|If you look closely, you can see a brown goo covering his lower extremities|
I witnessed first hand the loophole in controlling the crowd at a River Cats game, with the effectiveness of communism without the overt subjugation. This loophole is in the form of something less like a loop and more like a splattering of defecation. By crapping one's pants, they can scatter a crowd very efficiently. Without considering risk/reward ratios, or whether or not it's viable to scatter the crowd with such a technique, considering the likely discomfort to follow, allow me to set the scene...
The memory is somehow both hazy and crystal clear. It begins with myself, Tor-man, aunt Becky, Jeremy, sister Kelly, and brother Buzz (Who was formerly the evil brother, but has now become known as the brother of light. The domestication of Buzz indeed). Sometime during the early to mid innings of the game, I volunteered to make a run to the snack bar. Fortunately, for me, there were few who took advantage of my offer, and I would therefore have few items to carry back. Unfortunately, for some poor lady, her trip which coincided with mine concerned a far heavier load.
While in line at one of the ubiquitous concessions that line the walkway, I observed the game with my body oriented somewhat away from the outer rim where the concession lay and toward the field. As usual, I was small talking with the guy next to me in the line, "how 'bout these lines, huh?" "Ya. There are lines". So, we had the nuts and bolts down. Then, as I noticed the ambient sounds of the walkway shift abruptly, where the steady hum of small talk morphed into hushed, urgent murmurs, I smelled something. Something pungent.
Without considering the repercussions and before turning to face the situation and assess appropriately, I let out, "What the eff?!" The phrase was enunciated in such a way as to express maximum disbelief and incredulity. It would appear that the disbelief and incredulity were entirely credible, if still unbelievable.
Creeping along the wall with hesitancy, while groping for some kind of bearing on it's bricked texture was a sight. If I am a portrait of a life in free fall, then this was the picture of defeat. So complete was the utter shame, embarrassment, and some permeation of a will to simply vanish was this woman that I half believed she would, through sheer force of will, spontaneously combust. This poor woman was basically ferrying herself, like a wounded airplane going from one airport to another for repairs, flying at minimum speed, with the flaps out, and landing gear deployed so as to be prepared for a sudden emergency landing.
As she moved, she displaced the crowd. Effectively. If she were rather than a woman, Linus, but with Ebola surrounding her rather than mere dirt, while at the same time being a completely rabid dog that were actually an untamed Bengal tiger, it would be hard to imagine the crowd being displaced with any more efficacy. To put it simply; people got out of her way. And to put it more clearly, people wouldn't even occupy the space that she had passed through. She left a vacuous wake behind her that was impenetrable.
She likely could have walked out onto the field and into the batter's box. And no one would have stopped her. I'd bet that she could have taken the entire game hostage without even a complaint. And upon reflection, I'm quite sure that they not only shut down the western wing of the concessions, but also called the game on account of grossness and health hazard. Now that I think about it, that's when they quarantined Raley Field. Ya, that's when the great quarantine of 2001 began. The quarantine that only was lifted after they tore the stadium down and rebuilt it. They did it quietly, so don't be alarmed if you don't remember.
After calming down and a few more expletives on my part, I continued my small talk with my neighbor in line. "Guess the chili didn't agree with her." Zinga linga ding dong! But seriously, the rest of it happened, and I might have actually said something like that. Tasteless.