Best seats wasted on the worst fans

When I watch the Giants on TV at Dodger Stadium, I am fascinated by the seats behind home plate.

You would think the richest fans in Los Angeles would require the smallest seats. It’s the land of fat cats, but in L.A., fat cats are kale-eaters who do Pilates and spinning. Those Lasorda-wide seats seem big enough for three supermodels, or for one fan and his/her personal trainer.

Same deal at Yankee Stadium, where the fancy seats offer “an exclusive experience for those with discerning taste who seek the very best that life has to offer.”

Somebody actually wrote that.

Well, the gulf between rich and poor in America is steadily widening, so why should that not be reflected in the temples of our national pastime?

The Yankees’ sweet seats have teak arm rests. Teak. They would be ivory if the elephant-hugger lobby wasn’t so annoying.

Those seats look so comfortable! Not that anyone sits in ’em, except for a few folks who are streaming the game on their cell phones so they can watch themselves watching themselves watching the game.

Instead of occupying their seats, most fans are either tied up in a studio production meeting, or schmoozing under the grandstands in their private bars and lounges.

They have their own restrooms and at-seat waiters. I’ll have a top-sirloin hot dog and a mani-pedi, please.

At some parks, these very special fans have their very own private stadium entrance, so they don’t have to spin the yucky turnstiles of the unwashed masses. Instead of a metal detector, it is rumored that the Dodgers’ VIP fans get patted down at the door by Hef ’s Playboy bunnies.

I remember back when the reward for paying more for a ticket was that you got to sit closer to the game. But what fun was that if you couldn’t flaunt your discerning-ness? Now, by the grace of God, you can.

These fans probably have their own versions of ballpark songs. “Bring me hot towels and Cracker Jack/Give me some teak for my elbows to smack.”