What about those Chiefs? I don’t know about you, but this whole KC teams winning big time is a roller-coaster I don’t want to get off of. My family even got to see a game this season. No, we weren’t in Houston for the playoffs, but we were lucky enough to score some fancy tickets for a game last month against the Browns. And by fancy I mean something called “club level” that a very nice person gave my husband.
On the way to the game, I was schooling my children in Chiefs history, especially the part about the team’s 1-5 start this season. It’s a gold mine in life lessons, from never giving up to keeping a positive attitude to the Little Engine that Could. You know the whole, “I think I can, I think I can” mindset. But as soon as we got to the stadium, things began to go awry. I’m talking we weren’t even out of our car yet and my family goes squirrel.
Apparently with club-level tickets you get primo parking. The parking area we were directed to was so sweet you could almost reach out and touch the dude at the stadium entrance with the metal detector wand. This was a first for my family. We have never been afforded the luxury of being wand adjacent before. My husband was so impressed with the parking space he was hesitant to leave the car. As the rest of us disembarked from the vehicle, he just sat there. I asked him if everything was OK because he seemed to be in a trance. Finally, he responded that he was “enjoying the parking.”
This earned him the hugest of eye rolls and my asking, “So are you just going to camp out in your car for four quarters?” I then suggested that he could take a photo to commemorate the occasion of having the best parking ever at a Chiefs game. This got him out of the car, so I called the kids over for the dad photo op.
Wrong thing to say. My husband didn’t want his family in the picture. Oh no, that would “ruin it.” He just wanted the car and the stadium. Whatever. As long as it got him moving towards the entrance.
Once we got through security we entered the club level, which is like a sports bar on steroids. Here people could hang out, stuff their faces with $30 chicken tenders and stare at banks of TV screens broadcasting what was happening 10 feet away from them. I, being mother of the year, practice the art of pre-feeding my kids. There would be no $25 popcorn platters on my watch. Everyone was instructed to follow our family mandate of “gorge before you go.”
Make fun of me all you want, but last year I made it through a 12-hour tour of duty at Disneyland and spent only $10 in concessions. The “all you can eat” hotel breakfast buffet is not a suggestion. It’s a battle plan.
Based on my pre-feeding, we were able to bypass all the hullaballoo and head straight for our amazing seats. That little bit of family togetherness lasted all of 10 minutes before my kids declared that they were freezing and going back inside. I was disappointed at their lackluster fan status and told them that they better not be thinking of buying any $6 hot chocolates. I did the math and the markup on that packet of off-label Swiss Miss was close to 2,000 percent.
Meanwhile, as my family left me, I made a new buddy. My seat mate was a darling gentleman who somehow had smuggled in booze and venison sausage. I declined his kind offer of both and began to learn about his family history and great love of the Chiefs. During this exchange both of my kids came back out with — you guessed it — large hot chocolates. Jerks. I had to choke back rage at my edict being totally ignored and proceed with introducing my family to the friendly fan.
Before I had a chance to begin, Mr. Friendly incorrectly assumed my kids were boyfriend/girlfriend. He cheerfully asked my children if they were dating! My son laughed and then just to up the creep factor puts his arm around his sister while she screams and spills a portion of her hot chocolate.
Oh, it was better than any action happening on the field. My son definitely scored a touchdown with his side hug of his sister, and my daughter’s audible of “Oh, my God, dating my brother! That is sooo gross!” was probably heard on the field.
I just sat there, winked at my new friend and yelled “Go Chiefs!” As for where my husband went, my best guess was he left the game to admire his parking space.