Lottery

Please let this team at least be better than the 1993 one...

Opening Day of the baseball season is a holiday.

It’s a chance to shake off the winter rust, get back into the warm sunshine, crack some shells, drink some beers, and kick off the next great baseball season. When the season begins, your team is tied for first place, which might be the best they do all year. Celebrate that by taking the day off and watching your first place team live and in person. You deserve it.

Unless you somehow manage to lose two ticket lotteries, in which case all you apparently deserve is giant swarming bitter bats in your belfry. And that’s what I have. Hooray for me. Blech…

Kristin and I stay up to date with announcements from the Rockies. In fact, I am better about staying up to date with Rockies news than I am with the majority of my work commitments. When is the Opening Day Rockpile ticket lottery? March 23rd. When is the annual gala for one of our signature charitable gives? Uhhhh….

We’ve never had a problem getting tickets to anything Rockies-related we’ve ever wanted to go to. So, needless to say, we were surprised when both of us failed to qualify for the Opening Day ticket lottery this year. Whatchu talkin’ bout, Rockies?

We had a second shot with the Opening Day Rockpile ticket lottery. Let it be said that I am no fan of the Rockpile. Actually, I loathe it. I’m in a place in my life where I can afford decent seats, so sitting roughly a mile and a half away on metal benches next to thugs, drunk bros, morons and what seems like random people off the street isn’t my idea of the optimal way to consume baseball. But this is Opening Day we’re talking about. We just want to be in the building.

That's Colorado baseball weather, all right.

So last Saturday we woke our asses up early to find not only 6 inches of snow, but ass freezing temperatures too. This development is a mixed blessing. On one hand, the lottery is outside, which sucks because it’s the kind of cold that feels like you could just snap a nipple right off your body like a grape off the vine. On the other, most people are soft losers, so hopefully less people = better odds = baseball in the sun two weeks from now = well worth temporary discomfort.

So we show up, and sure enough, it’s miserably, bitterly cold. Diva that I am, I wear my cute little zip-up ankle boots. This was a mistake as my toes get so cold in less than 10 minutes I legitimately worry I’m going to lose them to frostbite. Like I said, most people are soft losers. I ended up working blood back into them by stomping my feet Elle Woods-style at the drinking fountain in Legally Blonde when she discovers the pool boy is gay.

The way the lottery works is you pick a wristband out of a tub at random, which is four numbers. I draw 1035, Jason gets 0667 (That’s (almost) a perfect score!), and Kristin draws 0763. Your first two numbers indicate which line you get into. Your second two numbers indicate your position in that line. The experience is a slightly larger Southwest Airlines boarding procedure.

The Rockies then draw randomly to determine the order the lines will get to purchase tickets. In this case, I am thrilled we’re in three different lines out of the 14 to choose from. One of us is bound to be in the first four or five lines that get called which should ensure our tickets.

First line called: 3. Fuck them. Next line called: 14. Fuck them too. Next line called: 8. Fuck them in half. 5 comes next. Then 12. Are you serious?

It’s not until the 8th line drawn that we even get our crack at it, when Kristin’s line 7 gets to go. Coming in dead last: Jason’s line 6. Just in front of him: My line 10. That’s just tremendous.

This is when everyone in the dregs of the lottery turns into a mathematician. Well, if there are about 50 people per line, and 2300 Rockpile tickets available, that means we should blah blah blah… None of it turns out right and to cut ahead a little bit when Jason and I realized after way too long that we could wait in the goddamn car instead of staring at each other’s running noses, we find out Kristin’s in the tunnel about to get the chance to buy tickets when they announce the sellout.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

We got to wait for nothing. There will be no Opening Day for us. At least not in the ballpark. I’m crazy for baseball, but not overpay a scalper or some extortionist on StubHub crazy. I’m still taking the day off, and we’ll be near the ballpark all day. The energy is too great to pass up.

The experience, I imagine, will be a lot like what it’s like for former Christians who still get together for Easter. You’re there, but it’s just not the same. Enjoy awkwardly pretending you still believe in Jesus over a ham and some chocolate eggs.

That’s how it’ll feel next Friday when I’m eating peanuts somewhere and drinking beer while the game plays on TV.

Happy holidays to us all.

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