So You’ve Decided to Propose on the Jumbotron

Well, you’ve done it. You’ve made up your mind. You’ve weighed the checks and balances of your relationship history with this person, this partner, this angel, and you’ve decided that this is it — this is the relationship you’ve been waiting for your entire life, the one you’re going to just go with for what remains of the years you have left on this Earth. You’re going to ask them to marry you.

And you’re going to do it on the Jumbotron.

Who doesn’t love the Jumbotron? No one, that’s who! Well, maybe Communists don’t love the Jumbotron. And introverts. And people who aren’t really into sports. And maybe also people who don’t feel, like, 100% attractive on that particular day that they left the house and went out into public and figured “how bad can it get?” Good thing they don’t have to wonder anymore! You’re here to show them how bad it can get. And you’re going to do it with forced proximity to your love.

And your aggressively bottomless need for attention, of course. There’s always that. It’s not enough for you to receive attention from your family and friends when you publicly announce vows of marriage, or afterwards, when you pay a guy who owns a lot of “Now That’s What I Call Music!” compilations to DJ your reception while you frolic in the center of a dancing surface waxed to a sheen by someone who isn’t paid nearly enough to clean up a room that you’re just going to trash, anyway. It’s not enough to receive attention in the form of gifts you’ve requested which are items you should already own, considering you’re an adult with their own place and, presumably, stuff. It’s not enough to select cards announcing your desire for attention, and then mail those cards, and then count the cards that are mailed back to you to acknowledge that you will be paid extra attention on your “special day,” oh and also, this person would like the chicken instead of the salmon.

Those types of attention are not enough for you, oh Jumbotron Proposer. You crave the kind of attention that only a stadium ¾’s full of people can provide, their eyes glazed and looking heavenwards while their mouths gape around concession stand nachos or hot dogs, both dripping condiments over their fleshy hands and onto the molded plastic seats. You require a veritable human sacrifice of attention, all of the consciousness in a particular building focused upon the image of you and your beloved projected from a multi-ton television suspended above a group of humans who are paid to remain at the height of their physical powers for as long as possible lest they be cast aside to appear in commercials filmed to sell used cars in their hometown. You feed off of everyone’s hopes. Their praises. The clapping of their mustard-and-relish-stained palms, gleeful in their participation of this blessed event while one of their kids knocks over his bucketful of Coca-Cola or, depending on the beverage contracts of the sporting venue, maybe Pepsi. That kid might have received a scolding on the way home, as the family minivan inched its way out of a parking garage packed to the concrete gills by other similar suburbia-bound vehicles. But not tonight. Not with your love in the air.

You’re sure your partner is going to say yes. I mean, you are, right? Yes. You’re sure. You’re totally sure. You bought the ring they wanted and everything, the one they point at every time you pass the kiosk at the mall, the one they’ve seen a million times in advertisements that run on a loop every Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Mother’s Day. You saved up however many paychecks a conflict mineral requires these days and you bought that ring, and you didn’t even have to put it on an installment plan. You’re in the big leagues of a relationship now, Buster!

What could be more romantic than the Jumbotron, this Orwell-esque device capable of broadcasting our private-in-public moments such as dancing, kissing or blowing one’s nose? You’re definitely the most romantic person you know. In fact, this proposal will be almost as romantic as the coupons for oral sex you plan on giving as a gift for your first wedding anniversary.

Proposing on the Jumbotron isn’t just romantic, it means you’re serious. Serious enough to ask someone to marry you in front of thousands of strangers. Serious enough to tell the story about how you allowed thousands of strangers into an intimate moment of your life to your grandchildren. Serious enough to appear up there, 18 feet tall, red-faced and covered in flop sweat with a bauble from Zales in your quaking fist. Serious enough to pay $70 to the guy who controls what goes on the Jumbotron.

This is it. You’re ready.

From here on out, it’s smooth sailing. Your betrothed, this saintly figure who said yes to you on the Jumbotron, will have only the most reasonable requests for your upcoming nuptials. Requests such as stretch Hummer limousines, sweatpants with “Wifey” sequined across the ass, and a Disney Princess-themed ceremony where she makes her fattest bridesmaid dress like Ursula from the Little Mermaid because she still doesn’t understand that Ursula was incredibly awesome.

You were made for each other and it shows, this love you have, meant for the ages, forever burned onto a DVD labeled with the date and the final score of the game (your team lost).

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