Giant Hat Gets a Fan Tossed Out

Eunice Bull, 78, got kicked out of Candlestick Park the other day.

She wouldn’t take off her hat.

That’s right, the security forces of the San Francisco Giants ejected a senior citizen from the ballpark during Sunday’s Giant-Dodger game because of complaints that her hat was too big.

Personally, I haven’t heard of a lady having this particular problem since Katharine Hepburn accompanied Spencer Tracy to a game in “Woman of the Year.”

Ms. Bull--I’m sorry, call me a sexist creep if you must, but I cannot persuade myself to refer to a 78-year-old woman as Bull-- has been a regular at ‘Stick games for as long as the team has been by the Bay. Even her home is cluttered with Giant memorabilia.

Question her taste, but never her loyalty.

She was in a box seat, minding her own business, watching Roger Craig’s little rascals at war with them bums from Los Angeles. The Giants were trying to secure their hold on first place. There were 53,821 heads in the house, Candlestick’s largest crowd of the season, so yes, there were a lot of people who wanted to see the game.

And that was what started the big hassle. Somebody behind Ms. Bull couldn’t see the game.

She was wearing a straw hat that was covered with trading cards and badges featuring photographs of her favorite players. From top to scalp, the whole thing might have risen six inches to a foot high, but it wasn’t as though it was one of those Carmen Miranda jobs with the mangoes and the bananas.

In the seventh inning, with her beloved Giants clinging to a 2-1 lead, security guards approached Ms. Bull and asked her to lose her lid.

She said she told them that in all the years she had been attending Giant games, including some of those years when she was one of the only ones attending Giant games, she had always worn her favorite hats. She had no intention of taking off this one.

The ushers insisted. So some of the people seated around Ms. Bull told them to leave her be, that if they had to evict somebody, then evict the person who was doing the complaining.

They tried smooth-talking her. Nope, she said.

They tried bribing her, offering a free baseball cap. Nope, she said.

So, they got tough. They issued an ultimatum: Off it goes or out you go.

“OK, that’s it,” Ms. Bull said, rising from her seat, extending her wrists. “Read me my Miranda rights. Put some handcuffs on me and lead me out.”

She didn’t mean her Carmen Miranda rights, either.

Well, the bouncers obliged, and ushered her away. They didn’t cuff her or arrest her; San Francisco cops aren’t all a bunch of Clint Eastwoods, you know. They just escorted her out the gate and toward her bus stop.

Thanks to one whining fan, Ms. Bull ended up missing a thrilling game that lasted 12 innings before the Dodgers won it, 3-2.

Meanwhile, among those not asked to leave the park:

--Everyone wearing baseball caps, some of which happen to sit pretty high on the head.

--Everyone wearing one of those hats with Styrofoam cup-holders attached to plastic straws.

--Everyone six inches to two feet taller than Eunice Bull.

--Everyone doing that blasted wave, springing up and down in their seats all afternoon like a bunch of human Slinkies.

--Everyone holding up one of those stupid banners so they can see themselves on television.

--Everyone holding up one of those “John 3:16” banners to remind everyone to read the Bible.

--Everyone batting a beach ball back and forth, like those dolts at Anaheim Stadium who delay the game about once an inning.

--Everyone smoking cigarettes and smelly cigars, fouling the air in foul territory, endangering lives with secondary smoke and sending up clouds that block the vision of spectators almost as badly as hats do.

--Everyone rushing to the bottom row to take photographs or shout insults in the direction of whatever player happens to be standing in the on-deck circle.

--Everyone rising from his or her seat every five minutes to buy peanuts, Cracker Jack or, in San Francisco’s case, sushi.

--Everyone from the media milling around the batting cage before the game, blocking views of batting practice with their big, unathletic rear ends.

--Everyone from the security detail, running around busting up fights.

--Everyone carrying concession trays, standing in front of you with their tray of watery $2.50 Pepsis at the exact second Orel Hershiser delivers a full-count pitch to Kevin Mitchell.

--Everyone spilling watery Pepsis onto your lap as they catapult themselves over several rows of seats trying to catch a completely worthless souvenir foul ball.

Etc., etc.

As far as I am concerned, Eunice Bull ought to be able to fluff herself up on two foam-rubber pillows in her seat, as long as she’s holding a ticket that entitles her to that seat. I can’t do anything about it when some guy the size of Kareem ends up in front of me.

Furthermore, the more Dodger games I attend, the more I wish somebody would block my view.