The Ralph vs. The Glen
Sorry for the long delay between posts. In keeping with my status as a member of Flyover America, I went to the NASCAR races at Watkins Glen over the weekend. The Busch race (this is what AAA is to Major League Baseball) was on Saturday, with the Nextel Cup race on Sunday. This was, in fact, the first time I've attended a race, though I've obviously watched plenty of them on TV. It struck me that the atmosphere had some similarities to the many football games I've attended at Ralph Wilson Stadium in Buffalo (actually, Orchard Park). So, here's the tale of the tape...
Accessibility: Both places are in the middle of nowhere. The difference is that The Ralph is just outside "somewhere". Say what you will about Buffalo, but people actually know where it is. The stadium is pretty easy to find, with several different routes to get there.
To get to Watkins Glen, you have to take I-390 to Nowhere, turn left at God's Country, go straight through B.F.E. and it's just past Where-the-Hell-Are-We, New York. You're never going to believe this, but we got lost a couple times on Saturday. On Sunday, we found a better, but only slightly better marked, route.
Edge: Ralph.
Food and Beverage: At The Ralph, you can pay a lot of money for a crappy steamed hot dog. At The Glen, you can pay a lot of money for a decent, grilled hot dog. At least, they looked decent; I didn't try one. Frankly, anything I cook in the parking lot is bound to be at least five times better than the food inside. Would you opt for freshly grilled Johnsonville bratwurst that's been soaking in a mixture of dark beer and diced onions for 12 hours, with grilled peppers and onions on a toasted bun, or a hot dog? Easy call there.
As for beverages, they're best described as "overpriced" at both places. I went up to a beverage vendor, and the sign said, "premium beer - $4". I asked for a Budweiser. He charged me $4. What, precisely, is premium about a Budweiser? I don't mind paying $4 for a beer if that's what the price is, but don't crap on my plate and call it ice cream. Call it what it is: "Beer - $4". By the way, my buddy Pete just hopped in his car to drive to Rochester and beat the crap out of me. Just thought you should know.
Here's the thing, though: at Watkins Glen (and apparently at all racetracks), you can take stuff in with you! So long as it's in a soft-sided cooler (i.e. something that, if thrown, won't reach the track unless you're a member of the Manning family) and it's not insanely huge, you can carry in a cooler full of beer, soda, snacks or whatever. Trying this at Ralph Wilson Stadium will go over about as well as wearing an Al-Qaeda t-shirt with sticks of dynamite strapped to your chest.
Huge edge: Glen.
Atmosphere: The thing about a football game is there's two sides. That's it. You're with us, or against us, dammit. There's a definite sense of finality to it. I like that.
At a race, there's 43 different drivers, and all sorts of different scenarios that come into play. For instance, I wanted Jeff Gordon to win, but as long as he finished ahead of a few other guys, that would be fine too. But I liked some of those other guys, like Dale Earnhardt, Jr., so one's interests can get a bit conflicted. As the race goes on, and contenders fall by the wayside, people tend to pick a side amongst the lead cars, and follow that.
Edge: Ralph.
Friendliness to All Things Phil: Wearing Dolphins paraphenilia at a Bills game is tantamount to putting a bulls-eye on your chest. Most Bills fans are decent people and knowledgeable football fans, but there's a definite Neanderthal element out there. Fortunately, my general good nature (and 6'4 frame) have generally kept me out of trouble. I am at best, an unwelcome, barely tolerated guest.
At some racetracks, wearing a #24 hat can invoke the same reaction. For the uninitiated, cheering for Jeff Gordon is a lot like cheering for the Lakers, or Duke basketball, or a baseball team that shall remain nameless except to note that they reside in the South Bronx; either you love them or hate them, and there's not much middle ground. However, Watkins Glen draws a very civilized crowd, particularly by NASCAR standards, and if there were a lot of folks who didn't care for Jeff Gordon, they didn't act like jerks.
Edge: Glen.
First Impressions: I don't remember the kickoff of my first football game. I'm not even certain I remember who played. I think it was the Bills and Patriots (this was when the Bills were good and the Patriots weren't, just to give you an idea of how long ago it was).
