I'm old, and I'm really starting to feel it. Saturday kind of hammered that reality home for me. A few months ago, I had my knee scoped. Rehab went well, but it's become apparent that the knee will never be 100% again. I knew that Saturday would be the most stress I would put on it since the surgery, with all the walking that I knew I would do. I was right. By the time I reached the tailgate, between the knee and the sweat pouring down my ass crack, I already knew the decision to go was a mistake.
But I was there, and being under a tent with a fan going was making it somewhat bearable. About 30 minutes before time to walk to the stadium, the BBQ I ate at the tailgate began talking to me. Well, more like cussing me. I knew that my fat ass had better find a shitter to hover over, and soon, or there would be problems. That's another thing about getting older, you'd better take the urge seriously, because there will come a point where there's no turning back.
The tailgate is right across the street from the baseball field, and fortunately, they open the bathrooms up to the public. I head across the street with a pocket full of paper towels. No need to ask why. You know why. Because as men, we're a bunch of brain dead Neanderthals. Either that, or our brains never developed past 6 years old, with regard to some things. With a wall full of urinals, we still feel the need to go in every stall and piss all over the seat and on the floor. We still find it funny to drop 5 pound mawonga dumps in the shitter and walk out without flushing. I find the least offensive stall to take care of my bidnezz. And joy of joys, a guy goes in the stall next to me to piss all over the seat, and while doing so, drops his beer, most of which goes all over my legs. I'm in no position to kick his ass.
Game time. We walk to the stadium. The temp is now hovering somewhere close to that on the surface of the sun. Thousands of people start bunching up in an effort to squeeze, one by one, through the metal detectors. This lasts somewhere around 30 minutes before we make it in the stadium. I'm now wet from head to toe and questioning my own sanity. Young kids are pointing and saying, "Daddy, that man pee'd in his pants." We make it to our seats and there is zero leg room. My knee is screaming at me for 3 quarters.
The shittiness of the game only amplifies how much I loathe that stupid, fucking, monstrosity of a "scoreboard". It's only functions are to pan the student section while blaring snippets of music no one over 35 has ever heard at 45,000 decibels. Oh, and to make sure that's done while the band is trying to play something. Plus, it absolutely ruined the look of a beautiful stadium. GTF off my lawn.
I make it back to the tailgate. I have no idea who all these people are that have taken over. Where is all the family? Frick it. Me and my knee are hoofing it back to the Ford F-150. Time to make the 2 1/2 hour drive back home. I probably won't be back for a while.
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