The Broad’s Side of…Tailgating

Oh yes! Football season has arrived. There is not much I enjoy more than the pre-game tailgate experience. The Browns home opener is consistently my favorite day of the year. Say what you want about Cleveland sports teams and their inability to bring home a championship. One thing’s for sure…we know how to tailgate in this town! One argument could be that we purposely send ourselves into a booze induced state in order to ease the pain just a little bit. The 2009 kickoff of the tailgating season was nothing short of exceptional. My friend ‘Lola’ (she’ll get pissy if I use her real name) provided me with the opportunity to attend the game when her boyfriend was sentenced to house arrest. Yeah Crime! Who says it doesn’t pay? He was sitting at home on the couch while my ass was in his seat. I wonder if that ankle monitoring device interferes with the Direct TV reception at all.

We began our day at about 7:30 am. Why wouldn’t that be a great idea? People really go all out. There are various RVs which are painted brown and orange and are undoubtedly captained by some douchebag that sold his house in order to tailgate ‘in style’. More often than not, the douchemobiles have a resident DJ that plays requests in exchange for beer or gratuitous boob shots. The majority of them also have a hot commodity called a bathroom on board. If you’ve never been in a port-a-potty in a tailgate parking lot, you’re a very fortunate individual. Needless to say, I felt the need to charm my way into one of these shitters on wheels. You’d be surprised how receptive people can be when you’re opening line is, “So…who do I have to let motorboat me in exchange for use of your mobile pisser?” Works every time! The best part is that they’re too shocked to attempt to cash in.

Lola and I came across an acquaintance who graciously offered us the chance to partake in a beer bong. As tempting as it is to suck off of some gross tube that forty other people recently had in their mouths, I had to take a raincheck on that one. The acquaintance (we’ll call him Asshat) regretfully did not follow my lead. This next part could make me appear to be an insensitive asshole, but in order to establish a proper visual I feel the need to provide you with all of the appropriate information. Asshat happens to suffer from what could be a series of disabilities. As he so eloquently stated after four cracks at the beer bong, “I’m a god-damned cripple.” Curious battle cry, if you ask me. I’m not sure if poor judgment is recognized as a disability in the state of Ohio, but this moron might just change the way the rules are written. He thought it was advisable to yell angrily at a passing security officer, calling him a ‘wanna -be cop fag’. By the reaction of the security officer, that was not the first time he’d heard that sweet-nothing. Asshat continued with his perplexing tirade by asking this nice gentleman to pass along the following message. “Tell Mayor Campbell to fuck off”. One major problem with that statement, besides the obvious… Mayor Campbell hasn’t been the mayor of Cleveland since January 2006. At least I’m fairly confident that the only polls this guy is familiar with are in Juggs Magazine. As his swan song, he used one of his crutches to swing at a fan wearing a Vikings jersey and horn adorned helmet. Lola’s brother had to throw Asshat over his shoulder and haul him away before Po-po got a hold of him. If you’re an asshole…you’re an asshole. It shouldn’t be contingent on whether you can walk or not. I can tell you that I had not one ounce of sympathy. I actually debated beating him with his own crutches. Wrong?

At one point, we were on a futile mission to locate a friend when we were given this useful piece of information. “We’re South of you.” WTF? THAT’S how you try to direct someone to your tailgate location? Wait, are you wearing brown and orange and standing near a cornhole board? Perhaps you’re eating a hotdog and drinking a beer? Jesus, you have got to be kidding me. How about providing some useful information? We never did find them. Maybe it was because there were plenty of distractions. At some point, we stumbled upon a set-up which included an assortment of greenery on the six foot banquet tables (which also had table cloths, I might add). In my opinion, you should have to turn in your man card if you allow such a thing to occur. Your penis better be velcro’d on, because you’ll need to give it back. There should also NEVER under any circumstances be cupcakes, salad or any other pussy foods present at the tailgate. It’s all about the numerous meat products and how much can be consumed in a day. Only meatetarians need apply. I was fairly surprised that I managed to get through the day without being violently pegged in the face with a cornhole bag, football or flying feces. There was almost an incident involving a mini Spongebob football. That six year old should consider himself lucky that near disaster was narrowly averted. Who brings a kid into that type of environment? Judging by his parents, I hope he was driving.

Once inside Cleveland Browns Stadium, we decided to swing by the bar before heading to our seats. We wanted to find the quickest way, so we stopped to ask an employee directions. The response I received was, “I don’t know where the bar is. I’m not from around here.” Huh? WTF are you talking about? ‘Here’ is the place that’s paying you 8 bills per hour to answer questions such as these. Could you possibly glance at that little pocket map for some insight? I can actually see the map from here. It’s in a lanyard hanging around your neck for Christ’s sake. I’ll tell you what….Give me two dollars and I’ll read the map myself since you seem to be so confused. My smartass persona had officially been kicked into high gear at this point. We finally found the bar with some encouragement from a non-retarded staff member. Once inside, we had to find a loophole in the ‘no shooters’ policy. Evidently, two ice cubes and a swizzle stick elevate your shot into the drink category. That was unfortunate for the turd next to us who had been looking for the perfect opening line. He determines that “do you have any mosquito repellant” is the way to go. Naturally, my response went a little something like this…”Well, if I do have some on, it doesn’t appear to be working very well since you broke the barrier.” I think Lola had a pretty good time and will probably invite me back next time there’s an available ticket. Hmm… I’m thinking trumped up rape charges against her boyfriend might be in order. Can you do that anonymously? There must be a way to keep him off the streets until January.


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About the Broad

A humorous look at dating in your mid-thirties and the other hilarious things that happen around us on a daily basis.

September 2009
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