Friday column: OK, OK, so I'm a curmudgeon

Yet another approaching birthday reminds me that I’m old.

How old?

I remember when athletes of the magnitude of Boston’s Kevin Garnett weren’t caught on camera cursing out their opponents in ways that suggested their foes had carnal knowledge of their female parental units.

I remember when athletes such as Chicago’s Ben Gordon didn’t immediately grab their groins and stare at their opponents after making a big play.

I remember when crowds at NBA arenas didn’t predictably break into a chant of “(the other team) sucks.”

The coarsening of the culture continues apace, in sports as in other areas of life. I don’t see this as a good thing in any regard but, as I mentioned, I’m old.

Old enough to recall when public-address announcers at ballparks and arenas didn’t see their jobs as avenues of personal expression or feel the need to galvanize the fans into a rabid backing of the home team.

Back in the day — when a working stiff like moi could afford to take in a game (more on that later) — PA announcers plied their trade in a way that lent an air of dignity to the event, instead of an air of homer hysteria.

Wednesday, The New York Times’ John Branch wrote, “There is a cacophonous trend, laced with attitude and partiality, making sound waves through the National Basketball Association. The public-address announcer — historically a measured voice, soothing the air an octave below the din — is taking on the role of cheerleader.”

Branch notes, for instance, that Denver’s Kyle Speller will sometimes punctuate a Nuggets dunk by shouting, “That’s what I’m talking about!” and “often bellows, ‘De-fense!’ or ‘Let’s go, Nuggets!’ to jump-start a crowd chant.”

Is it churlish for me to say that when I was going to games, fans knew when to cheer and what to chant without any assistance by the PA man? Perhaps, but, as I believe I said, I’m old.

Old enough to remember a time when Joe Six-Pack could afford big-league ducats. Increasingly, that is no longer the case. Look at New York.

Faced with an embarrassing number of empty seats, the Yankees are slashing the prices of some of the seats at their new baseball palace, seats that were going — or rather, weren’t going — for $2,500 a game.

A game.

Who came up with that pricing idea in the middle of the worst recession in decades? The same fellow who authorized the Ground Zero fly-by?

Heck, when I used to attend games, if you wanted to take in nine innings, you didn’t have to choose between a couple of tickets and that month’s mortgage payment.

But, like I said, I’m old.

And grumpy.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.