Get REAL!

I CANNOT hold it in, or I might burst something I wanted to keep intact, like my sweet spirit!  I have to let it out in a blog.

If you are a sports fan, you should probably stop reading now, because what I write might make you question everything you hold dear.  Or at the very least, it will really irritate you.

Last night I went to a REAL Salt Lake soccer game with my husband. He didn't make me do it, but I knew he wanted me to go with him.

He did go to yoga with me on Tuesday night.  And for reasons which I will never be able to process, he did not enjoy yoga.  I know, SHOCKING!  How can you not enjoy yoga?  I really and truly do not know.  Really. And Truly.  It's defies belief.  But, there it is.

So, I decided I would try to put aside my loathing of sporting events not featuring my offspring, or at least someone I know, and agreed to attend the game with him.

We arrived at the freeway exit at 6:37 for a 7:00 game.  I thought that was plenty of time.  Uh. No.  It took 6 minutes to exit the freeway.  It took another 5-7 minutes to find a place to park for free.

I couldn't see the stadium from where we parked.


It took about 10 minutes to speed walk to the stadium.  That was probably the best part of the night.
As we walked Judd "warned" me that the person who gave us the tickets, the Regional Commissioner for AYSO, the soccer league my kids play with, wanted to give me a present- a REAL present. He wanted to know if I would prefer a bobble-head or a scarf.  Oh goody!  By the time we got there, I had figured out a plan to turn a scarf into a bed pillow for my REAL loving brother in law.

We stood in line for another 10-15 minutes.  The fans in front of us were very friendly and entertaining and I enjoyed talking with them. After having our bodies scanned, stripped searched, and sprayed with disinfectant, they let us in.  Or maybe they just scanned people's purses. Anyway, there was security.  And thank goodness! I wouldn't want all those drunk people bringing their knives and guns.

We went inside and wandered aimlessly until Judd decided to ask directions, at which point we were directed to walk to the other side of the stadium. Unfortunately, math must not be the strong point of the man who helped us, as we ended up walking around about 75% of the way until we found our section.

We had good seats and were sitting next to a quiet family.  Good. Very good.

By the time we sat down, about 15 minutes into the game, the other team had scored two goals.

And that pretty much sums up the game.  There were no more goals. For the rest of the game.

Wow.

Fun.

I can really see why you guys love this stuff.

(Insert sarcasm)

It was kind of fun to watch the athletes kick the ball around and try to score.  And I quite enjoyed it when a player would fall dramatically to the ground, rolling around in supposed pain, only to pop up and keep playing 2 minutes later.

Seriously though, the soccer players were good, and I don't really have any problems with how the game went.

It's just that. . .

I am not a fan.  I do not care if REAL wins.  There, I said it.  Cast your digital stones at me now.  I just do not care.  I don't care AT ALL!  I don't care if they are the team in my city.  Big deal.

So, when people stood up to watch something, I didn't.  It felt kind of nice.  I don't like feeling anxious and worrying about the outcome.  

I just watched the crowd.

I watched the 40 or so fans for the other team, with their bare brown painted chests swaying to the beat of their constant song, hanging over the railing 4 stories high, waving scarves, huge flags, their mother's tablecloths, and probably their underwear. Alright, I'm just kidding about the last two items.  They had drums going and feet stomping and hands clapping, and loud singing for the entire game. 2 hours straight.. They had spirit. Good for them. Really.  I'm glad they can enjoy this so much, even if it did mean that I had to do some yoga breathing to feel calm.

I watched the security everywhere, watching us.

I watched a lot of people carry big plastic glasses of beer.  I watched one person at the beginning of the game, already drunk, cause her friend to spill his beer.

I watched the vendors carrying cotton candy and popcorn on a pole, up and down, up and down, up and down.  I watched people pay $6 to buy them.  $6!  Now, that is something I can feel outrage about! That is a rip off!

But even worse was people paying $6 for an inferior, half melted slushy.  Crazy fans!

At least water was free.  And I had a nice long drink after waiting behind all the people filling up their water bottles at the water fountain under the sign, "Please be courteous. Do not use the drinking fountain to refill water bottles."


I watched a photographer with dreadlocks that stuck out all over his head, 6 inches straight up, like a living Sonic the Hedgehog.  And I wondered how he could be comfortable walking around with his bum crack showing and his pants 6 inches too low.

I did some more yoga breathing when they forced the fans to pass a big parachute like banner thingy bopper over their heads.  It must have covered 100 feet of people at a time.  I didn't like that.  Can that really be legal?

I watched all of the fans wearing their incredibly ugly Real apparel.  The colors are UGLY.  Maroon. Royal Blue and Gold. It's hideous. And the scarves.  ..  vomit! They look like something out of Harry Potter and they should stay in the realm of fiction too.  I would not be caught dead wearing something so grotesque!


I observed a lot of interesting hair- mohawks sprayed red, gold, and blue, Real shaved into people's hair, yarn hair, no hair, gold mohawks. . .

I listened to the obnoxious squeaking of a toddler's shoes as she came and went, came and went.  Her Grandma thought it was so cute!  I know she did because she said something every time   If those shoes lived at my house, they would be in Becky's operating room -YESTERDAY.

I watched and listened as the fans collectively stood and yelled, "Ref, you suck!" over and over again.  I do not even allow the word "suck" to be used as an insult in my home.  I cannot comprehend the behavior of these people.

I watched one man two row ahead stand up and flip the birdie to the ref whenever he didn't like a call.

I watched his wife laugh.  I watched his teenage daughter learn from him.

I watched the guy in front of me alternate between taking photos with his expensive camera and his phone.  What do people DO with these pictures?

I watched and I saw that people enjoyed the atmosphere.  There were families there with young children.  They were dressed in matching clothes.  This was fun for them.

I don't get it.

The end of the game looming, we got up and left 10 minuets early to avoid the crowd. This was Judd's idea.  We didn't have to leave early. We were probably in our seats for an hour and a half, including a 14 minute half time break.

 Judd walked away from the stadium at crazy man speed.  On the way out he said," Thanks for coming. That was fun!"

Trying to remain polite, I said nothing, but smiled weakly.

Dissatisfied with my response, he repeated himself.

So, I just said, "What do you find fun about that?"

I did listen at the time, but I can't remember what he said. I think it was something about watching the players.  Somehow he was able to ignore all of the great and spacious building behavior and focus on the game.  Okay, that's cool, for people who like that sort of thing.

Now, in order to even things out, I shall list the positive things about attending the game:

1. The tickets were free.  I don't really understand why somebody would pay for this experience.

2. As a halftime game, somebody scored a goal and now we can redeem our tickets stubs for free haircuts at Great Clips.

3. Um, I think 2 was pretty good.

So, in conclusion, I would like to say that was a strange experience, and I think enough to last me for quite some time.  I just don't understand these fans.  I think we have a different definition of get real.