Going to a Ball Game

They say baseball is America's favorite pastime and I couldn't agree more if I tried. I don't know if it's the camaraderie with the other fans or the hotdogs but something about it just feels right. I think it's the hotdogs.

When I walk into the stadium I like to take in all the sights and sounds of the ballpark. There's the smell of popcorn in the air, the sight of baseball caps in the crowd, and the sound of fistfights in the stands. It's funny how a little friendly competition can make you want to punch people.

As I continue my leisurely stroll through the stadium I make sure to keep a lookout for any and all bathrooms. There's a lot of people here and not a lot of toilets. The last thing I want is to be looking for a bathroom while going to the bathroom. A part of me wishes they would fix the bathroom to people ratio but another part of me is wearing a diaper.

After I've fully scouted out the stadium I finally arrive at my seat. It turns out I'm a lot higher up than I was expecting. In fact, I'm not even sure this qualifies as Earth anymore. As I'm trying to watch the game I start to wish I brought a pair of binoculars. I see the guy next to me has a pair so I ask if I can borrow them. He doesn't seem open to the idea so I assure him I just want to borrow them for the rest of the game. It's not like I want to take them home or anything. He still seems hesitant so I scooch over and tell him we can each share a lens, but he still has to hold them. I don't want to be the one doing all the compromising. Then he gets irritated and yells, "If you wanted binoculars you should've brought your own!" And while I see his point, I still can't see the game, so that's not a very good solution.

Once I've unsuccessfully convinced the guy next to me to share his binoculars I decide I'll need to improvise. I may not be able to see the game directly but I can guess what's happening based on fan reactions. Every time the guy next to me cheers, I cheer. Whenever he boos, I boo. Whenever he takes a sip of his drink, I take a sip of his drink. Then, as I copy his every move he gets upset and starts screaming at me. This makes me really nervous that our team is losing. I try to ask the score but he starts choking me before I can get it out. That's when I know it's really bad. It makes me realize how, as fans, we're so helpless. All we can do is watch, hope, and choke and punch each other. There's really no other options.

When the dramatic choking session is over I figure I'll take it down a notch and look for a bathroom. I don't have to go yet but I know the lines are going to be long. So long in fact that as soon as I stand up I'm already in one. I guess it's true what they say, behind every loyal sports fan is someone who has to pee. That's more true now than ever.

As I continue standing in line I start to worry there's a clogged toilet somewhere. We haven't moved in ten minutes and everyone's getting restless. I try to lighten the mood by singing the national anthem but it seems to make everyone more agitated. They glare at me and say things like, "You have a bad voice" and "Why are you singing 'Oh Christmas Tree'?" Based on the level of hostility I'd say they have to go number 2.

Once the line starts moving I'm relieved that I can stop singing, and so is everyone else. Though, we only take a few steps before we stop again. I jokingly ask if they want me to sing again but they blow up and yell, "Shut up you idiot!" In all fairness, I get their frustration. We're supposed to be enjoying a baseball game, not stuck in line waiting for a toilet that might not even flush.

As we continue to wait it becomes more and more likely that the game will be over before we get through the line. We're at the top of the seventh inning and I'm not even halfway through Jingle Bells. The guy in front of me is beginning to get really irritated and mutters, "At this rate, I should've brought a tent." And I know exactly what he means. If we were camping we could go to the bathroom anywhere.

As the seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, and hours into bladder problems, one thing is clear; we've missed the game. All the other fans begin exiting the stadium, leaving us poor schmucks fearing for our underpants. 

Then finally, after six long hours, it happens. I'm next in line for the bathroom. It was a long and grueling ordeal but I have finally arrived at the promised land. There's much rejoicing, I hug the guy behind me, and as I'm about to go in I decide to utilize my diaper instead. Then, as I start walking away, one of the guys exclaims, "We've just waited six hours! You're not even going to use the restroom?!" I can see where this would be confusing, but I can't stay and chat. I may not know if the toilets flush, but I know my diaper doesn't.

I've said it once and I'll say it again. Baseball is America's favorite pastime. It's one of the only events people attend even though they'll spend the majority of their time going to the bathroom. In a lot of ways that's all a ball game is, a glorified trip to the bathroom. Not many events that can say that.