Nurse the Hate: Hate the Stadium

Going to a stadium to attend a football game is a dangerous proposition. Half of the stadium is so drunk that they can't stand. Most of the stadium is so worked up, they forgot how to handle themselves in public. The real issue becomes that you have to sit within 16 inches in any direction of another person that normally you would avoid like a flea ridden junkyard dog. I have had beer spilled on me, ketchup splattered on me, and had urine on my shoes. This pales in comparison to the tale I am about to tell you.

The man attended the West Virginia football game. He was a longtime fan, loved the Mountaineers. It's West Virginia for God's sake! What else do you have there? This is it. This is the BIG TICKET. The Mountaineers are crushing some secondary school, but still the fans are going wild. Touchdown after touchdown require celebration after celebration. It was late in the third quarter, with the game pretty much on ice. Still, a touchdown is a touchdown and requires some whooping it up, no? The issue in this case was the man was seated directly in front of another fan that had a colostomy bag attached to him. Maybe it was the quick upswing on the arms in the touchdown Jesus pose... Maybe it was a sudden movement by someone seated nearby... Whatever it was, the colostomy bag was detached, and cartwheeled in the air spewing its contents towards the unsuspecting man.

When he first got drenched by the contents of the bag, he must have thought it was vomit, right? If you have attended a game, you have surely seen someone vomit. Usually you can tell when a circle of people pop out of their seats at once, pointing down and waving their arms wildly for a stadium attendant. Shortly afterwards the puker is escorted out in a Walk of Shame while facing the catcalls of the rows he passes. It actually requires nerves of steel to sit in that stadium. When you go to a game, you always know it could be you that gets barfed on, but you try not to think about it. It's like being a soldier heading into the beach on an invasion. One day that seat has your name on it, but you pray it's not today.

The smell of that colostomy bag fluid has to be unlike anything else though. The mind works quickly, and I'm sure his senses must have rapidly worked down a mental checklist eliminating things it could be. "Hmm... vomit? No. A bottle of urine? No, that's not quite it? A bag of manure? No... Did someone shit on me? No, that couldn't be it, could it?" There is no way your mind could conjure up "colostomy bag" unless the bag itself somehow wound up on your head and the contents flowed out onto you as you watched.

So where do you go from there? It is hard to imagine being able to handle the mammoth cleanup effort required with hot dog napkins, and a quick squirt of stadium men's room disinfectant. And it's not like you can punch out a dude who is wearing a colostomy bag. He didn't want to detach his bag. Hey, that poor guy is going to have to fish around on the ground to find his bag and re-attach. The whole situation is pretty grim.

This is why I am strongly recommending never leaving your house again. Get Direct TV. You'll be much happier. The outside world is way too savage to trust not having a colostomy bag dumped on you.