America's Favorite Pastime: Gluttony

It's been a while since I've been to a professional baseball game, so I was eager to join Adrian, Eric, and Corey for a Dodger game Tuesday night. For $25 a pop, we bought tickets in the all-you-can-eat section, which seemed like, if done right, could be quite a deal. Determined to eat my money's worth at the game, I ate only celery with peanut butter all day leading up to the event.

Arriving at the stadium, before even finding our seats, we found the concession stands. The options included hotdogs, nachos, peanuts, popcorn, soda, and salad. I'm just kidding, of course there's no salad. I grabbed a few things and was so consumed in my own consumption that I didn't even notice the game had started until two players were already on base. At the start of the second inning, I returned to the concession stand for round two. The intention was to replenish before each inning and stay well-fed. Apparently, I aspired to morbid obesity, so long as I could recount what a bargain it was for me to have purchased this ticket.

Alas, reality, in the form of a stomach ache, set in. After two innings of stuffing my face, I had to sit the third inning out entirely. About this time, Andre Ethier hit a home run into right field (video here), the section where we were sitting. Once we heard the crack of the bat, we all stood up, at which point I realized I couldn't even see the ball. I figured if it were to come at my face, Eric would make an attempt to catch it and save me. The ball hit the stands two rows back, literally less than ten feet from me, with such force that it proceeded to bounce almost to the end of the stands altogether. At this point, Eric shared that he had reconsidered attempting to catch the ball given its speed since it wouldn't be worth breaking his hand over. Ah, so I wasn't safe after all. Nothing compliments nausea like a head wound.

As much as I wasn't interested in eating anymore, I was less interested in blowing this opportunity, so I returned for more food. I continued chowing down until the sixth inning when I had to put myself on the disabled list and retire from eating. At this point, the scoreboard read as follows:
Diamondbacks- 5
Hotdogs- 3
Nachos- 3
Soda- 3
Popcorn- 1
Peanuts- 1
Dodgers- 1

In the eighth inning, the Dodgers fought back from a 5-1 deficit to win it 6-5. As exciting as it was, I found it difficult to jump up and down to cheer sufficiently with a gutted gut. Plus I was distracted: I couldn't help but notice that while most of the fans are in seats, our section was comprised of bleachers, undoubtedly to accommodate our fat asses. I texted RJ about my experience and he informed me of an LA Times article about people overindulging in the all-you-can-eat section at Dodger stadium that ran on Tuesday morning. So not only was I an idiot that ate too much, I was an idiot that ate too much on the same day that hundreds of thousands of people learned about this phenomenon and were judging idiots like me.

Next time I go to a baseball game, buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks, but then let's call it quits.