Battle of the Geeks:
I-CON vs. the Mets fans
by Doug Miller

There was a bumper sticker for sale at I-CON 22, the science-fiction convention held on Long Island last week. It said "WWJD? JWRTFM!"

Zing! Good one.

Twenty-four hours later, on Opening Day in Shea Stadium's Loge Section 33, a guy who clearly cared more about baseball than dental hygiene proudly displayed his Mets' colors. When someone walked by wearing a jacket for the wrong team, the booze started talking and the situation escalated to blows. The fans in Section 33 bore witness to the latest battle in the heretofore unknown war between New York Mets fans and... Oakland Raiders fans.

To an outsider, none of it makes sense. Most people know what "WWJD" means, but the punch line is lost on them; the answer is an inside joke for geeks. Whoever puts this bumper sticker on his car is telling the world that he gets it, the rest of us be damned. Meanwhile, the asinine fistfight was loudly cheered by fans wearing shirts that read, "Baseball is Life."

Who is more out of touch here? Is someone's behavior less troubling because they go overboard for one kind of fantasy over another? Baseball fans fancy themselves jocks and sci-fi fans think they're creative. In reality, the baseball fans were just as out-of-shape as the sci-fi fans, and the sci-fi fans stand on the sidelines, worshipfully observing the professionals as if they were in the cheap seats at Shea. Who is geekier? Tough to say.

I-CON 22 was just like the Trekkie convention famously depicted on "Saturday Night Live." Along with a few Spocks, there were attendees walking around in full suits of armor, maidens in maiden dresses, several Darth Vaders, storm troopers, balding Lukes and chubby Leias. There were too many elves, Merlins, paladins and hobbits to count. Those who didn't come in costume still appeared to be in uniform, wearing the requisite unbuttoned flannel over a black T-shirt depicting some sort of half-naked fairy on it and sweatpants. Deodorant, apparently, is discouraged.

Things were not that different at Shea. Instead of capes, chain mail and flannel, fans proudly wore Mets hats, jackets, jerseys, sweats, socks and mittens adorned with the colors, numbers and names of their favorite players.

My original plan was to report on security at the sci-fi convention, for they deemed it necessary to post a lengthy explanation of their quite detailed weapons policy on the website. The world is indeed a hostile place, but aren't there Marines out there right now dying for our right to carry phasers at sci-fi conventions?

Phasers, as it turns out, are not the problem. A security guard sheepishly explained that the policy was not aimed at toy guns, but rather real swords. A walk through the convention proved that this was no joke. Everybody in costume seemed to be carrying a sword, a dagger or a battle-axe of some sort — some real, others cheesily constructed from household products. The security force used little plastic handcuffs to tie the swords into their sheathes, presumably to prevent any "Lexx" v. "Farscape" debates from getting out of hand.

Admission to I-CON, held on the SUNY-Stony Brook campus, was not cheap: $33. This hefty price doubled as a security measure, as college campuses are rife with kids who live to harass those who dress-up like Teal'C on weekends. Most college students are reluctant to drop $33 on noninebriating weekend activities, so the conventioneers were spared from becoming bully fodder (at least until they got back to the hotel.)

There is something magical about watching two Darth Vaders converse with one another, particularly when you eavesdrop on their conversation and learn that Vader No. 1 had loaned his van to his brother-in-law for the weekend, forcing him to come by bus.

On the lawn outside the convention, an area was roped off for real battle. Men with unhandcuffed swords, armor, shields and hockey gloves dueled. It was all in fun; each landed blow was accompanied by good-natured trash talk. "Nice head shot... BooYa!... You can't defeat me!" The "SportsCenter" highlight came when a blow to the head caused a combatant's leather armor skirt to fall around his ankles. Timeout was called.

The battle at Shea lacked any such drama. Tom Glavine, who just signed a three-year, $35-million contract with the home team, gave up four runs in the first inning and was wildly booed when he got the hook in the fourth.

Meanwhile, baseball's worst outfield did not disappoint, misplaying three fly balls on the way to a 15-2 loss. The Cubs replaced Sammy Sosa with former Met Lenny Harris in the seventh, which gave the 12 remaining fans a chance to converse with Harris between pitches. The fans who stayed — despite the depressing score and the freezing winds — achieved a level of geekdom unrivaled at I-CON. Two guys were on their cell phones explaining how much fun it was to talk to Lenny Harris ("I swear, he totally remembers us!") while jackets and shirts were shed in homage to winter. Harris was charmed by the reception at first, but after 45 minutes of "Hey Lenny! Up here, Lenny!" he pulled his cap down over his eyes.

Overheard: "How did the Cubs score that 10th run?"

"'Cause the Mets suck."

In the next section, a group of shirtless guys tried to riff on Ty Wigginton's name. "Be the ball, Ty..." was the best they could do.

Finally, what's an event without celebrities? Mayor Bloomberg was joined by members of the 1973 Mets in throwing out the first pitch. Since Tug McGraw is battling cancer, his son, country music star Tim McGraw, joined his father's old teammates on the mound. For many in Section 33, it was news that a) McGraw had a son, and b) outside of New York he is a bigger star than his father had ever been.

At I-CON, the stars were of a different caliber, if not exactly from a galaxy far, far away. Julian Glover, who played the third bad guy from the left in The Empire Strikes Back, made a "rare appearance." His seat was later filled by a guy who had made his own film, Star Wars: Revelation, and who I remember seeing brutalized by Conan O'Brien's Triumph the Insult Comic Dog while camped out in line days before the Episode I premiere. In line for his autograph was a woman wearing a shirt that read, "You don't need to look at my chest... These aren't the breasts you're looking for... Move along..."

Nothing so clever was seen or heard at Shea, but among these fans clever is overrated. For some a trip to the ballyard still represents all that Ken Burns stuff about summer, America and fathers and sons. But for the rest it's who's louder, who knows something nobody else does about Roger Cedeño's hamstring, and who once played Legion ball with a guy who played with Steve Avery. While at I-CON, bragging rights are just as important: "Don S. Davis? I met him last year..." "My Jaffa staff was autographed by Christopher Judge and Michael Shanks..." "I decided to go with the Tuscan Raider outfit this year..."

Had he gone with the John Franco jersey, he would have felt just as out-of-place as Seven-Of-Nine in line for the ladies room at Shea.

E-mail Doug Miller at bonnies92@yahoo.com.