Friday Night Fiasco: When Insects & Idiots Collide

So, one of the little brats wanted to go to a football game. Great, just what I always wanted – to be surrounded by a bunch of overhyped, hormonal teens. But hey, the stadium's near Mom's basement, so why not?

As we trudged through the parking lot, the stadium lights blinded me like a damn UFO abduction. The line to get in was ridiculous, but apparently, this was the “biggest rivalry of the season.” Yeah, right.

The air was thick with excitement. Or maybe it was just the cloud of Axe body spray choking every living thing within a mile radius. Seriously, you could get high off those fumes.

Twenty minutes later, we finally got in. The kids wanted to sit at the top. Awesome, more stairs. We climbed what felt like Mount Everest and plopped down. Game's already started, and guess who needs to pee? Yep, the 8-year-old.

I was like, “Dude, we just got here. You couldn’t have gone before we climbed a million steps?” His royal highness says yes.

Back down, back up, and finally, we're watching the game. Or rather, I was. The kids were more interested in everyone else's phones. The 9-year-old genius points out, “We’re the only ones here who aren’t on phones.” Shocker.

Meanwhile, the F-word was flying around so much, I thought I was in a rap battle. The body spray and the curses were competing for airspace. It was almost as thrilling as the game itself.

But the real entertainment? Crickets. Yep, the boys were more into the damn insects than the football. The 8-year-old was practically drooling as crickets dive-bombed the stands. People were freaking out, and the kids were loving it.

At one point, I saw the 8-year-old crouching like a predator, ready to pounce on a cricket. Seriously, this is what my life has come to – watching kids chase bugs at a football game.

We didn’t stay for the whole game. Shocking, I know. But the boys didn’t mind. There were even more crickets in the parking lot.

So, Friday night high school football in Texas? Supposedly a big deal. But if you’re a kid who loves bugs or hates crowds, maybe give it a pass.

Harris and his wife live in Pflugerville with their seven spawns. If you’ve got nothing better to do, email your complaints to thoughtsforcaleb@gmail.com.