One time Tom and I took some out-of-town friends to our friendly local goth club for a Saturday night of fun. We had a lot of drinks, a lot of good discussion over loud music, a little bit of dancing, and when last call was announced, we took off. Walking back to our apartment on Capitol Hill, we passed another club on Pine called R Place. It’s a gay club, but on the weekends the straight male population comes in and cruises girls who likely go there to be cruised. No, it doesn’t make much sense, but whatever. This particular evening, there was a 20-person brawl in the middle of Pine and Boylston. Boylston was the street we lived on. There were police cars and police everywhere, the road was shut down, and we rubbernecked like good neighbors. After a few moments of realizing that while the spectacle was interesting because Tom and I and our friends don’t behave that way over women or otherwise (I have to assume it was some bizarro drunken display of testosterone over females, considering the Jersey-Shore-like appearance of those involved in the fight and the fact that there were women standing all over the place watching), we realized quickly that it would be better if we simply moved on around the crowd and went home. The alternative would have been accidentally being pushed into the middle of the fracas or possibly getting pepper sprayed by the cops, and neither options are a good way to end a fun evening out.
For some strange reason, I was reminded of this incident when I saw this post at Lookout Landing. Watching the Mariners this year has been like standing on the outskirts of a really big drunken fight over something stupid. And we just got pepper sprayed by the cops.