On the other hand, I will NEVER forget the start of my first race. 43 racecars revving up their 800 horsepower engines at the same time. That's 34,400 horses roaring to life simultaneously. Red state, blue state, purple state, whatever; if you've got even an iota of testosterone in your body, it's pretty damn cool, and something you'll never forget. As an aside, the engines actually don't all sound exactly the same. The Dodge engines were louder than the Fords, for example, but the Chevy engines were the nastiest sounding by far. Tony Stewart's car sounded like it had an engine forged in the depths of Hell, in a machine shop guarded by Cerberus.
Edge: Glen.
Watching the Action: A football field is 120 yards by 33 yards and even the farthest end of the field is clearly visible from any seat. If you don't know precisely what may have happened on the previous play, you've got a very good idea.
Watkins Glen is a 2.45 mile racetrack that winds around behind trees, grandstands and other stuff in the race infield. At best, 1/4 of the track is visible from any given seat, and one is resigned to watching the other 3/4 on one of the jumbotrons that's visible from your seat. It's still okay, but it detracts somewhat from the excitement.
Huge Edge: Ralph.
Following the Action: And no, it's not the same as watching the action. At a football game, there's a break in between plays, and it's clear where everything stands on the field and in the score. A referee will kindly explain any infraction to you, and the jumbotron operator will often replay the action...unless of course it goes against the home team, in which case, it never happened. Oceania is at war with Eurasia. Oceania has always been at war with Eurasia.
At most racetracks, there's a scoring tower showing the field from 1 to 43. Except, at The Glen, there's only a scoreboard showing the lap count and the standings from 1 to 4. You can usually tell who's where in the field, but in a long, green flag run, it gets very difficult to tell who's where, as the cars get spaced out around the track, while some pit, and some don't. As for black flag infractions, the jumbotron will usually tell you what happened, but for yellow flags, you're on your own.
Edge: Ralph.
Relief: The Ralph has restrooms with a long trough, and you wait for a place at the trough. The lines are immense and could easily be the leading cause of kidney failure in Erie County. There are also private toilets for those who are either shy or need to relieve themselves of solid waste.
The Glen has port-a-potties, with a small trailer with a couple toilets for those who feel shy or require something more sanitary. I cannot imagine what would possess anyone to actually sit on a port-a-potty. I believe that forcing women to use these things violates the Eighth Amendment. The lines for the trailer are arguably longer than those for the restrooms at The Ralph.
As an aside, most stadiums have added more women's restrooms and have instituted handicapped restrooms, both of which are a good idea. But could someone please institute a special restroom for men prone to stagefright or prostate problems? Seriously, if you're standing at the urinal for more than 60 seconds, and it's not happening, swallow your pride and zip up. If we can't have minimum prostate standards for the men's room, let's at least make this a public service announcement during a break in the action.
Edge: Neither. Just hold it and use the trees that surround the parking lots in both places after the game/race.
Scenery: At The Glen, lots of women in the 18-29 demographic, generally attractive or at least not unattractive, all working desperately on their suntans, often concealing as little as possible behind a Budweiser #8 tank top.
At The Ralph, well, I don't want to be unkind, but one of the big advantages to cold weather football games is that the local women keep as much clothing on as possible.
Enormous edge: Glen.
"Children of the Corn" Factor: Not a factor at The Ralph, but at The Glen...well, I'll just relate this story:
On the drive back from Sunday's race, we saw a lot of people sitting in the front of their front yard, waving to the passing cars. Oh, okay, that's friendly of them. Well, as we kept driving, it became apparent that just about everyone in the towns along route 16 was in their front yard, or someone else's. We started seeing signs asking passers-by to throw hats and shirts out, always held by a small child. And this wasn't one little run-down house with grubby little kids, I'm talking about just about every house along route 16 had some little brat asking for hats. The farther we drove, the more aggressive these folks got. Some shirtless yahoo wearing a Budweiser 12-pack as a hat (presumably having consumed the contents already) was hooting and hollering, and of course, demanding an upgraded chapeau. Then there was a big sign that said, "show tits". There was another that asked for hats and had all sorts of nasty things written about Tony Stewart, which I won't print here. I happened to agree, but with a bunch of kids around, that sort of language seemed inappropriate. Then there was a giant "coin toss", which involved tossing your coins into a giant, hastily constructed box. Then, more requests for hats.
Apparently, the race at Watkins Glen is some kind of redneck Mardi Gras, except that none of the locals are showing mammaries in exchange for hats. Maybe they'd have had better luck that way. Then again, maybe not. Anyway, the creepiness factor was off the scale.
