Columnist Ron Kantowski: Violence coming to park near you

Ron Kantowski's column appears Thursday. Reach him at ron@ lasvegassun.com or 259-4088.

Years ago I filled out a survey -- or was it an application for an American Express card? -- that asked in the event I died unexpectedly, what the circumstances might be.

I wanted to write "trying to qualify on the pole at Indy." But given my Chevy Vega was only fast enough to put me on the 10th row, I settled for "multiple gunshot wounds during Happy Hour disturbance." And meant it.

In that firearms and alcohol are often a deadly mix and I have a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I figured it was only a matter of time before some loner walked into the corner bar, armed with a sawed-off shotgun and a bad attitude, and mistook me for the high school shop teacher who flunked him.

But if I were to fill out that same survey today, I'd probably write "blow to the head during 7th-inning stretch."

Like anybody else who tuned into the ESPN SportsCenter, I was taken aback by Tuesday's incident at Wrigley Field, when a fan seated in proximity to the visitors bullpen punched the Dodgers' Chad Kreuter in the head and then snatched his cap, precipitating an ugly brawl in the stands involving a bunch of juiced-up individuals. And I'm not just referring to the Dodgers. Only instead of performance-enhancing diet supplements and dangerous levels of testosterone, the antagonistic fans were hopped up on Old Style beer.

What's really stunning is that it took so long for such an incident to rear its ugly head. Or that the consequences -- a couple of bloody noses, some bruised egos and a few arrests -- weren't more severe.

Face it people, it's an angry world in which we live. A generation ago, when somebody cut you off in traffic, you could throw him a finger and continue down the road. Today, that is just as likely to get you shot.

As a society, if there's one thing we glorify more than violence, it's drinking about it. Take a group of guys I consider my "inner circle" of friends. When we get together, the conversation usually begins with somebody reciting shtick from the "Wazzup" Budweiser spot, and ends with an in-depth discussion of the world's best pound-for-pound mass murderers. Richard Ramirez or Charlie Whitman? Richard Speck or John Wayne Gacy?

It's a morbid fascination, but it's a reflection of society. Generally speaking, there are only two kinds of people: Those who watch "American Justice" -- and those who admit to watching it.

(Man, what was up with Bill Kurtis' tie this week?)

That's why I am surprised the incidence of violence at American sporting events has been so isolated and relatively minor. As a point of reference, there have been 42 American presidents, and four have been assassinated. In the Baseball Encyclopedia that sits in the Sun reference library, there are 2,867 pages of listings for ballplayers who have appeared in the major leagues. Not a single one, as far as I know, has been taken out by a lunatic.

Granted, political icons should have greater influence on a person's life than a light-hitting utility infielder. But have you ever been belly-up to a sports bar when a light-hitting utility infielder pops out with the bases loaded?

The Dodgers' players and Cubs fans, if you'll pardon the expression, fired a warning shot on Tuesday night. It's time to beef up security and cut off alcohol consumption before somebody really gets hurt.

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