Profesional Tailgaters

You should always have an alcoholic be the designated driver.

This is a great idea but it was not mine. It was the idea of our Team Beer Manger who also happens to be a professional tailgater.

I had no idea that these people existed but it appears that they do. I was invited to go to the Cowboys/Giants football game and tailgate with them. As I live football, I accepted but only after I begged and the Manager called my wife personally to ask for permission. I’m not a proud man.

Our driver showed up and we all piled in ready to cheer for victory. But she didn’t start the car right away. Instead she took a blackbox with a white nozzle on it and started to blow. Bitchin. I was intrigued. What new fangled contraption is this that allows man and machine to become one? You all know my feelings on cyborgs, I love them and this would is the closet I have ever got to one. I wanted to reach over and start playing with all her car knobs to see if Kit would talk to me and ask me where Michael is.

Being who I am and lacking any tact whatsoever I immediate asked “What the Hell man?” hoping that she would give me her secret to this symbiotic relationship. She stated that mistakes where made and no one was hurt but unfortunaly she had to blow into this contraption to start her car. I’m going to blame a man on her behalf. I have no idea if this is true or not but I’m feeling like supporting the sisterhood in today’s blog. Fucking men, pigs.

The Manager was agitated because the game started in less than 5 hours and we were not yet tailgaiting yet. I looked at my watch just to make sure. Yup, 4 hours and 24 minutes and the game would start. In my mind that looked like plenty of time to get to the game but then again I am not a professional tailgater.

Breaking every conceivable traffic law, we arrived at the game 4 hours and 23 minutes before kickoff.

The speed at which our site had been put up was amazing. I sat around dumbly because I was no professional as surely these people were. They were actually a little upset because someone had taken “their” spot. There seems to be a code of ethics to tailgating and one of which is that you try not to take another person’s spot. But as they were there first, my group made due.

In no time the little slice of home was up. We had a tent, around 10 chairs and enough beer to get a professional German Wrestling team hammered. My contribution was 18 beers which I gladly pointed out. I had done my part. We also had a flat screen TV and a HD antenna. This was better than my house and I secretly cursed my normal cable. Again, I will blame men for no reason, fucking pigs.

Then I started looking around. It was surreal. It would appear, that although I thought we were very well equipped, there were others that made tailgating look like a full time job. Ours wasn’t the only antenna, they were strewn across the landscape like a trailer park. There were other tents, some a lot more lavish than ours. There were flat screens every where, some erected on long flag poles so that everyone could see them. There were tables covered with nice linen and crystal was being used, fucking crystal I kid you not. Who comes to a football game drinking out of crystal?

Of course there were grills, which seems to be the most basic item anyone needs to tailgate with. There were several people that had brought their grills from home and unloaded them from the back of trucks. There were smokers that were being towed in. Look, I’m a Trekkie and I know I have serious hobby issues, but Christ people, that’s a 2000 dollar grill you are lugging around.

It wasn’t the best though. The best was a grill that actually attached to a truck’s bumper. The bumper grill was not as big as the others but it was attached and specifically made for tailgating. This was my first experience with tailgating envy. We all looked at the grill and I could see behind the eyes of The Manager, next tailgating season he would have one.

3 hours before the game and the shanty town was basically complete. It looked like some weird medieval market. There was meat on hooks, flags and fabric waiving, advertisements, people yelling. I expected to see skinned cats being sold for a shilling. I shutter to think what these people’s houses look like. I imagine that they are bare because they have all packed up and moved to the parking lot outside of Texas Stadium. They were no longer fans going to a game, they had become squatters.

It was great. Football, meat and beer. Although I am ashamed that my tolerance for all is starting to wane a little. I can’t eat greasy meat as much as I used to and I was basically hammered after 4 beers. You hear that kids, you have robbed me of my alcohol intake. I used to be able to pound them, now 4 beers in an hour gets me ripped. All that work I’ve done in college is useless along with that Russian class I took. I can speak only one phrase and 4 beers does me in.

We did eventually end up going to the game and as we tromped through Guatemala I was handed a bottled beer by the Professionals.

“Stick this in your sock.” They said.

?? What? Stick this beer in my sock? Why don’t we just buy beer at the game, although I think from here on out I’m sticking to water. They informed me that beers at the game were 7 bucks a pop and that this way we could get one up on the man. I’m always up for getting up on the man so I said ok although the last time I snuck a beer into a game was when I was 20. But I’m afraid that If I didn’t then the professionals would break out the rack and stretch me for lack of loyalty.

At the entrance people were being searched and I actually thought “O Fuck. I’m going to get expelled for smuggling in contraband. This is how a drug mule must feel.” Then I started feeling self conscious, am I limping? Is my leg dragging from the weight of the beer that went from feeling like 8 oz to a full on keg?

I explained my fears to the rest of the professionals and they assured me it would be ok. They said that it was a crap search and If I just played it cool man it would be ok.

They were right and I am a little alarmed at the lack of enthusiasm for the search. We had to smuggle in at least a 6 pack between three of us. They guy patted down my waist but that was it. He felt my love handles and I assumed did not notice the 300 pound weight I was carring in my sock.

I don’t think I have the stamina to be a professional tailgater but I appreciate being introduced to the world of it. Although next time we go, I’m buying the grill that attaches to the bumper.