Hey, eyes forward!

            This has the making of a bad joke.  Six guys without shirts and their chests painted walk in.  It seems natural but really it is a step close to barbaric.  Nonetheless it is natural, at a sporting event.

            This isn’t unusual that something otherwise barbaric is considered natural at a sporting event.  One of the most puzzling places to me is the bathroom at games.  Since when did those become acceptable?

            I haven’t been in a female bathroom since, well, when my mother changed my diaper in a public restroom.  I’ll have to speak from my male bathroom experiences.  Many women do not know there are definite rules for males in the bathroom.

            One of the most important rules is urinal behavior.  First, if you can avoid using a urinal next to someone, you do.  You stare directly ahead and do not talk.  Guys are picky about these things and breaking of the rules at any time causes great debate for hours.

            Rather, breaking those rules at any time other than a sporting event causes a great debate that even John C. Calhoun couldn’t solve.

            I have many times been at a urinal and a guy will come up to use the one next to me in a room full of empty urinals.  Then he will proceed to discuss the game with me.

            All I think, “Uh, hello?!  I don’t know you nor have I seen you before.  At a very private time I do not need to begin a relationship with you.  Please, my friendship starts at the sink. Thank you.  Gosh, rude.”

            The worst part is bathrooms at arenas are often too small, disgusting rooms.  The stalls are big enough for a 100-pound man to stand comfortable and there are no dividers between the tightly packed urinals.  Of course, we don’t bat an eye at this.

            After I promptly leave the game I might go to a fine restaurant.  If there isn’t a well spaced, private restroom, I’ll make a mental note to not return to this ridiculous establishment.  If a guy with a painted chest is our waiter, I’m out.

            And this is probably why we love sporting events.  We can be barbaric and not care one bit.  In fact, we enjoy the friendships we form with the drunken guy in the row behind us, the cotton candy gal walking by every two minutes and even the dude using the urinal next to us.  But if I see you at that restaurant after the game, you better remember the rules.

            After all, we are just trying to raise the bar together.