Ah, what is more fulfilling in a man’s (and some women – don’t want to start this blog off sounding like a sexist jerk!) life than getting to go to ‘the game’? No matter the sport, experiencing a game first hand is truly one of life’s great joys. From the time your Dad takes you to your first sporting event to when you get to bring your own son to the ballpark; there is nothing like it. However, it recently dawned on me that outside of those special Norman Rockwellian-type occasions there is a common theme to the experience of attending a sporting event as an adult – I don’t remember what the hell happened after I attended!?!?
How can this be possible? I was sitting near the dugout/behind the bench/ringside/courtside/etc.? Surely the mere fact of being just steps from the game would result in a deep and clear memory of all that has taken place, right? Nope. Nothing. Is it just me?
Conversely, when I am sitting on the couch at home I can recall, with great detail, all that I have witnessed during those two or three hours glued to my T.V.
Well, after giving it some thought I realize there are a few common themes to why I continually experience these short term memory lapses when I have the joy of being there….
- Excitement!
Let’s face it, the thrill of getting a ticket to the game, especially if it a last minute thing, is the best. Phone rings…it’s your best buddy…”Dude, I just scored an extra ticket to the Sox-Yanks tonight. You in???!!!”
“DAMN STRAIGHT I AM IN!”
Without giving a thought to work obligations, family commitments or any other previously scheduled engagements, the inherent nature of any self-proclaimed real man is to say ‘YES’ when asked to go to a game (multiply that by a factor of 10 if it involves playoffs or championships).
Your brain immediately goes into a frenzied state and I believe this is the precursor to the contraction of SEAS Disorder: Sports Event Amnesia Syndrome
{Go ahead and look it up Dr. I.M. Smartassenthal, it’s a real disease!}
- Pre-Game
I will admit it - my exuberance before a game can sometimes (and by “sometimes” I mean “every time”) shift into overdrive. Be it one of the quiet watering holes near the ball park or a full blown tailgate outside the stadium…it is going to get the best of me. For whatever reason, I believe I am somehow transformed into Superman (or a 19 year old college sophomore again…God those were good days…I was 20 pounds lighter…could drink all day and never get a hangov….wait, sorry) in terms of consumption. Consumption in all forms. Instead of sipping a beer, I am shot-gunning a 6-pack. Rather than enjoy a nice hotdog, I am inhaling 2 loaded sausages and one of those giant pretzels. Oh, and how a bout a nice 3-foot-long-neck-breaking Cuban cigar! Why not, it is Tuesday night after all!
Too much bad stuff coming into this 36 year old excuse for a body way too fast – it is going to beat me.
- Just Shutup!
OK, so in addition to drinking, eating, and smoking far more than I do on most Tuesday nights, I also find I can not shut my damn mouth. Suddenly, I think I am freaking Chris Berman. Spewing my off-color, inaccurate, home-town-biased analysis of the pending game to anyone who will listen (of course that is between the taunting of opposing fans and funneling that Busch Light that somehow found it’s way into the cooler). This verbal diarrhea begins sometime around the phone call invite from my buddy and ends approximately 1 second after my team starts to lose. No siree, my idle banter can not be contained and I realize instead of rooting for my team I find myself intertwined in a heated debate about batting averages with some drunk soccer mom sitting behind me. Or maybe I am the drunk one? Hmm? Here nor there!
Why? I don’t know…but I wish I could stop.
- LOOK!
The last, but perhaps the most clear and obvious, reason why I can never seem to recall what I witness at the game is distractions. Think about it. You are surrounded by insane fans, loud music, beautiful she-fans in creative team dress, fat drunk guys, skinny drunk guys, food vendors, hat vendors and sometimes fat, drunk, hat-wearing food vendors. It is all right there in front of me in hi-definition and, frankly, it’s a little too much for this guy’s small brain to process!
So, in closing, when you take a close look at it, my continuous battle with S.E.A.S. makes a world of sense. I morph into an over-eating, Leaving-Las-Vegas-drinking, village-idiot-screaming super-fan that has no recollection of who scored, who won and, on special occasions, WHO PLAYED….but man, did I have fun being there!
Thanks again for the ticket, bro!
