Recommended wine for today’s entry: A Luigi Bosca Reserva 2006 Malbec. My friend Todd recommended this recently and I had some this weekend. Really good! And, as Todd pointed out, “great bang for your buck.” Two thumbs up!
Because our local collegiate team, well … what’s a nice way to say it? Hmm … sucks so far this year, I have decided to use my time at the stadium wisely. I have a few cocktails and make fun of the people who have a few too many cocktails.
It’s not hard to find people to observe – they are exceedingly outgoing.
Once I watched a drunk guy hurtle down the stairs next to our seats. When he came to the end of the staircase — the wall at the top of the ramp — he had to choose whether to turn left or right to continue down the final few steps. He appeared to slow momentarily and looked left, looked right, then peered over the wall at the ramp below. Suddenly, I think Homer Simpson started chanting “Beer, beer, beer” in his head and he slammed his lower body into the wall, bent at the waist and flipped to the floor of the concrete ramp. It was about a fifteen-foot fall, but he did save himself about eight steps.
I only gave him a 6.8 because I think he should have added a twist. The REALLY scary part is, I heard he not only got up after a minute, but he proceeded to go buy another beer.
Late in the game this weekend, my daughter and I were headed out to the potties and we saw a bleary-eyed guy with a giant Skoal ring in his pants either leaning on or propped against an overflowing trash can. As we washed our hands, we discussed whether he was leaning or propped and debated the under/over bet whether he’d still be upright when we left the restroom.
Well, he was upright. And dining. He was digging his fingers through some cheese goop that was leftover from someone’s nachos (that they’d put on top of the over-full container) and eating it. We were totally grossed out … well, apparently we weren’t totally grossed out … ‘cuz then he proceeded to press one of his nostrils shut and shoot snot out of the open one, right on the mulch at his feet. THEN we were totally grossed out. If this had been a relative of mine (and I’m almost positive he wasn’t), I would have tied him to the bumper and dragged him home.
Some crasher took advantage of the low attendance and decided he was going to the good seats. He must have also decided that he was going to listen to everyone’s conversations around him and offer his own, clearly unsolicited and somewhat slurred opinions. We kinda enjoyed baiting him and seeing how long he could pretend to be watching the game before he just HAD to interject in our conversation. It was an amusement to most of us, as the game had long ago ceased to be amusing.
Everything was fine until he insulted my daughter’s football knowledge.
She was asking for a facemask call – duh, obviously talking to the ref – but crasher must have thought she was asking HIM for a facemask call, because he launched into a diatribe about the whole straight arm thing. She listened, then said, “Yeah. Thanks. I know my football.” And the look she gave him – Barbie staring down the drunken beast – must have conveyed her displeasure because the big baby left immediately, apparently for friendlier surroundings, probably closer to the 50-yard line.
Then there were these two middle-school age boys. (No, they weren’t drinking.) One of the boys wore a hoodie bearing a local school’s football logo and his name on the back; the other, a taller, thinner boy with really curly hair, had on street clothes. So a song came on and the curly haired boy jumped up and launched into like a five-minute dance routine right there in the stands. His friend smiled for a second, then looked away for awhile, then glanced back and knitted his brow, then looked like he wanted to throw up. Meanwhile, curly hair was gyrating to Beyonce and loving the attention.
About five seats down, this guy we call “the perv with the big camera” was snapping away. Goodness only knows where those pics will appear.
Let’s see … oh yeah, in the last five minutes of the game, a flock of drunken hecklers materialized from all parts of the stadium and converged in the front row, right behind our team’s bench. There they began bellowing something at the coach. Insults? Threats? Promises? Directions out of town? At any rate, several of the charmers were escorted up the aisle by police who may have used a bit more force than these people required. A little shove on a body made noodle-like by about 144 ounces of beer goes a long way.
As I said, I enjoy a beverage while tailgating. It does make a terrible season a bit more palatable. But to think that these people are out on the road after the game is horribly disturbing.
And if I were the designated driver for these folks, well, as I said, you’d know my car. It’d be the one with the drunk tied to the bumper.