Cardboard Cutout Fan Eagerly Awaits Next Pandemic
Alone, cold, in a dark and musty storage room, local cardboard cutout Mariners fan, Carl, anticipates the day he can once again enjoy a baseball game.
“It’s just been awhile since I felt the sun on my fake, waxy skin.” He may look like he’s enjoying a game, but he was just printed that way. Deep down he is sad; nostalgic for a time when it was unsafe for real human fans at games.
“Who knows,” he added, “we could be back out there sooner than we hope. I have been keeping an eye on the news and we could even be back this summer,if people continue to not wear masks and have indoor gatherings without being vaccinated.”
If Carl was human, this pause would’ve been to take a drag off a cigarette. Instead, all he has is a foam finger, quietly resting in the “number one” position.
“I have been thinking about moving to Texas. I know, it sounds crazy, but they are bound to need me soon! Cases are about to spike and maybe, just maybe, I could find a place I belong. Even if that place is at a Texas Rangers game.”
“We will never get out of here” another voice piped in from the darkness. “You will be lucky if you don’t end up in the garbage compactor”
“Don’t say that!” Carl gasped. “You are always so negative.” Another cutout fan inched its way from the shadows with a smile that did not match their sentiments. Carl’s dismissive and harsh tone indicated he had had to deal with this cutout for a while, probably since the end of last season.
“Everyone else got picked up by their real half. Where is the real Carl? He doesn’t care about you. We are never going to watch sports again. We are destined for the dump,” she continued. “We were out there at every game. Now they treat us like the trash we are!”
“We are recyclable!” Carl yelled back.
The other cutout sulked into a broken chair as Carl continued. “When I first got out there — placed in my seat in section 119 by the gloved hands of a T-Mobile Field worker — I could not believe my eyes. First, I had eyes! How crazy! I was brought into this world just to enjoy baseball and that beautiful Seattle skyline. Nothing compares to being at a live game. The fake cheers being pumped in, the crowd pretending to go crazy for a double play. You just feel so connected to the city and the other cutouts around you!” Carl looked as though he wanted to sigh, but his cardboard lungs and mouth could not allow it. “But eventually, all things come to an end. One day, the crew came to get us from our seats, and — ” Carl got a little choked up and couldn’t finish his sentence.
“And we will never get back out there again!” the other cutout finished. “It’s only a matter of time before most people are vaccinated, and they will be the ones in the stands. We will be the ones down here gathering dust.”
Carl collected himself and ignored the pessimistic cutout. “Even if I don’t get back out there this year, maybe sometime in the near future. I doubt Americans have learned anything from this, so next pandemic, I will be ready to go,” he says, staring off into the distance because of the way he is positioned against a storage rack. The other cutout would’ve rolled her eyes had she the ability to do so. “They say that there’s a pandemic every 30–100 years. I don’t know the over/under on it, but I like my chances.”
Carl looked hopeful, as a large man in a dirty beige jumpsuit scooped him up to take him away to a new — oh, well, no… he just threw Carl into the dumpster.
