It was October 14, 2003. The Chicago Cubs were five outs away from their first World Series appearance since 1945. A foul ball arced high into the night sky above Wrigley Field’s left-field line. Cubs outfielder Moisés Alou raced over, leapt at the wall, glove extended. And then—contact. Not with the ball. With a fan.
Steve Bartman, wearing headphones and a green turtleneck, reached out instinctively. The ball deflected off his hands. Alou slammed his glove in frustration. The Cubs unraveled, surrendering eight runs in that fateful eighth inning. The Florida Marlins came back to win the game—and eventually the series. And Bartman, a lifelong Cubs fan sitting in what was arguably one of the “best seats” in the stadium, became a symbol of heartbreak and scapegoating.
In the years that followed, Bartman lived in anonymity, under protection, receiving threats and ridicule. It wasn’t until 2017, after the Cubs finally won the World Series, that the team formally forgave him with a championship ring and public apology.
Looking back, one can only wonder: Did Bartman wish he had been seated somewhere else? Anywhere else?
So, Where Is the Best Seat in the House?
Ask ten sports fans where the best seat is in a stadium or arena, and you might get ten different answers. Some love the sideline seats, others want to be as close to the action as possible, and a few prefer the panoramic perspective from the upper deck.
But let’s talk honestly: is there really such a thing as the best seat?
If you’ve ever watched a tennis match courtside, you’ll understand the dilemma. Your head swings left, then right. Then left again. It’s a workout in itself. Similar challenges arise in basketball or hockey when seated on the sidelines—tracking the action from one end to the other becomes a full-time job for your neck.
That’s where the behind-the-goal or end zone seat comes into play. It may not have the prestige of center court or the sideline, but it has something just as valuable: perspective and comfort.
Behind the Goal: A Hidden Gem?
Sitting behind the goal in soccer or hockey has its perks. You’re dead center when your team is attacking. The angles are clean, the strategies easier to see unfold. In hockey, you can actually trace the puck’s movement and feel the surge as players drive toward you. In basketball, being behind the basket means fewer side-to-side movements and a better sense of plays developing down the lane. It’s a little like having a director’s view of a movie—you’re watching things as they’re designed to unfold.
But every advantage comes with a trade-off. When the action is on the opposite end, it’s tough to see clearly—especially in fast-paced games like hockey. You rely more on crowd reaction, scoreboard replays, and commentary to fill in the blanks. There’s also the not-so-small issue of netting and protective glass. Intended for safety, these barriers can distort your view or make it feel like you’re watching through a fishbowl.
Still, for many fans, the behind-the-goal seat hits the sweet spot. You don’t have to scan left and right. You don’t miss slam dunks on your end. And when your team scores—right in front of you—it’s a thrill like no other.
What About Baseball?
Baseball is a different beast altogether. The layout of the field means that “behind home plate” is often touted as the best seat. You see every pitch, every call, every at-bat strategy. You hear the crack of the bat and the pop of the mitt. For the analytical fan, this is paradise.
But there’s a reason season ticket holders often favor seats along the baselines or infield: it offers a fuller view of both fielding and baserunning. The problem? You also risk being in the danger zone for foul balls—hence the now-standard protective netting in many MLB stadiums.
And yes, that netting is necessary. But it changes the experience. You’re safer, sure—but also slightly more removed.
So maybe Steve Bartman’s seat—near the field, by the foul line—was good on paper but precarious in reality. Perspective again makes the difference. What looked like a dream seat came with pressure and unintended consequence.
And Football?
Let’s be brutally honest: for football, the best seat might be your couch.
NFL stadiums are massive. Unless you’re in the lower rows near midfield, it’s hard to appreciate formations or follow a deep pass. The beauty of football—the subtle shifts in coverage, the complex route trees, the blocking schemes—is often lost without multiple camera angles.
At home, you get it all. Close-ups, slow-motion replays, commentary, aerial shots. Red zone highlights. Fantasy updates. Bathroom access. Snack privileges.
Even fans with season tickets often admit: the jumbotron does more heavy lifting than their actual seat. Sure, the energy of the crowd is electric. But when it comes to actually seeing the game, the television wins—hands down.
The Season Ticket Perspective
There’s a reason people keep the same seats year after year. It’s not just about the view; it’s about tradition. Familiarity. The usher who remembers your name. The neighboring fans who become friends. The superstitions and rituals.
Season ticket holders don’t always have the “best” view by broadcast standards—but they often have the best experience. They’ve chosen that spot not because it shows them everything—but because it shows them enough, and because it’s theirs.
Ask them where the best seat is, and they’ll point to the one they’ve sat in for 20 seasons.
The Truth About the “Best”
Here’s what no one tells you: the “best” seat isn’t about location. It’s about what matters to you.
Do you want to be close to the players? Behind the bench? Do you want to see plays develop tactically from above? Or do you want to be part of the roar when a goal is scored in front of you?
Perspective matters more than placement.
Even the so-called “worst” seats—up high, in the corners—offer something magical: a shared experience. A chance to be part of the collective cheer, to chant, to eat overpriced nachos while high-fiving strangers. You see the whole field, the whole court, the whole rink. You see fans reacting across the stadium. You’re part of something bigger.
And sometimes, being too close—like Bartman was—can mean you’re too involved. Too exposed. Too much a part of the drama, rather than a witness to it.
Lessons in Perspective
If there’s a takeaway from all of this, it’s that perspective—both literal and figurative—shapes experience.
A behind-the-goal seat may seem suboptimal, but for the fan who values immersion and comfort, it’s ideal.
The upper deck may look distant, but it offers clarity and scope.
The living room may lack the crowd noise, but it gives you angles and context.
And the seat that caused so much grief for Steve Bartman? It wasn’t cursed. It was just close. Maybe too close.
Bartman didn’t ask to be part of history. He didn’t seek attention. He was just a fan, in a seat that someone, somewhere, had labeled one of the “best.”
Maybe the best seat isn’t about what’s in front of you—but what you take away from it. The stories. The feelings. The connection.
So, what’s the best seat in the house?
Wherever you sit and feel something unforgettable.
Even if it’s behind the goal.
Even if it’s obstructed by netting.
Even if it’s far from the action, but close to your heart.
Or even—sometimes—right at home.
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