Benny Jay: Front Row Seats

I go to the Bulls game with my old buddy Jeff, his wife, their two sons and my daughters.

Gonna see Lebron James — big sold-out game. Been planning this outing for weeks. Only despite all the planning, we don’t have tickets.

Well, let’s be accurate — we don’t have seats. What we’ve got are standing-room only tickets. And we don’t even have those for everyone. Jeff and his wife are going to scalp tickets on the street. It’s complicated. I could explain, but who has time….

The point is the kids and I are wandering around the nose-bleed section, looking for a place to stand. Jeff’s son, Sam — not quite twenty — leads the charge.

“We’ll sit in some empty seats,” he says.

“What if the people with the tickets show up?” I ask.

He looks at me like I’m the dummy that I am and says: “Then we’ll move to other seats….”

With that he heads for the first open seats he sees. We’re talking prime location — front row, center court. As good as it gets in nose-bleed land….

To get to there, we have to pass four or five people, making them stand to let us by. Doesn’t bother Sam in the least. He’s the picture of confidence and certainty, striding toward those seats without hesitation or doubt. In his wake we follow, like the ancient Hebrews trailing Moses through the desert to the promised land.

There’s a life lesson here: The secret to success is taking what’s yours even if it’s not yours. Damn, if I only knew half the stuff Sam knows when I was his age….

They play the national anthem. They start to introduce the players. A pregnant lady and her son show up. She’s holding two tickets. She says to Sam — let’s figure this out.

Sam plays the role to the hilt — I mean, Brando has nothing on this kid. He chuckles and smacks his head as if to say: Oh, brother. Silly me. Must have made a mistake and sat in the wrong seats.

We move down two seats, so the pregnant lady and her kid can sit.

Now the row’s filled. The next legitimate ticket holder evicts at least one of us.

“We’re so outta here,” I whisper to my older daughter.

As on cue, a crew of people arrive, tickets in hand. See ya’. Down the aisle we shuffle. I got my eyes averted — can’t bare to look at the people who have to stand again to let us pass.

We gather in the lobby. The game’s started. We don’t know where to go.

“This is your fault,” says one daughter.

“Yeah,” says the other.

“You were supposed to get us tickets,” says the one.

“And we don’t even have seats,” says the other.

Okay, tag teaming the old man. That’s how they’re playing it….

I feel like I’ve gone back in time to 1973 and my high-school buddies and I are trying to sneak past the Wrigley Field ushers to grab a box seat by the dugout.

Actually, it’s a little dispiriting. If access to prime seats is a sign of success than I am a failure. Heading into my sunset years, and still trying to sneak by the ushers….

Reminds me of a game back in 1981, when I took my wife — then my girlfriend — to the old Chicago Stadium to see the Bulls play the 76ers and the immortal Julius Erving — aka, Dr. J.

I’d been talking about taking her to see Dr. J for days.  Only by the time I got around to buying the tickets, the only seats left were obstructed view. We wound up sitting behind the big pipe organ in the second balcony. I told my wife — it’s not so bad. If you stand, you can see the court.

She was steaming. She saw an empty seat a few rows over and took it. Didn’t even sit with me. Sat next to some seedy old drunk. Despite it all,  she married me. I guess there’s more to life than getting front-row seats….

By the way, this episode also has a happy ending.  Jeff and his wife wound up with tickets for great seats on the second level. I don’t know how they got them — didn’t even ask. That way I have plausible deniability, if the feds launch an investigation.

We had a blast, even though the Bulls lost. The high point came when these fat guys came on court and danced a jig on account of it being St. Patrick’s Day. They stripped off their shirts and danced bare chested, flab jiggling to the beat. They had green tassels hanging from their nipples. Kinkiest thing I’d ever seen, at least at a Bulls game. Too bad Milo and Big Mike weren’t there. Horny bastards – they’d of loved it.