{December 28, 2010}   Breaking the Law

I broke the law last night. It was awesome.

You see, I went to my first ever professional football game last night to watch the Falcons play the Saints. I’m not really into football, but when I got free season tickets with my new Kia, I promised G that I would go to at least one game with him. Last night was the night. I was dressing for the game in the appropriate colors and paring my normal purse/wallet down to just an ID, check card, cash and my trusty knife when G mentioned that they pat you down before you enter the stadium. Knives aren’t allowed.

What was I going to do? I couldn’t go in there without protection. That would go against the grain of my very nature. I mean, this was uncharted territory, after all. And then it hit me. I traded out my usual Stiletto for a small, but sharp knife that could fit, quite undetectably, in my bra. It wasn’t ideal, but if push came to shove it would get the job done. Whew. Crisis number one averted.

We got to the stadium, my knife made it through the pat down (see, I told you I broke the law), we found our seats and our first beers were ingested. So far, so good. With thirty minutes to go before kickoff (look at me using football vernacular!) I decided to refill our beers. Leaving G in our seats I navigated my way alllllllllllllll the way around to where the good beer is sold, purchased two and started negotiating my way through the crowded hallway.

Aside: Football fans, it seems, are not the laid back enjoyable, respectful of others’ personal space people that I am used to at Major League Baseball games. Nope. They are a horse of another color entirely. They are loud, raucous, oblivious, assholes (sorry, but it’s true) with no regard for the personal space (or feet or beer or boobs or elbows) of others.

I had almost made it back to our section safely when WHAM! Out of nowhere some dick going in the opposite direction crashes into me, slopping beer from my cups all over the front of my shirt and didn’t even look my way, much less apologize. Shit. I was pissed. (Those with delicate sensibilities avoid the next paragraph)

“Nice one asshole, you just spilled my fucking beer, god damnit!!!” I yelled.

He ignored me. Double shit. It’s ON. I stopped in my tracks, turned and kicked the ever living shit out of his knee. I then walked on to the sounds of “What the fuck?” from the douche bag and “Wow” and “Oh my God did you just see that?!” from several onlookers. Ah, sweet victory. Guess I didn’t need that knife after all.

Moral of the story: Don’t get between a girl and her beer if you want to keep your knees.

G was both shocked and impressed when I returned to our seats with that little tale. Sadly, this was the most exciting part of my night. I can see why some people might find football exciting at times, but it’s really just not for me. I’ll stick to baseball and Turner Field where I can relax and cheer and heckle and speculate til my little heart is content. I miss you baseball season. Come back soon.


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