Memo to people who attend sporting events- specifically baseball: Really? You seriously think we like having a face full of your arse during a critical moment in the game just because you’ve decided that you desperately need to stuff your already horrendous pie hole with that 5th plate of nachos, some more beer and a churro? Thanks to you, I missed a fabulous over the wall catch by the left fielder and one of the most exciting moments of the game.
I have an idea! How 'bout using common sense and courtesy and waiting until the inning is, I don't know, OVER before you come tromping back to the MIDDLE OF THE ROW habitat you call a seat? You've already created quite the individual ecological niche there with your stacks of plates, discarded drink cups reeking of warm beer and peanut shells.
Why is it ALWAYS in the critical moments of the game-, which, by the way, are few and far between in baseball, that you and your already overstretched bladder decide to heed the call of nature? Can’t your saggy bladder wait until the batter strikes out, fouls or gets to the base off a fabulous full count swing? Oh, wait! I forgot! Your selfish bladder ONLY sends the signal to get your pee on exactly AS the batter finds the sweet spot on that ol' Louisville and sends the home team into the playoffs or World Series glory. I guess I have to take the scoreboard's word for it, since I was intimately pressed against the backside of your 6'7" frame while standing to accommodate your passage in tight quarters.
I think the conversation went something like this:
YOU: "Oh shuckydarns, those Padres got a hit.”
ME: Wow, really? I missed it, apparently, but can I just say that you wear those Wrangler Jeans oh, so well? Also, Tide with Bleach will get that mustard stain right out of the waistband of your SpongeBob. Boxer shorts"
Equally annoying to fans- who’ve forgone much needed medical care in order to afford baseball tickets - are the "See –and- be- seen crowd." Yep, you know who you are. You have about as much interest in the game as I have in watching Pro Bass Fishing Hour on the Nature Channel. You're all about wearing your ridiculous Ed Hardy shirt, reeking of some gosh awful cologne, with nary a hair out of place on that shellac coiff that surely sports a full year's worth of product. You definitely have a case of Tanorexia.
As you casually saunter down your personal catwalk- which is - lucky for the thousands in attendance- Aisle 1, Home Plate Section, seats 13 and 14 in a 30 seat row, you arrive fashionably late in the middle of the 4th inning (no mad dash to your seats between innings for you!) You pause at the end of the row, turn and squint your eyes as your gaze up into the cavernous, forty thousand seat ballpark, and miraculously find someone you know! You smile that dazzling chiclets smile you just paid thousands for and whip out your iphone to discuss how lucky everyone is that YOU have arrived! We are treated to a full 5 minutes of "end of the catwalk poses" while everyone gets to hear dazzlingly brilliant conversation spew forth from your rosemary scented, chap stick slathered, SPF 15 protected lips.
We all get to miss the botched call from Blue on that checked swing because 1. We are slightly dizzy from the off -gassing effect of all that product and 2. It's either stand up or get a face full of yo' skinny ass draped in your 7's.
Can I tell you a secret? Just once, I long for some transplanted Yankee fan to lob a mustard encrusted corndog right straight in the middle of your dome! I would GLADLY endure the splattered mustard blowback on my weathered, #51 game jersey for the rest of game if I could see that!
Mr "Does RBI stand for Really BIG Idiot?" is usually accompanied by his beer getta'- as in "Babe, why don't you go get me another draft?' Beer Getta' chick makes me laugh so hard. Poor thing gets sent out on more beer runs than a new pledge at his first frat party. Give her some love, peeps! She rocks those ghetto fabulous 6-inch heels up and down that aisle better than ANYONE! Of course the novelty soon wears off- even for the horniest men in attendance- as less and less beer makes it back to her clueless hunk and more and more ends up soaking everyone in the row. Plus, BGC gets sloppy drunk and the mere hint of Double D boobage her stretchy top from BEBE first promised, is quickly followed by full frontal disaster. (Note to self: Apparently the secret part of the Victoria’s Secret Push Up Bra is load failure and lifting issues occur when the, ahem, “materials supporting the illusion of firmness and enormity” come in contact with copious amounts of spilled draft beer.)
Still, ya gotta’ love beer getta’ when she mistakenly interprets the 7 inning stretch for her Bikram Yoga class.
I dunno, I really don’t remember my dad having to teach me basic manners when it comes to the ballpark. I think I pretty much learned them myself. It’s pretty simple. Maybe the Padres should put a little sticker on the back of every seat in the ballpark.
GET IN, SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP! (Except to cheer for the Padres, of course)
