“So, Bill, I was thinking about getting some [favorite NFL Team] Season Tickets.”

“Oh yeah, Rob, that sounds amazing. What a great idea. Eight games worth of excitement in [favorite NFL Team’s home stadium], getting first crack at playoff seats, great parking. Yeah, awesome. Just, you know, let me know in thirty years when you actually get them. Christ, why the flying hell would you want to put yourself on a seventy thousand person waiting list just so that your unborn son can inherit your place in line when you die? I sure hope you like getting a letter every year from [the owner of favorite NFL Team] saying that you moved up five spots and are only a few decades away. If you need me, I’ll be watching the games in my warm living room. What an idiot.”

*thirty years later*

“They finally came, Bill. They’re finally here. I will be going to the [favorite NFL Team’s new home stadium, built in 2025 and sponsored by a multi-planetary corporation] for every home game from now on!”

“I can’t believe it, Rob. The wait just flew by. Hey, want any company.”

“Go to hell, Bill. Enjoy the games from your living room.”

———————

“Hey Greg, my order form for my [favorite MLB Team] season tickets just came.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, James. Does that mean you’re going to be breaking up with your girlfriend in order to have enough time to attend all eighty-one home games? And do you need help writing the resignation letter to your company, or will you just take all your vacation days so you can hang out at [favorite MLB Team’s ballpark]? Eighty-one games. Yikes. Do you even have a life, James? Do you? What an idiot.”

*two months into the baseball season, when the [favorite MLB Team] is six games up*

“James, are you going to the game tonight?”

“Sure am, Greg.”

“Got an extra ticket?”

“Nope. I’m taking a girl I started seeing. She loves baseball and doesn’t mock my life choices. You jerk.”

———————

“Do you want in on the [favorite NCAA Football Team] season tickets I’m buying, Mike?”

“Do I look like an eighteen year old co-ed, Chris? Do I? Hold on, save that question for when I get back from the quad. I need to pick up some face paint, a hemp necklace and a giant poster of John Belushi. College football. I graduated eight years ago, Chris. People don’t call me M-Dog anymore. I have stuff to do on a Saturday. You’re going to be the old guy at the party, only the party is a hundred thousand people and they’ll all laugh at you. What an idiot.”

*on a brisk November Saturday*

“Mike, hand me that giant pile of plates and forks.”

“What are these for, Chris?”

“The tailgate. Me and the guys are roasting a whole pig, and the folks that grill next to us are bringing about five gallons of chili.”

“That sounds great, man. Got an extra ticket?”

*sound of a gunshot*

———————

Readers, season tickets are wonderful. Please be totally supportive when people you know get them. Who knows? Maybe they’ll ask you along one day!

Yay!

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  • “So, Chip, I was thinking about getting some [local soccer franchise] season tickets.”

    “Why? Who watches soccer at a stadium in the continental 48?”

    “… what? I’m sorry, did I say something?”

    “Are you okay, man?”

    “Sorry, Chip – this tumor at the base of my brainstem occasionally makes me say weird things.”

    *four months later*

    “Hey, [local soccer franchise] is in the World Cup! Also, we elected an isolationist lesbian President!”

    “Awesome! We should go to [nearest bar] and watch. That’d be much more fun than getting our teeth kicked out at [nearest stadium that’s been hurriedly co-opted to host soccer games].”

    “Right on, Chip!”

  • angryed

    Socco! 😆

  • favreauj

    James and Greg are the names in the second conversation. Coincidence, or conspiracy?

    Also, i can completely see myself and greg having that very conversation some day.

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