Edge: Ralph.
The Final Verdict: By a 5-4 decision, The Ralph remains the king of Upstate New York pro sports. But hey, I'll definitely be back to The Glen next year, and the year after, and the year after...
Accessibility: Both places are in the middle of nowhere. The difference is that The Ralph is just outside "somewhere". Say what you will about Buffalo, but people actually know where it is. The stadium is pretty easy to find, with several different routes to get there.
To get to Watkins Glen, you have to take I-390 to Nowhere, turn left at God's Country, go straight through B.F.E. and it's just past Where-the-Hell-Are-We, New York. You're never going to believe this, but we got lost a couple times on Saturday. On Sunday, we found a better, but only slightly better marked, route.
Edge: Ralph.
Food and Beverage: At The Ralph, you can pay a lot of money for a crappy steamed hot dog. At The Glen, you can pay a lot of money for a decent, grilled hot dog. At least, they looked decent; I didn't try one. Frankly, anything I cook in the parking lot is bound to be at least five times better than the food inside. Would you opt for freshly grilled Johnsonville bratwurst that's been soaking in a mixture of dark beer and diced onions for 12 hours, with grilled peppers and onions on a toasted bun, or a hot dog? Easy call there.
As for beverages, they're best described as "overpriced" at both places. I went up to a beverage vendor, and the sign said, "premium beer - $4". I asked for a Budweiser. He charged me $4. What, precisely, is premium about a Budweiser? I don't mind paying $4 for a beer if that's what the price is, but don't crap on my plate and call it ice cream. Call it what it is: "Beer - $4". By the way, my buddy Pete just hopped in his car to drive to Rochester and beat the crap out of me. Just thought you should know.
Here's the thing, though: at Watkins Glen (and apparently at all racetracks), you can take stuff in with you! So long as it's in a soft-sided cooler (i.e. something that, if thrown, won't reach the track unless you're a member of the Manning family) and it's not insanely huge, you can carry in a cooler full of beer, soda, snacks or whatever. Trying this at Ralph Wilson Stadium will go over about as well as wearing an Al-Qaeda t-shirt with sticks of dynamite strapped to your chest.
Huge edge: Glen.
Atmosphere: The thing about a football game is there's two sides. That's it. You're with us, or against us, dammit. There's a definite sense of finality to it. I like that.
At a race, there's 43 different drivers, and all sorts of different scenarios that come into play. For instance, I wanted Jeff Gordon to win, but as long as he finished ahead of a few other guys, that would be fine too. But I liked some of those other guys, like Dale Earnhardt, Jr., so one's interests can get a bit conflicted. As the race goes on, and contenders fall by the wayside, people tend to pick a side amongst the lead cars, and follow that.
Edge: Ralph.
Friendliness to All Things Phil: Wearing Dolphins paraphenilia at a Bills game is tantamount to putting a bulls-eye on your chest. Most Bills fans are decent people and knowledgeable football fans, but there's a definite Neanderthal element out there. Fortunately, my general good nature (and 6'4 frame) have generally kept me out of trouble. I am at best, an unwelcome, barely tolerated guest.
At some racetracks, wearing a #24 hat can invoke the same reaction. For the uninitiated, cheering for Jeff Gordon is a lot like cheering for the Lakers, or Duke basketball, or a baseball team that shall remain nameless except to note that they reside in the South Bronx; either you love them or hate them, and there's not much middle ground. However, Watkins Glen draws a very civilized crowd, particularly by NASCAR standards, and if there were a lot of folks who didn't care for Jeff Gordon, they didn't act like jerks.
Edge: Glen.
First Impressions: I don't remember the kickoff of my first football game. I'm not even certain I remember who played. I think it was the Bills and Patriots (this was when the Bills were good and the Patriots weren't, just to give you an idea of how long ago it was).
On the other hand, I will NEVER forget the start of my first race. 43 racecars revving up their 800 horsepower engines at the same time. That's 34,400 horses roaring to life simultaneously. Red state, blue state, purple state, whatever; if you've got even an iota of testosterone in your body, it's pretty damn cool, and something you'll never forget. As an aside, the engines actually don't all sound exactly the same. The Dodge engines were louder than the Fords, for example, but the Chevy engines were the nastiest sounding by far. Tony Stewart's car sounded like it had an engine forged in the depths of Hell, in a machine shop guarded by Cerberus.
