
\n for the
\n simple reason that if it were purely genetic it seems logical that it
\n should have petered out millennia ago. All of this was fermenting in
\n our mind as
\n the rain
\n pounded
\n on the roof of the beast and the miles slipped by on Alligator Alley.<\/p>\n
\n the rain started to lighten up. We had out-raced the storm, at least
\n temporarily. Behind
\n us the sky was a dark and threatening wall of gloomy gray adobe, shot
\n through with lightning flashes and occasional shafts of late afternoon
\n sunlight. We were out-racing the storm, but just barely. As we turned
\n north on
\n 95
\n our thoughts turned to drink, smoke and dinner with Harold the Mad Chip
\n Dealer.<\/p>\n
\n memories of America’s pastime. It was not unpleasing – in the Dowbrigade’s
\n book, weirdness is a good thing. Meanwhile, we can scratch one more thing
\n off our list of "Things we’ve got to do before we die." Now, if only
\n we can find a set of mulatto gymnast twins.<\/p>\n
\n Boston Red Sox, is scheduled to air the first week of June.<\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n![\"palmspark\"](\"http:\/\/cyber.law.harvard.edu\/blogs\/static\/dowbrigade\/heddersm.jpg\")
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