Recently, I had the pleasure of attending a pre-season Vikings game at no charge, thanks to the guile and quickery of my friend Tami.
Before I thank her too heartily, however, I should add that we had the second-worst seats in the house – 2nd to last row in the northeast corner of the Metrodome.
Now, don’t get me wrong – I love the Vikings, and I was happy to be there, but these seats were ridiculous. You seriously got vertigo looking down at the field from this height. As we made our way up the stairs, waiting for row 27 of the upper deck to arrive, we were all getting a little tired.
21…….22…….23………24………25……..26…….27! Alright! We made it!
Now, where can I puke?
Determined not to have to climb that ascent again unnecessarily, I decided not to visit the concession stand and instead scavenged for discarded chunks of hot dog buns and Cracker Jack fragments. I applied a set of clamps to my groin area to avoid having to go the bathroom while mocking my sweaty, out-of-breath friends who had just returned from such a trip. Otherwise, I sat and watched the ant-like players move slowly at a great distance, and when the crowd seemed to get excited I stood and cheered like the spineless sheep that I am.
But hey, at least we weren’t the dudes in the last row!