We were scheduled to leave our house at 10AM on Friday for our weekend away, but on Thursday night I received an email that said, congratulations, you have the opportunity to try to purchase tickets to a playoff game. Yes, they are scattered singled and obstructed view seats that no one in the first round of sales for this series wanted, but hey, this is your chance. Tickets go on sale Friday at noon.
I knew my boys would never forgive me if I didn’t at least try to get tickets. Even if they are obstructed view, or whatever. So in the morning, we announced we were delaying our departure, and I sat them down to talk about what I was willing to do for this effort. I said I’d give it fifteen minutes of waiting online in the virtual waiting room, that I would not get single seats, that I would only buy grandstand or bleacher seats (either were expensive enough), not box seats (way, way too expensive).
At noon, I was ready at the computer. The car was packed and everyone was ready to go as soon as fifteen minutes was up. I was in the virtual waiting room, annoying as it is, in eight browser windows. The minutes ticked by. I recalled the hours we spent in February in the same virtual waiting room, trying to get regular season tickets. It took hours to get in, and then we could only get tickets to our third choice game.
At – I swear – 14minutes, 10 seconds, one of the browser windows flashed. I clicked over and yes, it was true, I was on the screen to actually choose a game for which to purchase tickets.
It was at that moment I saw the restriction: there was a one game, two ticket limit. I should have stopped right there since I couldn’t get three tickets for two boys and a parent, but I didn’t. I admit it was a bit of selfishness. I want to see a playoff game.
Clicked the first home game. Only scattered singles. Click back. Click the second game. Only scattered singles. Click back. Click the third home game (potential game six, if necessary). Yes. Seats together. Grandstand. Obstructed view. So what. Click. Type. Click. Type. Click. Click. It’s done.
Of course, it was only after I purchased the tickets did I really stop to consider who will go. A parent, of course. Probably me. C? The obvious choice. He’s older. The bigger fan. M? It’s just before his birthday and could make a spectacular gift. But M got to go to a game with just Dad last season and had great seats. Definitely not S, though. She’s only 3. She’ll wax poetic about her hero, but she would not appreciate the situation. Or do we get a sitter for all the kids and just us parents go? Will we be able to endure the grumping and sulking that is sure to ensue? (and C has become quite the master of the pre-adolescent sulk)
This is all dependent on the series going that long. If the series lasts only four or five games, then it doesn’t matter. The ticket price is refunded and no hard decision.
It’s a funny state to be in. How well do I want the team to do? I want our boys to win the series, of course, and move on to the Series, but do I want to root for the tribe for a game or two so a game six will happen? If there is a game six, how on earth do we figure out who goes? Draw straws?