A Royal Flush

Last Friday I was able to get some prestigious seats to the Dallas Stars game versus the Detroit Red Wings from work. Now for those of you who don't remember, or can't remember in this case, Friday night was Halloween weekend. Obviously this means parties.

Something you may or may not know about me is that I always do a group costume. Why? Simple. They are better. It gives your costumes more force. It operates the same way many other things do, by flying on the coat tails of the adage that "if less is good, more is better." I call it the "Football to the Crotch Theory." The theory is based on a situation that happened a few years ago when we were watching The Longest Yard. After a scene where some player gets a football to his groin for the second time in the movie, my roommate Chad looks over and says "Genius! That was pure genius. First time he got hit in balls: funny. Second time: Just as funny. You can't beat that." The more I thought about it, the more I realized how utterly right he was. The more "kicks" to the crotch you see, the better. Don't ask me why this works, but it does. For further examples see the episode of the Simpsons where, the film with Moleman getting a pigskin to his soldier wins best picture. See, you can't argue with the facts.

Well, we decided to apply this to out Halloween costumes. And it worked. What's funnier, a goofy 70's cop or five complimentary goofy 70's cops? See what I mean? This also works with beer, hot dogs, money, and boobs.

Regardless, I told you that to bring up the point that my "squadron" of police was counting on me to go out and "patrol" the party scene, possibly rendering me from using my Stars tickets. So I look at my tickets and thought about what I could do. I could go to the game and watch a team that I don't care all that much about (I like Colorado) or I could sell the tickets for...Holy crap! The seats are 140 a piece?!?!?! Let me tell you, never have I ever been interested so much in earning a quick 300 bucks for a weekend as I was right then. I decided I would see if my girlfriend would want to go to the game instead, being as we did have the tickets. I call. No answer. Oh well, I'll wait.

Waiting...

Waiting...

Waiting...

With about thirty minutes until game time, she decided to call me. Needless to say, we both acted like girls at this point and played the "What do YOU want to do? I don't know" game for a few minutes before she mentioned how close to game time it was and how I would probably be a miserable ticket scalper. I didn't argue. In fact, the more I think about it it's like she has a crystal ball into my past.

So we get to the game and are having a good time despite the fact that I only get into hockey at playoff time, and despite the fact that when you pay 140 dollars for seats you are apparently also paying for the experience of an Arctic Winter that comes from sitting so close to the ice. Anyways, at some point in the second period I realize it's time to break the seal and head to the restrooms. I go in, never thinking that the next few seconds could be the some of the surreal moments of my life.

I go in and head to my target urinal using proper urinal etiquette i.e. don't buddy up next to someone unless one of the following reasons:

Flooding
Spillage of other matter
Broken urinal
Missing something crucial in a football game
Supernatural forces

That's it. Note that I didn't say, "Because you really have to pee. That is unacceptable.

Luckily for me, there was no one in the restroom, so I have free roam of the place, like a zebra. I take full advantage of this and situate myself right in the middle of the place. Next thing I know a tall man and his son walk in. I immediately recognize the voice. It's Cowboys Quarterback Drew Bledsoe. His son, who is very young, meanders on over towards me, and takes aim at the urinal one spot to my right. Shockingly, Drew follows and sets his sights on the urinal directly next to mine, between him and his son. Now, I have spent many hours wondering why he did this, and only hope that it's not because I was staring at the two of them from the moment I walked. Of course I didn't help that he was making the "Why is this guy looking at my son and I while he is taking a piss?" face. Anyways, he does his thing, and I build up the courage to say a few words. I wished him luck and told him I have never met a famous person in the bathroom like this. To which he uncomfortably smiled, said thanks and walked away. I think it’s also important to mention that I followed him out making sure not drift further than seven feet from him until he found the section he was sitting in. And yes, I know how creepy that sounds.

I returned to the seats to tell Jessica about it. She seemed about as impressed as Chuck Norris does when someone tells him his fitness machine is trash in those infomercials. For the rest of the night, though I continually mentioned how my seats were better than his. Don't tell me. I'm a dork.

Overall, I learned something; Drew is much taller than I thought he was. When I was next to him on the field he didn't seem as big. Also, he was benched shortly after that in favor of Tony Romo.

The lesson, as always, pissing next to another man is like pissing your career down the drain.
Just don't do it.