A programming note: Congrats to former Snakepit Writer Wailord for winning the Crossword Contest from a few weeks back. He says he got the shirt and I kinda have to take his word on that.
You arrive for a Wednesday night game against the Padres. It’s a light, but fervent crowd, as fervent as the Padres can make any particular crowd. You arrive just in time for the National Anthem, sung by what is described over the PA as “Anarchist Puppetry Duo ‘Socko and Handzetti’” You lament that the state of the stadium’s maintenance makes it so that the team can’t book better Anthem singers.
Before first pitch you decide to grab some concessions. You notice that there’s a little bit of a line on one of the bathrooms. A line! To a bathroom! In America in 2017! Other incomplete sentences! If the county weren’t dragging their heels, this stadium could be a utopia for bathrooms, the likes the world may never see!
You get to the front of the concessions line. The person taking your concessions order seems a bit down. This is odd. You think that serving a bunch of sports fans in a large facility would be the peak of someone’s professional career. But they seem tired. If only Maricopa County would generously open its coffers, this person would be doing a whole tap number on the concourse.
You return to your seat a little after first pitch, and you are aghast. This field has humans on it, playing baseball. That surely will drive up maintenance costs for this facility! You shake your head at the state of affairs, and long for the day that you can watch a green field in a large stadium in tranquility.
Which brings you to your next point: There are people here. They’re sitting all around you. You are knee-deep in the filth of humanity, and you paid thirty bucks to do it! What is wrong with the world when benevolent ownership has to let other people in to fulfill financial obligations?
You decide to take a walk on the field. Within seconds you are tackled by a security guard and hauled off to jail. You never expected this! The lengths they’ll have to go to keep stadium maintenance current! As you’re whisked away, you catch a glimpse of the owner’s box. You think you can spot the owner. He seems to be in one of those wind machines that throws money around and people have to catch it to win.
As a security guard accidentally slams your knee into a concrete barrier, you realize it’s not money, but all rare Honus Wagner cards. You lament. The state of the stadium’s repair bills has driven this man to find base comforts in life. If only he could do something about it.
While being hauled into the drunk tank, you decide to write a threatening letter to a City Councilperson. That’s the right move here. Everything else up to this point has been a clear result of sober and straightforward thinking.