Football season is upon us, which means that thousands of angry, horny, feisty pretend fans will converge upon this great nation’s red cup-littered parking lots to participate in traditional tailgating revelry. These are not those stories
This series will run on MONDAYS this year. Again, consult the initial post if you’d like to help us out with this.
ONE: No, This Man Was Not Put Down With An Elephant Gun
Since I saw a post about about the Harvard-Yale game at Yale, I wanted to provide a little photo exposé I did back in 2004 in Cambridge. I have no idea who these guys were, but they provided a glorious living lesson of the effects of alcohol on coordination, motor control and equilibrium, and why it is important to have lots of friends who care about you if you are going to consume handles of vodka, gin and a case of beer by yourself. I think my photos capture drunkenness and friendship at its best.
It started with a Cambridge police officer confiscating a funnel and giving me the stink eye as he was likely concerned I was the same guy that did the Rodney King video. Note that Stripe Shirt’s leg positions which are impossible to mimic sober. I guess Stripe Shirt’s friend convinced the officer that he was okay, and they both proceed to rejoice at averting an arrest or forcible hospitalization like obnoxious jerkoffs.
The rejoicing doesn’t last for long as Stripe Shirt starts to keel over
but fortunately Friend One is there to catch him.
Friend Two enters the situation and is a little less gentle with Stripe Shirt, holding him up by his face.
He keels over anyway.
Stripe Shirt’s luck does not run out because nearby there is a lawn chair awaiting his fat drunk ass.
Note the grass stains on his knees, while Pea Coat (it is Yale after all) comes in to wish him well, exalt him for being a “model tailgater” and offer him some hard liquor. Stripe Shirt’s friends were nice enough to put sunglasses on him so that he could keep his coolness factor as his liver completely shuts down.
It is nice to know that the group of jolly Ivy League fraternity alums who don’t know their limit is still active, and very distinguished.
TWO:The Big Sexy Italian Shit Show Haunts Mizzou
My friend Dominic is a short, stocky, proud Italian with a short temper. One might say he has a case of small-man syndrome (hates everyone because they are taller than him). Dominic also has the inability to control his drunk. This story happens the weekend of last years Mizzou-Illinois game in St. Louis. Right before we leave Columbia he proudly announces that he doesn’t plan on drinking that much…which we all knew was a lie. We reach St. Louis and meet up with my other friend Mark’s family at their hotel near the Edward Jones Dome. After pregaming in the hotel and all of us taking our fair share of shots we were ready to head to the tailgate. At this point Dominic was already in a great mood, yelling at any and every Illinois fan in sight, no women or children were spared. To one Illinois mother and child he bellowed “You were born into the wrong fucking family baby!” To an elderly Illinois man, in his best Macho Man Randy Savage voice he yells “Illinois is going DOWN!!, THE WHOLE FUCKING STATE”. By the time we got to the tailgate the pregaming had kicked in (for everyone else anyway) and everyone was in full throttle drinking mode including parents and family friends. Shotgunning beers, Petron shots and boxing with MMA fighters in the gravel parking lot. After seeing Dominic posted up casually on the side of a truck, shitfaced, taking in the scenery with his penis hanging out of the crotch of his pants I knew it would be an eventful day.
It was time to go into the game and Dominic cannot walk. Luckily an ex-Mizzou alum Dominic had made friends with earlier (he was also Italian and Italians love talking about being Italian) was kind enough to throw him over his shoulder and slump his lifeless body to the stadium for us. After being refused at multiple gates, it was time for Plan B because we obviously weren’t getting into the game. So we flagged a cab and threw Dominic in and took him back to Mark’s car we left in a parking garage a few blocks away. There wasn’t much life left in Dominic but he put up quite the fight and was determined get to the game that we had voluntarily abandoned for him already. We put him in the back of Mark’s car hoping he would just pass out but to no avail. None of us wanted to babysit Dominic so we did the rational thing and stuck him in the back with the child locks on. Thinking that we had this problem taken care of we headed into the game. How naive we were.
Around half time our friend Bones(nick name from HS) gets a phone call, who else could it be but two Jamaican security guards, “Bones? Bones? Tis dis Bones? We found your friend Big Sexy, we have Big Sexy” (Dominic has a tattoo on his ass that says “Big Sexy” in the Italian colors of green, white, and red…I told you he is a very proud man). Bones leaves the game to go see what the hell was going on. He finds Dominic puking outside the parking garage with the two security guards. It turns out that Dominic had been found face down on the concrete in the middle of the parking garage (a floor down from the car at that), pants (and boxers) around his ankles, dick on the pavement, and had shat himself. Quite the mess. But Dominic still had one more trick up his sleeve. We walked back to the car and Mark erupts into anger “What the fuck?! What the fuck!!” There was glass all over the ground near Mark’s car because his back seat window had been knocked out. Mark takes the empty plastic liquor handle he was holding and slings it directly into Dominic’s forehead then slams him to the ground. Dominic was so fucked up he thought he had gone into the game with everyone else and took a lot of convincing before he finally believed us. Dominic was pissed off about being in the car and not being able to get out so he kicked out the side window, fell out of the car, crawled to his feet, wandered down a level only to fall down pass out face first in the middle of the garage driveway with his dick out and his pants covered in shit. We still aren’t sure why his dick was out. Now that, is a true fan.
THREE: Please Don’t Startle The Children
Here’s my tale:
New Year’s Day, 2007: Wisconsin is playing Arkansas in the Outback Bowl in Orlando, FL. About 15 guys from my fraternity at and me make the trip down for a long weekend of general debauchery and to watch the Badgers.
