 |
| If you call yourself a fan you need to dress the part..... |
This past spring I was lucky enough to “win” the opportunity to buy two tickets to an Ohio State home football game in the alumni ticket lottery. The unlucky part was that the game I got was against Colorado, who this particular season was expected to be about as good as their mascot Ralphie’s crap. I ordered the tickets and waited until September for my annual golden tickets. The tickets finally arrived and I took a peak in the envelope. I looked excitedly until I saw where our seats were. Not only were the tickets for a crappy game, they were way up in the clouds by the airplanes and birds.
The big day rolled around and we headed to Columbus. We got to the game early to watch the pre-game activities and be entertained by the drunken student sections. The stands were pretty empty as kick-off approached. The day was crisp and clear, breezy, blue skies, low 70’s…..just a great day for football. We looked out over the stadium walls from our “nosebleed, we needed a helicopter to get to up here to the upper stratosphere" seats and could see for miles. Columbus to the south, Crew Stadium to the east and “The Schott” to the North. I was surprised at the lack of fans in the crowd. It was supposed to be a bad season but I was still amazed at the amount of empty seats seeing that OSU football tickets are so hard to come by. Needless to say I was a little happy with the room to spread out. Being a larger guy, extra space was always good. At ten minutes until kickoff something strange caught my attention from the corner of my eye. We were sitting on the far right of our section on the aisle. From the far left side of the aisle came a Grizzly- Adams-esque hillbilly wearing a puke orange and green flannel shirt covered by a heavy winter Carhartt jacket.
The backwoods football fan made his way down our row and sat on my wife, not next to my wife, on my wife. There was plenty of room but somehow he still managed to plop his ass down on part of my wife’s left leg. We slid the opposite direction to alleviate the cluster that was just created. Then in broken redneck speak with an overtone of hillbilly, we heard “These seats are a little small. I hope there is room for my wife.” My wife looked down the aisle and “Holy crap! Look what’s coming our way.” I leaned forward and peaked down the aisle. The hillbilly’s better half, more like better three quarters was making her way to her seat. She had to have the biggest tank ass badonkadonk we’ve ever seen. She looked like a Weeble-Wobble as she bumped into the people in our row and the people in the row in front of us. She plopped down, her husband slid over touching my wife even more, and me, being on the end of the aisle, suddenly felt my right butt cheek slide off the bleacher.
The sun came out from behind the clouds just as it was time for kickoff. The game was just about to start. Our seats were cramped and my pregnant wife was reaching her fill of the unwanted space invader. He had his elbow in her belly and her head was practically buried in his armpit. A moment later he stood up to take off his jacket and WHOOSH! Out came a stench that words cannot describe. It smelled like the dude didn’t shower for weeks. Some of the worst B-O I have ever smelled (and I played high school football so I’ve smelled bad B-O) came rolling from under his coat. My wife gagged and turned her head the opposite direction. We weren’t sure when bath day was for this guy but it definitely wasn’t this week. Maybe he was going to have a victory bath after the game. All I know is this Billy-Bob, Cletus-Ray, Jethro-Junior, epitome of a Wally-World shopper was ripe! I wasn’t going to spend $160 for two tickets to sit by the stench on our bench for the entire game. I scoped out the open seats around us and found an open pair about twenty rows down. We left the great wall of stink and moved to a less-polluted section. The backwoods football fan made his way down our row and sat on my wife, not next to my wife, on my wife. There was plenty of room but somehow he still managed to plop his ass down on part of my wife’s left leg. We slid the opposite direction to alleviate the cluster that was just created. Then in broken redneck speak with an overtone of hillbilly, we heard “These seats are a little small. I hope there is room for my wife.” My wife looked down the aisle and “Holy crap! Look what’s coming our way.” I leaned forward and peaked down the aisle. The hillbilly’s better half, more like better three quarters was making her way to her seat. She had to have the biggest tank ass badonkadonk we’ve ever seen. She looked like a Weeble-Wobble as she bumped into the people in our row and the people in the row in front of us. She plopped down, her husband slid over touching my wife even more, and me, being on the end of the aisle, suddenly felt my right butt cheek slide off the bleacher.
After our relocation to fairer smelling lands we found ourselves in the middle of the band parent section. The game started and all was good. At halftime Sir Stinksalot went to get a snack at the concession stand. We got a good wiff of him as he walked down the steps. The stench of his stinky-ness was no match for winds blowing through the stadium. Things aired out and we could breathe once again. The band came up to our section throughout the game and the Buckeyes won. It turned out to be a great day even with the air pollution in section 7C.
There are essential things to remember when going to a game like tickets and the appropriate attire. I never thought I’d add a pre-game shower to the list. After our experience with the odoriferous emanating redneck I will never go to sporting event without showering ever again. Please remember D-O for your B-O before you go to see your favorite team play. Let the teams be offensive, not your personal hygiene.
