Why? No clue. I asked once, as I was in the midst of raising my arms and chanting "wooo" with my fellow athletic supporters. I asked "Why won't you join us, my friend? What holds you back?" my face full of loving concern.
She muttered and mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. The good friend that I am, I dropped it. Well, eventually I did. Right after I needled her a bit, gave her a guilt trip and discussed her lack of enthusiasm with everyone in section 118.
After much discussion most of us in section 118 came to this conclusion - perhaps it's too painful for her to discuss (one perverted guy had a very different thought but I won't go there, this blog is rated PG. Well, PG-ish).
But you know what, the more I think about it, I bet that's exactly what it is - the painful thing, not the perverted thing. I bet once, when she was but a small child, on her first ever family outing to historic Fenway Park, gasp! she lost her parents.
Imagine this: it's the sixth inning, the Red Sox are at bat. Little Doreen is distracted by a man in a bright shirt shouting "crrrraaaacker jaaaaackkkks" as he tosses the red and blue bags to the crowd, pitching to the fans as if he were on the field down below. She looks at him, desire in her eyes, wishing she too had cracker jacks.
Dreaming of the prize buried deep at the bottom of that sticky goodness, her mouth watering as she envisions the first bite of sweet caramel covered popcorn she looks back to her parents questioningly, a wide smile on her face.
But oh wait, oh no, where are they?
Little Doreen can't see them in the fervor of the crowd! Their bodies have been swallowed whole, they've disappeared! She's surrounded by devils performing a medieval ritual, rising in succession, chanting "wooooo", arms raised above their heads as they sing praise to Satan, their red-horned leader. Surely these evil-doers haven't harmed her parents! "Woooooo", "wooooo", "wooooo", her little eyes widen in wonder and fear as the devil-worshipers around the stadium rise and fall. The game ends and she's alone. Her parents are gone, never to be seen again. Doreen escapes with her life, but just barely, fingers gripped tight around an empty bag of cracker jacks, the only memory she has of the parents who loved her.
Anyway, that's my version of why my friend, fictitiously named Doreen, won't do the wave. What's your take?