In the business world, the word "concessions" usually means the working stiffs having to give up wages and/or benefits. Sometimes this results in the executive types getting bigger bonuses. In the sports world that same word has to do with the likes of parking fees, and things you eat and drink, while at a stadium or an arena to watch a game. Somebody's getting rich here, and it isn't you.
Draft beer comes in kegs, or half-barrels. They have 15 and a half gallons. The most brilliant minds on the planet have yet to figure out how to get it all out of there considering the foam and whatever's left on the bottom. So let's say 14 gallons are recovered. Doing a little fluid ounce math, that comes out to about 150 cups of beer at 12 ounces each.
At $8 dollars a pop for this, that keg just brought in $1200. You can go to your local pub or party store and get one for under a C-note. There's profit, and then there's obscene profit. If these people were the only gas station in town, they'd have the state of Michigan after them for price gouging.
Nothing like a ball park hot dog? Baloney. That's only because we've been conditioned to think so over the years by the people that -- hello -- want to sell the hot dogs. Usually they're cooked into shoe leather and served on either a soggy or crunchy bun. Then you have to find your way over to the condiment table. It's pretty hard to screw up mustard and ketchup, but those onions might be with you until tomorrow, and the relish always seems to have this weird smell, like it's a few days past it's "sell by" date. And for the price, where are they hiding the #&$@! napkins anyway?
Like pizza squares? At about a buck a bite, shouldn't we at least get one slice of pepperoni for each mouthful? Is that asking too much?
Mixed drinks? A cup full of ice, a small squirt of booze, and soda filling the rest of the space between the rocks. All this can be yours for the very low price of -- maybe a Hamilton. 3 or 4 fifths of that stuff, and they're in keg territory.
What's truly amazing though, is why people will fight through a crowd to stand in line, just so they can pay 5 or 6 dollars for a bottle of water. This has to be the greatest scam of all time -- and it's legal. These patrons are probably the same folks that insist on waxing their no-wax floors, or buying scented toilet paper. And the point is? P. T. Barnum had it right. There's one born every minute. Too many dollars and not enough sense.
The seventh inning stretch sounds good in theory, but nowadays nobody sits there that long. If they had some of those onions or relish a few innings before, they've already stretched their legs by running to the bathroom -- which is another "get in line" adventure.
But the same song always plays on.
Take me out to the ballgame.
"Buy me some peanuts and crackerjack.". You can get peanuts for the price of semi-precious stones, cha-ching, but I don't remember them ever selling crackerjacks. Didn't they come with a surprise in the box? These days getting something to eat or drink at a stadium comes with a not so pleasant surprise to your wallet or purse.
"Root, root, root, for the home team. If they don't win it's a shame"
"And it's one, two, three strikes you're out -- at the old ball game"
No doubt about it. Root all you want, but after paying for the tickets, the parking, and trips to the concession stand, you're most definitely out -- of money.
There will be no joy in Mudville. Even the Mighty Casey wound up being out too, remember?