Saturday at the Sixers’ game

Zachary Schwartz ('10)/Eastside Staff

This past weekend, I was roped into attending a 76ers’ game. Those of you who know me well know that I am not big on sports. In fact, you could say that I intensely dislike them. My comfort zone is staying at home and playing video games. Sports, when viewed live, require me to leave my house, travel to a possibly distant location, travel across a seemingly endless parking lot, get lost, pay some ridiculous sum for parking, then spend a few hours watching an underwhelming display of an activity I don’t enjoy. You can probably see where this is going. Spoiler alert: I did not have fun.

Upon my arrival, I had to walk the entire perimeter of the Wachovia spectrum, trying to find the correct entrance. Along the way, I must have passed at least seven dumpsters, each releasing an odor experienced only in my worst nightmares. Among them: frozen urine, expired milk, human excrement and what may have been the rotting corpse of a Sixers’ fan. My nose began to run at this point. Or so I thought, as it turned out that my nose was peeing itself in mortal terror. Determined not to give up, I pressed onwards.

Eventually, I arrived in my seat, in the highest level of the nosebleed sections. The very top row. At this point, I was so high up that even the popcorn and cotton candy vendors seemed terrified to approach me, lest they lose their footing and fall to their deaths. I might as well have been seated somewhere in the himalayas, having to yodel to get the concession-guy’s attention. I was looking to hire a sherpa, but there didn’t seem to be anyone willing to volunteer. Halfway through the game, I became lost in a blizzard.

After twenty minutes of introductions, Sixers’ dancers, Sixers’ junior dancers, random trivia and game-show antics, the game actually started. And just like that, after what seemed like 5 minutes, we were back to the superfluous crap. Dancers unaffiliated with the Sixers, ridiculous contests, Sixers’ Dunkin’ dancers (fun fact: the dancers become more and more scantily clad as the game progresses) and the obligatory mascot showcase. On a side note: The sixers’ mascot is completely and utterly terrifying. He is a humanoid rabbit, and he is nightmare fuel.

I could go on and on, but the long and short of it is that I did not enjoy this game at all. Between the lack of basketball, the abundance of unnecessary crap, my feet being stuck to the floor by an unidentified adhesive (soda? rubber cement?!) and the lackluster performance by the athletes themselves, it was not at all surprising to see such lackluster attendance. I want my saturday back.