SHEA HAPPENS

We have all been there, a bright sunny day at a ball game, a brisk Sunday afternoon watching the lords of the grid iron, or perhaps an NHL playoff game so intense you can't leave your seat. Your life could not be better, the grogs are flowing like the Nile, your team is winning, your buddies are nearby, the night is young... little do you know that 60 seconds from now your life will change. You have no idea that within one minute of the time where life seems so grand that things can and will go drastically south.  Desperate measures will be taken in 60 seconds in order mitigate the indisputable fact that you HAVE to shit. 
 
There are four phases to this dreaded phenomenon.  Most of us handle the initial phase of the "IHTS" (I have to shit) in a similar manner. The initial thought is "I can hold this", another grog, careful, selective and controlled farting, things will be fine. The problem is that phase one does not last very long and is quickly followed by a much more aggressive Phase Two (especially if you are using accelerants such as scrumptious Marlboro lights - by the way, Chris just got a 1920’s stand-up antique ash tray which will keep social smoking interesting for a few more years).  Phase two consists of forcing your body to be far more selective with farting and includes mind games where you reject internal questions such as: "Is it possible that I am going to use a public toilet at Shea Stadium?" God help me!  By now your entire personality has completely changed, you are pensive, yet enthusiastic with regard to the sporting event. Your wild cheers have turned into a quick high five after a good play, or a restrained "yes" after your team goes ahead. Phase Two is complicated however, because it gives you a false sense of hope that everything is going to be ok: You have to shit, you don't have to shit, I'm fine, I'm in trouble. Phase Two is tricky and really the last of the non-desperation phases. When Phase Three hits, it is as though someone told you that there is a problem with your College Degree - it seems that you don’t have all the necessary credits, so you have to sit for a final exam on chaos math tomorrow. 
 
When the cold sweat arrives, you have moved up to Phase Three (Also know as DEFCON 3). You are now resigned to the fact that you are not leaving that stadium unscathed.   At this point you have completely stopped talking and your attention has shifted from the moderate interest in the game you were able feign during Phase Two, to "I need to get my bearings... where am I?” Mid-row, on the aisle, how many outs in the inning etc.  Your beer has been placed under your seat, you are in go mode, and thank god you are because Phase Four does not take place in your seat - it better not anyway.
 
Some people will say they can tell you exactly when DEFCON 3 becomes DEFCON 4, but I challenge that. What we do know is that phase 4 begins somewhere between you leaving your seat and actually arriving at the slaughter house. What happens is that at the tail end of Phase Three, in your mind, you have made the commitment that you are going to shit, so your mind fully intends to shit right where you are standing, you are in a massive war now, nothing mental at this point, completely physical, now it's just a matter if your butt cheeks can act as the Hoover dam for another 2 minutes as you dash down the corridor.  All is a blur as you cut between people like Tony Dorsett desperately eyeing the stadium signs and facilities: food court, souvenir stands, imported beer stand, ice cream of the future… where the f is the bathroom?!?! 
 

You are running, stopping and squeezing, asking yourself "how did this go from I can hold this, to I might actually shit myself in hallway of a stadium filled with 60,000 people?" No way, not you. You get to the bathroom, now you’re thinking: “Is the first stall is the cleanest”; usually people walk by that first stall, will you hover or sit? No time for any of that.....you fling open a stall, first one has no TP and vomit, you fling open another, no toilet seat, finally the 3rd, you have no choice, you fumble with your belt buckle, no time for a birds nest, BAM - cheeks down and the groan of relief could bring tears to your eyes, you made it. But it's not over.....the inning has finished and now the once 1/4 filled bathroom is packed to capacity. People are trying to open your stall door, ignoring the fact that the first two pulls obviously were in indication that the door is locked, instead they violently pull and tug, you make eye contact through that small crack in the door. You are humiliated and feel as though you are in a fox hole in ‘Nam, but it's over, the crowd noise dies down, wipe up and this disaster has ended. At this point you don't even care that the TP in that stall is wet, or that when you look down your pants are resting calmly on the wet floor. It’s over. 
 

You made it.  Note to self... don't forget to shower before jumping in the rack and where was that ice cream of the future stand?