The Trop was rockin', and the fans were obnoxious

When the Rays took the lead in the seventh, the scene was pure chaos

So I've been posting my game previews and recaps over at Bugs and Cranks for a few days now, but like I said I'm still gonna produce material here as well, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to tell everyone about my night at Tropicana Field for the series finale of the Rays and Red Sox.

It was pure hell.

As you all know the Rays won the game in spectacular fashion, rallying from a 4-1 deficit to score six runs in what seemed like an interminable seventh inning and hung on to record a nerve-racking 7-6 decision.

The game not only sent the Sox 3 1/2 games behind the AL East leading Rays, but it marked a new era for Rays fans far and wide: the era of being pompous, spoiled, arrogant assholes.

Welcome to the big time, Tampa Bay.

Being a Boston fan all my life I am used to be abused by jealous/miserable fans of other teams any time I show my allegiance to the crossed Sox. Therefore I went to this game, sporting a Dice-K shirt and Sox cap, knowing full well that win or lose, I would incur the wrath of a legion of newly processed Tampa Bay followers.

Needless to say I was not disappointed. Or rather, I was disappointed. Well, you'll see what I mean.

When my stepson and I first arrived at Ferg's, the local watering hole across the street from the Trop where I had to pick up my StubHub-procured ducats, the scene was quite chaotic. Rays fans had come out of every nook and cranny of the greater Tampa/Clearwater/St Pete area and actually outnumbered the mass of Red Sox fans that had always made up the bulk of the crowd in series past.

Looks like those days are gone - for a while.

The tone of the fans was confident yet somewhat reserved, as the imminent sweep was not guaranteed, and some Rays fans were waiting for the massacre to be completed before spouting off about the endless virtues of their suddenly beloved team.

Luckily for us Coco didn't play in this series

As we made our way across the street and into the stadium I had a few friendly discussions with exuberant Rays fans who were already scanning their PDAs for playoff tickets, and for the first time (but not the last) I had to remind these people that it was still July, not October, and not to get too cocky just yet.

As I later found out, most of them waited until after the rally to get fully cocked.

The game started off favorable for the Nation as Dustin Pedroia stroked a solo home run just to the right of our section in the outfield in the top of the first inning to give the Sox a quick 1-0 lead, but Tampa Bay came right back to tie it in the bottom of the inning and that's when the cockiness started to come out.

I just sat and bided my time and respectfully cheered for my team, and when Boston broke through for a run in the third and two in the fifth to take a 4-1 lead, I was feeling pretty damn good about walking out of there with my head held high.

And then the horrible, awful, nightmarish seventh inning happened, and suddenly it was like the old Whodini song in there: the freaks come out at night.

As the Rays were sending 11 men to the plate, with five of them getting hits, three of them walking and six of them coming around to score, I was slowly but steadily getting pelted with insults, jeers, and even a shower of beer (although that may have been accidental due to all the standing and cheering going on all around me).

This was this guy's impression of the Rays sweeping the Sox out of town

The worst abuse I took was from the person sitting right beside me, which ironically was a fairly respectable looking young Latin girl. All night this chick had been screaming in my ear, clapping in my face, and generally acting like a bimbo jacked up on baseball.

So clueless as to the ways of the game this girl was, she asked what the words were to the traditional ballpark cheer "Charge!"

Anyway, when the rays finally took the lead 5-4 on an Evan Longoria double and I had the nerve to say something to the Sox fan in front of me, this bitch became so enraged that I had the nerve to try and rain on her bandwagon parade that she slapped the brim of cap up, nearly knocking it off and hitting me in the face, all the while screaming at the top of her lungs in my grill.

Let me say that I've never hit a woman in all my life, but I came so damn close at that point I could feel her skin under my palm.

As I coolly sat there controlling my rage and urging her never to touch any part of me again, and her boyfriend did the same, I realized in that instant a very simple but time honored transition that has always taken place in sports: winning turns people into assholes.

I took plenty of good-natured ribbing after the game as well (photo by stepson, nothing going on here)

After all, there's a reason downtrodden fans are called 'lovable losers'.

Yup, give a guy (or girl) a little sip of success and they'll go from lovable to loathsome in a few short weeks. Not all of them, mind you, as plenty of the people I talked to before, during, and after the game were respectful and mindful of the fact that their team hadn't won jack shit yet when it comes to meaningful fall ballgames, but there were enough assholes out there to taint a whole decade's worth of lovableness.

Better watch out, Rays fans, or you might turn into "typical" Red Sox fans.