Sometimes Lady Luck smiles upon you when you least expect
it. In a very quick turn of events on
Monday, I learned that Sitcom Kelly’s mom was able to get her company’s seats
for the Orioles game on Tuesday. And
because the O’s won on Monday, a win on Tuesday would clinch the American League
East division title for the first time since 1997, and the first time in their
home park since 1968.
Rather than going to our usual pre-game bar, The Bullpen, we
went to our regular happy hour spot near my office building. Sitcom Kelly was tired of eating nothing but
nachos and fries, which was the only meat-free fare they had there.
Naturally, she got nachos anyway. Frankly, I stopped trying to understand her
ways.
But for me, I got their game-day special, The Oriole Dog… a
large dog with mac & cheese, and crab.
Man, that was good. I wish I had
taken a picture, but as you might guess, the window of opportunity was rather
small. Having devoured the dog, I helped
Sitcom Kelly out with her nachos. Had to
be careful not to have too many jalapeños though.
As you may recall from prior posts, Sitcom Mom’s seats are
primo; 10 rows back, directly behind home plate.
Our view for the night.
The only downside is the netting, which makes the players look
like they’re in some kind of zoo exhibit.
But on the upside; there were no screaming foul balls smashing into our faces.
I was nervous about the Orioles starting pitcher, Ubaldo
Jimenez. He was a high-priced free agent
signing this winter but has been generally atrocious all year. And he didn’t give me much confidence as he
walked four in his first couple of innings. Luckily, he settled down and only gave up one run.
A three-run homer by Steve Pearce in the first inning helped
set my mind at ease, as the O’s jumped out to a lead, which they would never
relinquish.
Steve Pearce being congratulated by Nelson Cruz and
Nick Markakis, after his 3-run jack.
As the game went on, and the Orioles gradually padded their
lead up to 8-2, I could feel a subtle change occurring, something I could feel
in my gut. No, it wasn’t the impending
celebration of 17 years’ worth of losing coming to an end. It was literally something happening in my
gut. Sometimes, Lady Luck can be a
fickle bitch. Who knew both the
Orioles and I would erupt with the runs?
I was getting sharp pains that came and went, accompanied by
lots of “soap-bubble gurgling.” By the 5th
or 6th inning, I began to suspect that something I ate was about to
cause me some distress. I don’t know if
it was the jalapeños or the crabby mac dog, but something was about to make me
lose containment. It felt like I was
trying to process a bowl full of ground glass.
About the 7th inning, I realized that I was going
to have to do something drastic; something I’ve always tried my best to avoid… sitting
down in a stall in a crowded public restroom.
I tried to get in there while the game was going on, but it
was well occupied nevertheless. When someone opened the door to the stall I was lined up behind, I got a
peek inside… Ew. No, I am NOT going in
there.
I quickly jumped into a urinal line and made a quick pee, so
as not to look like a restroom lurker. Then when I left through the restroom exit, I circled back into the
entrance and ducked into a different stall.
It still required some cleanup, but it was marginal.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t produce what I was hoping to, but
at least I “took a little off the top.” I hoped that would get me through the rest of the night. But alas…
As the game wound down, the vibe in the ballpark was
electric; like the soul-crushing effects of years of losing baseball seeking to
break free. With a six-run lead, it
seemed like the game was a done deal. They just needed another couple of outs.
I tried my best to hold my camera steady as I shot video of
the last batter, but just as surely as I knew the O’s would win, I knew I’d
have to take another stab at hitting the bathroom. I could barely stand; there was no way I
would survive the subway ride home, let alone the penguin-walk I’d have to take
just to get to the station.
The last batter grounded out to first, which commenced the
big celebration. It was my first time
attending such an event, (other than Super Bowl XL), and it was really something
special.
Think these moments don’t mean anything to jaded,
high-priced professional athletes?
That’s slugger Nelson Cruz, with a GoPro camera duct taped to his hat.
As the Orioles retreated to their clubhouse, I indicated to
Sitcom Kelly that A) we really needed to go because B) I really needed to
“go.” It was too bad because, after the
players' champagne celebration, they came back out on the field to celebrate
with the fans, most of whom were still there.
Meanwhile, I had to take another crack at using the
stall. Now, for a guy who never uses a
public stall unless the whole restroom is empty, having to go with a whole
crowd in there was somewhat traumatic.
However, an unexpected upside was that all the celebration and commotion
provided a nice masking effect of my own little calamity. This time around, it was a full-on
jailbreak. Before I went in, I should
have put a sign on the stall door that said, “Don’t even line up. You don’t
want any part of this.”
As I left, I hoped I’d taken care of the problem, but I swear,
I didn’t get 3 steps away from the restroom when the bubbles returned. I met up with Sitcom Kelly, and we walked
directly to the very next restroom so I could repeat the process. At least that time, she was close enough to
the right field flag court that she could get some shots of the players lapping
the field.
Darren O’Day, relief pitcher and next candidate for
Sitcom Kelly’s Silence of the Lambs pit.
The subway ride was uneventful, although I chose to stand
the whole way. Sitting down made the top
of my jeans dig into my gut, which was not helpful at all. The troops began to amass along the border
again, as I drove home from the station. Needless to say, I drove “briskly.” Any officer attempting to give me a ticket was going to have to chase me
right into my bathroom.
I made it without a moment to spare, but at least I was on
home court.
So, I know what you’re thinking. What are the mojo considerations of all
this? If you go to a playoff game, would
you still go to the local bar and get an Orioles Dog, knowing your team would
win but you’d get a case of the screamin’ meamies?
The answer is, “Oh
hell no. I might take one for the team,
but not four.” They’re on their own,
next time.
Unless, of course, the real culprit was the ham sandwich I
had for lunch…
Looks like I better start a new spreadsheet…
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