The Hat

As part of my baseball learnin’, I wanted to buy something that would mark me as a fan of the Red Sox. You can’t really call yourself a fan until you wander around with a clear label identifying yourself as such. That way, if you see someone wearing a, say, Yankees cap, you can loudly yell, “Yoah grandmothah sucks wicked eggs, ya hoosier!” and then the game is afoot and then there will be a tussle!

I decided on a hat, because I don’t really want to have to wear a parka all through Summer to indicate that, yes, I follow the Red Sox and, yes, I am incapable of planning ahead. A hat is perfect. It works in all seasons. It’s visible. And it can be taken off rapidly if you’re about to run into a huge group of Yankee fans.

Browsing the large selection of hats on the MLB website, I found one and I immediately fell in love with it. It’s chic and has pretty colors and it has style. Look at it!

I’ve become obsessed with it. It glimmers in the virtual shop window like some kind of…hat glimmery thing. I want it. I want to show off my (extremely) new-found allegiance. I want to get into tussles. I want to brag about something I have absolutely no control over. And then…and then…a jersey! So I can show which player I choose to represent me!

“Why yes, I DO consider myself the Dustin Pedroia of retail, how did you know?”

This might, just might, be in danger of turning into a major illness. Is this how it is for all sports fans? Does it all start with a hat?

Dylan Charles

One thought on “The Hat

  1. When I became a Miami Dolphins fan, and took my stand among the other women of Minnesota and the women of Sweden, those stalwart women pioneers who felt an allegiance to the Miami pioneers of the 1950s; we supported the best football team in the NFL (?) at that time (?) or maybe just the ones with the cutest guys, I don’t know, but it was the Dolphins, maybe because they are cute and swim really fast and eat raw fish, or maybe it was because Miami had such beautiful weather. And lots of Art Deco architecture. And pretty colors. A nice place to retire. Or to visit your Cuban ancestors, which I didn’t have any of, then or now. But we did support the Miami Dolphins. And I think it came down to who told us to what to do normally–my grandmother. My grandfather followed along with whatever she said–it was quieter that way.
    And I think it’s that way in a lot of families–your grandmother or your mother all supported the same team, wore the same team sports apparel. Not hats though. They were cool in the 80s, but in the 70s we wore jerseys, am I right, gals? So, as your mother and your ancestor, I suggest you get a Miami Dolphins baseball hat. You might have to special order that up in the northeast. And, I guess to be authentic, you should get a helmet, not a hat, with one of those tooth guards they always spit out between plays. Can you imagine the spit flying down there? No wonder they need a helmet.
    Good luck! I’m proud of you son! And I’m sure if the coach of the Maroon Mashers could see you today, he’d be proud of you, too and say, “Oh yeah, you’re that kid that was always catching bugs and making dirt piles and dust storms in the outfield. Hi.”

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