Son’s peeing his pants almost ruined My March Madness adventure

Stinky start takes a shocking twist for the best at ESPN Zone

Five words you don’t want to hear when stuck in rush hour traffic: “Dad, I have to pee.”

And the four worst you really don’t want to hear: “Dad, I just peed.”

Those were the wonderful words uttered from my 7-year-old son Bryce minutes away from Anaheim’s ESPN Zone to partake in watching countless hours of March Madness with my Bryce and older brother Reece, 13.

Could it get any worse?

Actually, it could, and it did.

Two exits away from the Downtown Disney turnoff, I heard it. And not just the Scorpions’ “Rock You Like a Hurricane” on the radio. Yep, yacking. Half-angry Chewbacca cry and half-deranged ghost.

I tried to remain calm, but oooooooh, that smell. I thought of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry’s car never gets rid of a puke scent. Would this smell ever leave my nose? It would haunt me the rest of my life.

“Are you serious?” I finally said ala John McEnroe.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, smelly, pissy day.

A Wal-Mart was quickly spotted. I drove like a NASCAR driver.

The shopping list: two pairs of sweats, Superman underwear, Goofy and Angels T-shirts, air freshener, Bounty paper towels, wet wipes, and beer — of course.

Stench still swirling in my smelly SUV, we arrived at ESPN Zone ready to flip our bad luck.

Beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Like kids on Christmas mourn, we rushed to the restaurant like characters from Chariots of Fire — Vangelis’ soundtrack echoing in my brain. Then, suddenly, no, say it ain’t so. The line resembled a Disneyland line. Ugh. Part III.

I wanted to scream. This can’t be happening.

I did the whole “pardon-me, excuse-me, pardon-me” thing, holding Bryce’s tiny hand hoping for some sympathy.

Shattered dreams

“You’re looking at around two hours,” the grim reaper female maitre d replied.

And the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day just added another layer of stench.

“That’s ridiculous,” angrily exclaimed Reece, stomping his feet.

“I have to pee,” said Bryce.

“Again?” Reece and I said in unison.

Angelic Steve Martin

Then, he appeared. Like he was from a movie. An angelic glow with a mystic halo — or was it just cigar smoke from a very large dude.

He looked like Steve Martin. Smelled like beer, but had a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

“Hey, guys, the wife, and grandkids are over at the Rain Forest Cafe. We decided whoever’s buzzer buzzed first is where we’d eat. She won. Want my buzzer?”

Suddenly, the magically UFO-like orb lit up, buzzed beautifully, and vibrated valiantly.

“Wow, must be your lucky day,” said the Steve Martin doppelganger.

“Thanks, sir,” I said gleefully. “What name do I tell them?”

“Nicholas,” he winked and disappeared out the door.

Entering Oz

We entered the kingdom of sports. It felt like Oz. Gigantic, billboard-like shiny TV screens everywhere. Flashing scores like Christmas lights, and betting lines as if it were a Vegas casino.

And the greatest reclining chairs ever known to mankind.

I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Welcoming brown and invitingly cozy. A dazzling row of eight of them. I yearned to get my ass in one. But how?

I eyed the reclining suspects. I devised a scheme.

Pushing my chips in

Feeling a Vegas vibe, I approached this poor soul, a red-haired guy with glasses. Probably around, oh, 21-years-old. He looked cocky. Ready to conquer the world.

“Excuse me, it’s my son’s seventh birthday, and…”

“Sorry buddy. I woke up at 6 a.m. just to get this chair. You’re going to have to do better than the ‘it’s-my-son-birthday’ line.”

Then I went for broke and pushed in the last of my chips.

A friendly wager

“Willing to make a friendly wager?” I asked.

Oh, he was a gambler. He had the fever. I hooked him.

“For this seat? It better be good mister.”

I’d done my homework and all the experts were picking fifteen-seed Manhattan to upset №5 Florida.

