WHEN FUN AT THE BALLPARK BECOMES A HORROR MOVIE

Gun violence in America led to a panic scene in Nationals Park, where sports was reminded that no amount of security is enough at stadiums and arenas — see: the Bronx — in a nation fraught with rage

     After the gunfire, after the panic, after the frightful exodus that turned a summer’s night at Nationals Park into a chaotic rush to shelter, officials in our nation’s capital issued a quick public assurance. Moving forward, they said, a police presence would be increased outside the stadium.

     Uh, weren’t they just a bit late to the bloodletting? Why wasn’t the ballpark area made safer to begin with? Why aren’t protective measures taken proactively, at stadiums and arenas across the land, in volatile times when the American populace is ready to crack amid racial wars, coronavirus divisions and political madness?

     It should surprise no one, in a country overwhelmed by gun violence, that the escapist delights of a Major League Baseball game would be interrupted by the echoes of deadly weapons. Nor is it a kneejerk response to warn the sports industry that the damage — three victims, none with life-threatening wounds — might be deathly tragic next time if leagues and franchises don’t immerse themselves in the menacing realities of 2021 life and prepare for violence at all times. At first, as the San Diego Padres readied for the bottom of the sixth inning against the host Washington Nationals, spectators and players assumed the crackling sounds heard from the ballpark’s third-base side were fireworks. The sports experience, remember, is programmed as a fairy tale in which no one thinks the worst.

     But these were shootings, all right, with multiple bullets exchanged from gun wielders inside two rival vehicles on South Capitol Street. When cries of ‘‘Shooter!’’ sliced through the gathering tension, 33,000 fans plotted their evacuation, rushing toward exits if they weren’t diving for cover or hiding behind seats. When the public-address announcer urged people to not leave the park, throngs headed toward the field and even into the Nationals dugout, while, across the way, Fernando Tatis Jr. and his Padres teammates were removing family members and fans from the stands and rushing them to the visitors’ clubhouse. Watching on television, I was jolted by crazy memories of the Bay Area earthquake, when I was rocked like a toddler on a swing set at the top of Candlestick Park, only to look down when the tremors stopped to see similar disarray on the field. I didn’t realize the total devastation until I walked through the stands, ran into a guy with a Sony Walkman TV and saw the car dangling on the collapsed Bay Bridge. That was a natural disaster.

     This was America in the 21st century — terror disrupting our dreams. Hollywood has forecasted for years, since the blimp-based “Black Sunday,” an apocalyptic disaster for sports. Are we nearing it? “It kind of registered what it possibly could have been — and then, obviously, it was a nightmare,’’ said Padres manager Jayce Tingler, who was at home plate making a pitching change when umpire Jordan Baker asked him about the noise. ‘‘It’s the thing you think about in the back of your mind.’’

     We’ll be thinking about it even more now, as violence in and around sports venues continues to plague the year-long return of fans to all games. The D.C. scene actually led to moments of goodwill — fans locking arms and holding hands, hugging and praying, while the Nationals and Padres were lauded for helping people to safety. In a statement, the Nationals said Sunday, ‘‘Dear fans, thank you. During the incident last night outside of the ballpark, you handled yourselves in a very admirable manner. You stayed calm. You helped one another.’’

     In the home dugout, manager Dave Martinez encouraged fans to huddle in the dugout and even walk through the tunnel to the clubhouse. He stopped to tell a skeptical security guard, ‘‘They are family. They are our fans.’’ If that was a heroic moment, consider the deeds of Tatis. Responsible beyond his years (22) and massive contract ($340 million), he sprinted down the left-field line — not far from the gunfire site — and quickly opened a gate that allowed fans to retreat to the dugout.

     ‘‘Everybody was running. It was crazy. You couldn’t figure out what was going on,’’ Tatis said. ‘‘Families, loved ones, little kids — I feel like somebody needed to go get them. The safest place was the clubhouse, and we were trying to get everyone in that safe place. The situation changed immediately. It was no longer players, fans. Everybody is just people, human beings trying to be secure.’’

     The Washington nightmare wasn’t related to the game, at least. All year, sports has been dealing with ugly episodes involving fans and players. We saw it early in the NBA postseason, when Russell Westbrook, Trae Young, Kyrie Irving and Ja Morant were subjected to everything from spitting to popcorn-throwing to racial taunts. Saturday night in Yankee Stadium, not far from the gunfire in Washington, a fan in the left-field bleachers whipped a baseball that hit Boston left fielder Alex Verdugo in the back. Verdugo turned around and screamed at the fans, never a wise move in New York, and who knows what would have happened had he not been restrained by teammates and first-base coach Tom Goodwin? Red Sox manager Alex Cora briefly called his team off the field to settle Verdugo.

     ‘‘This is just a game,” Cora said. ‘‘This is not life and death, and it’s not this drama. The fact people came to the ballpark and they decided to throw a baseball at one of the players — I was in shock that happened.

     ‘‘I know my left fielder. I know Alex. He needed time to breathe and to get his thoughts. It seemed like nobody was listening to me. You never know. What if he jumps the fence? What if he goes up there?’’

     Said Verdugo: ‘‘As fans, ya’ll got to be better. You don’t throw s—t at people. You wouldn’t do that to somebody in the street. I felt it was targeted towards me, and it don’t sit well with me.’’

     The moment should have been innocent. Verdugo says he was aiming a toss at a young Red Sox fan after sixth-inning warmups, but a Yankees fan grabbed the ball first. Folks in left field said they urged the fan to throw the ball onto the field, a longtime custom in certain parks, and it accidentally hit Verdugo. Why would you have any sensible reason to fire a baseball, a lethal weapon, anywhere near a player whose back was to the throw? The fan was ejected and, a day later, he was banned for life from attending MLB games. It should be a sufficient deterrent for future morons. But in 2021 America, is any punishment enough?

     ‘‘It’s awful, embarrassing, unacceptable,’’ said Yankees manager Aaron Boone, witnessing another debacle in a pitiful pinstriped season.

     Said the club in a statement: ‘‘While the Yankees appreciate the spirit and passion of our fans in our various rivalries — especially with the Red Sox — reckless, disorderly and dangerous behavior that puts the safety of players, field staff or fellow fans in jeopardy will not be tolerated. There is absolutely no place for it at Yankee Stadium. The safety of everyone, including guests in the stands and players on the field, will always be the top priority every time we open our doors.’’

     Yet the fan was not arrested, which leads to a wider theme here. Where were the police on South Capitol Street? Where were the police inside NBA arenas? Where were the police in Yankee Stadium?

     They are busy public servants, I understand. But if they continue to view sports venues as harmless funhouses, those venues will become nuthouses quicker than the squeeze of a crime-scene trigger.

     Jay Mariotti, called ‘‘the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes sports columns for Substack and a Wednesday media column for Barrett Sports Media while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts in production today. He’s an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and radio talk host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects. Compensation for this column is donated to the Chicago Sun-Times Charity Trust.