Miller Park Gone Wild (or Life Outside of the Luxury Box)

A few weeks ago I wrote of my experience watching the Brewers game from a luxury suite. Today, I will be writing about my experience in section 203. On Friday night we had tickets to go to the game, again with my husband’s department at work, and I didn’t get the tickets to see where we were sitting until we were on the way to the game. Section 203. Well, I’ve already admit that I don’t go to the game very often so I had no clue where these seats were. My mom, who was sitting in section 437, in the upper deck, informed me that I was on the field loge level, and that I had “good seats”.

She was so wrong.

As we walked around the stadium, in search of section 203, we passed home plate, first base, and the outfield. Huh? And then we came to Section 203. The bleachers. The freaking bleachers.

Are you kidding me? I can’t sit in the bleachers. I realize that coming from the luxury box the only way to go is down, but this is the bottom as far as I’m concerned.

We found row 10, and needed to get to seats 6, 7, and 8, but they were in the middle of the row and the people who were on the end offered to just scoot on down. So they scooted down, Zoe sat down first, right next to a guy in his 20’s who had clearly shaved his legs. The (drunk?) girl in front of us then turned around, stroked his legs and said to my 7 yr old: YOU PROBABLY THINK HE’S A CRAZY MO-FO.

Whoa. Did she just say “mo-fo” to my child?? So I said to her: CAN WE NOT SAY MO-FO TO MY 7 YR OLD PLEASE?

I think she gave me an eyeroll, whatever.

Then a very drunk guy comes back to the row in front of us, and as he trying to get back to his seat, the (drunk) girl notices that his fly is down — and then she reaches inside his fly and pulls out his privates. Right there in section 203, row 9.

But wait, she wasn’t just about public nudity for others, she whipped out her breast for a group photo, which I think my family may have been in the background for.

My husband got security, and then we left the section, watching the game instead from section 437, chair hopping among the 20-some seats that my family was in for my grandmother’s 82nd birthday celebration — where life wasn’t quite that of a luxury box, but at least everyone was properly clothed and no one used “mo-fo” in a sentence to my kid.