First, you wake up feeling a mix of excitement and dread. The dread comes from remembering you promised your partner you’d mow the lawn today. The excitement? That’s pure, unadulterated baseball fever. You start checking the weather every ten minutes, because a thunderstorm delay is the only thing worse than a bad umpire call.
Around noon, you begin the rhetorical argument with yourself. “Can I wear my purple polo and gold shorts? Too much? No, it’s a baseball game. You can never be too loud.” It’s the only sport where you can show up dressed like a giant piece of candy corn and nobody bats an eye. Actually, the eyeballs are busy looking for Alex Bregman or watching Paul Skenes throw heat.
The Pre-Game Ritual
The real answer to “when is the game?” is usually “about 90 minutes before you think it is.” Because you have to account for traffic, parking, and the line for a stuffed snowball the size of your head. Getting to Alex Box Stadium is like trying to navigate a very polite, very Cajun mosh pit. Everyone is friendly but moving at a snail’s pace.
Once inside, you grab a hot dog and a soda. The hot dog never tastes good outside of a ballpark, but at the stadium, it’s Michelin-star-level cuisine. It’s the same hot dog you get at a gas station, but the magic of LSU baseball transforms it into a religious experience. I swear the mustard has voodoo in it.
LSU Baseball: Everything You Need To Know About Tigers' Friday Matchup
