At area sporting events, a menace patrols the stands, inflicting discomfort on those around him and seeming to enjoy it. We refer, of course, to the leather-lung.
The leather-lung comes in many shapes, sizes and ages and often seems to be in the seat directly behind you when you have the misfortune to attend the same game. He spares no one around him in imposing his annoying commentary and insult, apparently oblivious to anyone else's opinions or sensibilities.
The leather-lung loudly berates individual players of the opposing team and even, at times, his own. But he reserves his most vituperative spewings for the game officials, whom he believes to be victims of debilitating physical and mental impairments.
If the leather-lung were accompanied by more of his ilk, we would likely suffer from a shortage of referees and umpires, as his constant negative critiques of their work would eventually wear down even the most amiable in the trade. In fact, we know of one veteran official who finally gave up the avocation after one too many obnoxious rants from the stands.
Our kids, who are trying to play, learn and grow through high-school or collegiate sports, deserve better than to have the arbiters of the game run off by thoughtless — and often misinformed — diatribes from the audience.
Despite their claims to infallibility, instant replay — which is the final judge in televised games — would unquestionably prove the leather-lung wrong so many times. Would you sooner trust a trained and practiced official focusing directly on a play five feet in front of him or the leather-lung high up in the stands who is scanning the entire playing surface? Yet the leather-lung claims 100 percent accuracy from the crow's nest.
It's also curious that all of the bad calls made in the contest are the ones that go against his team's interests. If the opposing team has a beef with a call, leather-lung declares immediately that that team is blind or biased — conditions from which he himself is immune.
Of course, he has every right to express his opinion. The Constitution guarantees that. And spirited shouting at a sporting event is an accepted custom dating, no doubt, to before the Christians and the lions.
But wouldn't you think that the leather-lung would feel some sense of the effect he is having on his neighbors in the stands? Who would want to inflict such unpleasantness on so many people, simply in the quest of a victory for a bunch of high-school or college kids?
And how could he know when that person sitting next to him may be the parent of one of those kids he's so roundly taking to task?
The leather-lung is a boor. If you wind up near one, take comfort that the game will last only a couple of hours — and, next time, you'll know where not to sit.
