The Poop That Altered My Life Forever

Greetings from DC! Name is Justin and I had to poop. I’m one of the High School Horror Stories that you hear about – but with unbelievable consequences. This happened over 15 years ago but my life changed entirely because I had to poop. I GUARANTEE you that you will say “poop,” “crap,” or “shit” aloud while reading about my misery.

I was pursuing a career in Baseball. I was a nationally ranked catcher who was being scouted by professional ball clubs. I was on multiple teams at once, including a local team that was assembled for traveling to tournaments. This mostly consisted of guys from my high school and only a few of the neighboring schools since we’re pretty densely populated here. This story takes place at an exhibition game with the Tourney Team for a Boston Red Sox scout that came to see me.

At this point, I think it’s important to note that I had a huge crush on my teammate’s sister who was a year older. He was our main starting pitcher which meant we had to understand each other more deeply than other teammates for calls and such. I spent a lot of time at his family’s house growing up. We have been playing together for over 10 years – and I had always had a thing for his sister since 3rd grade. So, I spent a decent amount of time around his sister, let’s call her Nicki. I was in the same AP World History class with her but we weren’t in the same circles outside of these two overlaps.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. On the way to the game my evil step-mother, a nurse practitioner, suggested that we “carb me up” before the game. To most athletes this would be some sort of PowerBar-like product. But not for this woman. She insisted that I drink two 20oz bottles of Code Red Mountain Dew and two bags of cotton candy from 7-Eleven. Which is precisely what my dumbass did in the car ride on the way to the ballfield – mind you, a field I had never been to before. It’s one of those places that has multiple fields. So far, so good…

Got to the game and found that I was sitting the first inning to make sure I was sufficiently warmed up (I was injury prone). I typically batted in the 3/4/5 slot and was batting 5th this game. This was to increase my odds of getting a multi-run homer in my first at-bat. We were the Away team which meant we batted first and played in the field in the bottom of the inning. I made sure to note where the scout was sitting in the bleachers along the third base side. Second row, just this side of the dugout. Here’s where things start to take a turn…

Game starts and I feel a slight rumble in my stomach, nothing too concerning, though. “Maybe it’s the nerves,” I tell myself. But the top of the inning did not go so well, three batters up, three batters down, three immediate outs. This means that the 4th position hitter, aka the Clean-Up, would hit first in the second inning and that I’d be hitting second. Meanwhile, my stomach is really starting to bubble and build up pressure. I began to regret all that sugar. We then took the field and the other team made it to about the 6th or 7th hitter so I had some time to get in the zone. My stomach has begun to make clear signals of distress now – churn, pressure, release… churn, pressure, release… upon that second cycle I said aloud, “Something is wrong.”

It’s now our turn to bat. I’m “On Deck” which means I hit second (Baseball uses old timey pirate ship terms in case you weren’t aware). As soon as the Clean-Up hitter gets to the plate my intestines are screaming at me to run to the bathroom IMMEDIATELY. You know this feeling. It’s the worst feeling, plain and simple. Now, remember, I have not played here before. So, I have no idea where the restrooms are. The Clean-Up whiffs three straight pitches. First Out, and it’s my turn at the plate – the first time this scout is going to see me in action. Here’s where I blow my potential baseball career…

The gurgling coming from deep inside me was so intense that I was forced to wheel around to the entire crowd behind me on the bleachers and frantically ask “Where are the bathrooms!?” To which I was met with, “About a quarter mile on the other side of the park.” My worst nightmare is unfolding right before me. I turn to the coach and tell him that I’m having an emergency and can’t bat. I apologized profusely as I awkwardly did a Skip and Arm Flap-Wave move towards the restrooms to both signal “I’m OK” and “I’m having issues,” all at once. Then when I hope people aren’t looking any longer I take off towards the men’s room faster than Forrest Gump leaving behind a cloud of smoke (dust or my own gases we’ll never know). And as I ran I had a brief moment of hope. I was chugging along as fast as I could without “activating THOSE muscles.”

I could see the building. I got to the building. I got into the bathroom. I started opening the stall door and the unthinkable happened…

I’M HERE, I’M HERE!!! Lemme drop trou, stall door be damned!..

NOPE. I shit myself. And I mean, I SHIT myself. SSHHIITT. Wearing my white baseball pants. I couldn’t get my damn belt unbuckled. So, lemme ask you, what do you do next in this situation? You guessed it – you get the shit out of your pants that you’re still wearing. So, as I begin pulling my pants down, the volume and consistency of crap that plopped out was absolutely unreal. It continued to plop and plop over and over as I continued to pull down my boxers until it covered all of the remaining white sections of my pants. There were inches of shit between me and my feet. Think of thick mud, and the sound it would make when you fling it onto a surface (because some did manage to hit the floor). There was easily over a liter in volume. And it was all over my bottom half. All down my legs. My feet covered. Ankle deep. And we all know how well stocked public bathrooms are. There was NO toilet paper. NO paper towels. NOTHING. I was on my own. And so, I cleaned myself off as best as I could, taking at least 12-15 minutes. Definitely not putting these pants back on so I’m gonna head out in my still-shit-filled boxers. And here’s where it gets taken up a notch…

As I’m walking out of the bathroom… I open the door to the last thing I wanted to see: my crush, Nicki. Heading to the ladies’ room. And the look on her face and the way she laughed, it was AT me in a way I’ve never experienced before or since. No sympathy at all. I was mortified and crushed on so many levels all at once. I sulked off to the car because there is no way in Hell I’m going back to that crowd. Yet, it still gets worse from here…

My sister came running up to the car, which was on the way to the restrooms. She found me and burst out laughing in a very different way than Nicki – she felt for me WHILE she thought it was the most hilarious thing that’s happened (before or since). I told her to pack up my stuff and let my father and coach know that we had to go – without disclosing any reasons, although obvious. My Dad is the sweetest guy in the world, but when he saw me covered in shit sitting on the curb hiding behind the car, he was anything but sweet. He knew how big of a moment this was for my future. He was furious. He insisted that I need to “go tell the coach and the scout what you’ve done.” Meanwhile my step-mother had a shit-eating grin on her face after all this. Like she had planned it. We then left and he chewed me out the whole way home as my sister giggled beside me. But wait! There’s more…

It’s now Monday morning and we have AP World History first period with Mr. Nutter. Now, this was before texting and social media really caught on, so, information didn’t spread like it does now. Mr. Nutter’s class is the one that Nicki is in with me (Seniors and Juniors). I was praying to every God and Demon known to Man and Beast alike that she would not say anything. Mr. Nutter waltzed into the room and asked as he walked, “How was everyone’s weekend? Do anything fun?” To which Nicki blurted out “I saw Justin shit his pants when the MLB scout was here.” The classroom erupted in laughter and we proceeded to talk about it for the first 20 minutes of the day. I thought the best play was to own it, so I recounted the “carb up” part to the class. Two guys FROM THE TEAM were in the room and didn’t lend any support when I asked them to bear witness about how I told them about “carbing up.” Owning it didn’t do a goddamn thing.

As you can imagine, this story made its way through our school all day and I never was able to shake it. I had an inaccurate reputation of being someone who shits himself when nervous. My HS teammates and coaches lost confidence in me after this. I was never given the clutch situations again to prove myself. I will forever be the kid who shit himself when the pressure is on. I didn’t come back to play Senior Year. I stopped playing baseball and never got with Nicki. I know Shit Happens but this was the worst “Shituation” ever.