Whoever holds a bowl game on New Year’s Day should realize what they’re asking for. My friends and I woke up in the single hotel room we were all sharing still hammered from New Year’s Eve the night before in order to prep for the noon kickoff. A few just powered through the whole night and didn’t go to bed, amazingly. Before we left our hotel, we attempted to spell out some sort of message across our chests in paint (I believe we were going for “On Wisconsin” but the whole day is hazy). However, some were too drunk to properly write letters, so the whole idea was scrapped and a few of us headed out with big red blotches on their bodies and faces. We looked like a retarded version of one of the clans from Braveheart.
Having never been to Orlando before, we weren’t sure where the best place to tailgate would be. The least-drunk among us took charge and commandeered a few taxis with the instructions to a) find the nearest liquor store so we could stock up and then b) drop us off by the stadium. Once we secured booze, we arrived at the Citrus Bowl and started looking for a good place to set up shop. Again, we were all still hammered from the night before, so instead of doing the sensible thing and joining up with other Badger fans, we spotted a children’s playground directly across from the stadium. The swings and jungle gym and slides seemed like the ideal spot to set up a base. The best part about the location was that it was right in the middle of the path that everyone going to the game had to take in order to walk into the stadium. I will never forget the looks on some of the moms’ and dads’ faces as they walked by us: 15 young men who failed at body painting, swinging around on a children’s playground while chugging openly from plastic handles of Fleischmann’s vodka.
I believe the attached picture sums up the day nicely. Notice the confused/terrified expressions on the kids faces.
Let’s go ahead and keep this anonymous if you run it.
FOUR: You’re Never Too Old To Get Thrown Out Of The Rose Bowl
Let me preface this story by saying that all involved in “the incident” are over the age of 35. 4 of the six are PARENTS. The other two are pushing 40 and should have known better!
Cut to a lovely Saturday in October where the six friends thought it would be a good idea to catch a UCLA game at the Rose Bowl. Good weather, great friends, a few cocktails – what could be better?
Cut to the six proceeding to get drunk as skunks on vodka and sodas. There was food present, but seemed to have no effect on diminishing the incredible drunk we all were on.
Heading to the game (continuing to drink, of course) – one of the principals thought it would be fun to sneak a beer into the game. (no drinking inside – as this is a college game, of course). The girls proceeded to bum cigarettes from college kids and smoked like $10 hookers while heading to our seats.
Once seated – about 2 minutes into the game, no kidding – we see Security personnel headed to our section. Thinking that a fight had broken out, we laughed and hooted, awaiting the show to begin. Big mistake, as security headed DIRECTLY to us and proceeded to bust the married father of one who bootlegged the beer inside and kicked him out of the game!
Not to be undone, another friend decided that it would be a good idea at this time to instigate a fight. He tapped a USC-tee shirt wearing dude on the back with his foot (this wasn’t even the UCLA-USC game!! Just some dumb jerk who thought it was funny to wear an SC shirt to a UCLA game). As you can imagine – USC man didn’t appreciate this when Drunk #2 did it AGAIN, and the fighting words and postures began.
When we were finally able to drag drunk #2 out of our section. People actually cheered. Drunk #2’s wife proceeded to get hysterical and cried the whole way home.
We didn’t even see one minute of the game. Needless to say, we’re rethinking our vodka in the a.m. strategy for this year’s adventure.
FIVE: This is What Happens When You Get Too Drunk At Giants Stadium
So, I managed to get tickets to the divisional round of the playoffs last year, to the giants-eagles game. I decide to go instead of selling them (first mistake). I bring three of my friends who are huge boozebags (second mistake). I offer to drive instead of making the tickets conditional on one of them being the DD (third, and largest mistake). So, we go, we had a few other friends from college who had tickets through their own sources, so we were back and forth between two large family tailgates.
Obviously, there are copious amounts of shots for those who weren’t driving, and all of my friends get wasted. One of them, however, gets far drunker than the rest somehow. Normally, this kid can hold his liquor, but for whatever reason, he’s shitfaced. And, the worst part was that it hit him fairly late. Not to say that he was sober throughout, but he was under control until we started walking towards the actual stadium. That’s when the last however many shots hit him, and he goes from walking on his own, but not straight, to walking while leaning on me, to pretty much being carried by me, to being carried by two of us, to being complete dead weight such that he can’t be moved at all. In the mean time, we’re obviously being heckled by people, and being told we’re embarrassing the giants (which actually pissed me off, as much as he was a mess, fuck those people; maybe they were embarassing the giants by being sober). We finally decide to try to get him back to the car, but that doesn’t even work, he starts using the 2% of his consciousness he has to fight against it, so we finally have to flag down a cop, who calls over an ambulance. One of my other friends tries unsuccessfully to guilt me into getting into the ambulance with him, and I say fuck that, so my friend goes instead.
The ambulance brings him into the medical center in the stadium (which, by the way, requires scanning his ticket for him to get to), where they tell us “he’s reacting in a way that it can’t just be alcohol.” To which we assure them that, it really has just been booze. I think they were just trying to scare us into saying he did something he didn’t, but whatever. They hold him for like half an hour, he still doesn’t come to, they’d take him to the local hospital. My friend leaves the medical center at that point, and goes to his seats, they call him half an hour later, saying they’re taking him to the hospital. We obviously wait until the game gets out of hand (because, fuck him, it wasn’t our fault he got that drunk), then go over to the hospital. He’s still passed the fuck out, the nurses laugh at us for awhile, and tell us he can’t be released until his BAC is “below toxic levels.” We all need to get back into the city, and couldn’t wait the 5
additional hours that they estimated it would take for his BAC to drop sufficiently, so we ended up having to call his brother to come out to Jersey from Long Island to pick him up, and waiting for him to get there. We have some pictures from him in the hospital, so enjoy this one.
Beer is a rich source of a nutrient that can help prevent weak bones – but it depends what type you drink, claim researchers at University of California, Davis, today.