“Tell you what, I’ll take longshot Manhattan to beat the great Gators. Huge upset. But, it’s going to cost your chair and your buddy’s.”

“What if Florida wins?”

“I pick up your tab.”

His hands shot out like an arrow, “Deal.”

Victory

Forty minutes later, Reece — with Bryce squeezed in— and I were living the dream, reclining like kings. I was swigging a frothy Hefeweizen, Reece was chugging his third Root Beer. Bryce was sipping Cokes, surrounded by the sounds, images of basketball, basketball, and more basketball. I wanted it to never end.

It was turning out to beautiful day.

Butler Olympics

After another barn-burner, watching №8 Alabama sneak past №9 Southern Illinois, 65–64, Pacific upsetting Providence, Illinois beating Murray State (boo!), we graduated upstairs to the Butler Olympics — arcade style.

Rules are simple: You play a sports-themed arcade game like Pop-A-Shot, mini bowling, etc). For each game, the winner gets three points, second: two, and third: one point.

Big Daddy (yours truly) soared ahead on the opening long-shooting basketball event, but my future quarterbacking son, Reece, smoked us in football. Little Bryce yelled “Suckers! You guys suck!” when he beat us in bowling.

One shining moment

One event left: golf putting. I was in first, then Reece, and Bryce. I choked. Reece thought he won, but his shot rimmed out, “Oh shit! Oops, I mean, shoot.” Bryce wound up and smacked it. It ricocheted off the wall and then — shockingly — plopped in the hole.

Bryce’s eyes popped out like a cartoon character, and he couldn’t contain himself.

“Yes! The champ! I get to pick the restaurant going home! We’re having Tony Roma’s ribs!”

Bryce did his own version of Michael Jackson’s moonwalk.

Did we let him win? I’ll never tell.

The gift

Someone was tapping me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” said a Japanese woman. “This card.”

“Oh yeah. I’ll show you.”

“No. Would you like?” she asked.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“I give you these two cards. Unlimited. I have to go.”

A Festivus miracle

It was Christmas in March as “It’s the most wonderful time of the year” played in my head.

“Heck yeah! Thank you so much.”

What a beautiful, glorious, lovely day.

The next five hours were filled with all the expensive games. Ones we didn’t dare waste our precious previous cards on: rock climbing (I don’t recommend doing when consuming alcohol), simulated auto racing, simulated baseball, and basketball shooting and football throwing until our arms fell off.

“This was the most funniest day ever,” Bryce shouted.

“This day kicked serious ass, er, booty,” said Reece.

“Can you get more of those unlimited card things?” beamed Bryce.

I had a warm, fuzzy Santa Claus feeling like it was the best Christmas ever.

Shitty day

This morning, my dog left several shitty surprises when I woke up. I was already running late for work and was scheduled to do a radio interview before school for our sports program.

It was a horrible start to what I felt would be a bad day.

Memories flooded back to that memorable trip to Anaheim 18 years ago. That amazing day started with peeing, puking, and packs of people.

“I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor popped in my head.

Perfect Day

My boss gave me high praises for the radio interview.

During second period we had an inspirational guest speaker for an assembly, and all four of my sometimes challenging classes earned perfect 10.0 scores for behavior.

During our staff meeting, my principal acknowledged me for the long hours I put into coaching and running our district sports program.

And he handed me a $10 Starbucks gift card. Not exactly an unlimited ESPN ZONE card valued at around $200, but who’s complaining?

It was yet another beautiful day.

Thanks for reading my story.

Tagging those who will partake in the next Butler Olympics: Scot Butwell, Lu Skerdoo, Kristine Laco, Evon, Klara Jane Holloway, Victoria Valentine, Mary-Ann Ionascu, Adelina Vasile, Mary Chang Story Writer, Scott Younkin, Sreese, MarkfromBoston 🐾🍻, Ruby Lee, Alison Levine, Diana Meresc, Ning Choi, Janet Meisel, Gerald Sturgill, Jameson Steward.

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