Edge: Glen.
Watching the Action: A football field is 120 yards by 33 yards and even the farthest end of the field is clearly visible from any seat. If you don't know precisely what may have happened on the previous play, you've got a very good idea.
Watkins Glen is a 2.45 mile racetrack that winds around behind trees, grandstands and other stuff in the race infield. At best, 1/4 of the track is visible from any given seat, and one is resigned to watching the other 3/4 on one of the jumbotrons that's visible from your seat. It's still okay, but it detracts somewhat from the excitement.
Huge Edge: Ralph.
Following the Action: And no, it's not the same as watching the action. At a football game, there's a break in between plays, and it's clear where everything stands on the field and in the score. A referee will kindly explain any infraction to you, and the jumbotron operator will often replay the action...unless of course it goes against the home team, in which case, it never happened. Oceania is at war with Eurasia. Oceania has always been at war with Eurasia.
At most racetracks, there's a scoring tower showing the field from 1 to 43. Except, at The Glen, there's only a scoreboard showing the lap count and the standings from 1 to 4. You can usually tell who's where in the field, but in a long, green flag run, it gets very difficult to tell who's where, as the cars get spaced out around the track, while some pit, and some don't. As for black flag infractions, the jumbotron will usually tell you what happened, but for yellow flags, you're on your own.
Edge: Ralph.
Relief: The Ralph has restrooms with a long trough, and you wait for a place at the trough. The lines are immense and could easily be the leading cause of kidney failure in Erie County. There are also private toilets for those who are either shy or need to relieve themselves of solid waste.
The Glen has port-a-potties, with a small trailer with a couple toilets for those who feel shy or require something more sanitary. I cannot imagine what would possess anyone to actually sit on a port-a-potty. I believe that forcing women to use these things violates the Eighth Amendment. The lines for the trailer are arguably longer than those for the restrooms at The Ralph.
As an aside, most stadiums have added more women's restrooms and have instituted handicapped restrooms, both of which are a good idea. But could someone please institute a special restroom for men prone to stagefright or prostate problems? Seriously, if you're standing at the urinal for more than 60 seconds, and it's not happening, swallow your pride and zip up. If we can't have minimum prostate standards for the men's room, let's at least make this a public service announcement during a break in the action.
Edge: Neither. Just hold it and use the trees that surround the parking lots in both places after the game/race.
Scenery: At The Glen, lots of women in the 18-29 demographic, generally attractive or at least not unattractive, all working desperately on their suntans, often concealing as little as possible behind a Budweiser #8 tank top.
At The Ralph, well, I don't want to be unkind, but one of the big advantages to cold weather football games is that the local women keep as much clothing on as possible.
Enormous edge: Glen.
"Children of the Corn" Factor: Not a factor at The Ralph, but at The Glen...well, I'll just relate this story:
On the drive back from Sunday's race, we saw a lot of people sitting in the front of their front yard, waving to the passing cars. Oh, okay, that's friendly of them. Well, as we kept driving, it became apparent that just about everyone in the towns along route 16 was in their front yard, or someone else's. We started seeing signs asking passers-by to throw hats and shirts out, always held by a small child. And this wasn't one little run-down house with grubby little kids, I'm talking about just about every house along route 16 had some little brat asking for hats. The farther we drove, the more aggressive these folks got. Some shirtless yahoo wearing a Budweiser 12-pack as a hat (presumably having consumed the contents already) was hooting and hollering, and of course, demanding an upgraded chapeau. Then there was a big sign that said, "show tits". There was another that asked for hats and had all sorts of nasty things written about Tony Stewart, which I won't print here. I happened to agree, but with a bunch of kids around, that sort of language seemed inappropriate. Then there was a giant "coin toss", which involved tossing your coins into a giant, hastily constructed box. Then, more requests for hats.
Apparently, the race at Watkins Glen is some kind of redneck Mardi Gras, except that none of the locals are showing mammaries in exchange for hats. Maybe they'd have had better luck that way. Then again, maybe not. Anyway, the creepiness factor was off the scale.
Edge: Ralph.
The Final Verdict: By a 5-4 decision, The Ralph remains the king of Upstate New York pro sports. But hey, I'll definitely be back to The Glen next year, and the year after, and the year after...
posted by Phunwin at 8:59 AM
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