Oh, football game days. The wonderful time of the year when we file into parking lots, eat barbecue, drink and -- if the weather is inviting enough -- attend a football game. This doesn't always happen, as the combination of midday heat, pork and cheap American beer often causes many tailgaters to crawl into shadowed areas and fall asleep to dream of tacky fold-out chairs. It is quite common to see tailgaters napping behind dumpsters, and it is just as common to see others poking them with sticks, laughing and stealing their tickets.
The tailgate I go to is in a bank's parking lot. I'm surprised people are allowed to park on such private properties during game days without being towed, considering we live in a town with officers who will fine you for parking at 4:58 p.m. when the permitted time is 5:00. I'm not trying to be funny here. They really do. I've already lost half of my college fund to parking tickets ... though this is mainly my own fault for repeatedly forgetting that it is illegal to park inside Gilmer Hall.
Anyway, back to tailgates. Why are they so fun? Well, first of all, the food is great. There are the appetizers, which are usually some form of steak. Then there is the main dish, which is usually a large chunk of raw to extra-raw meat. Finally there is the dessert, which is usually a delicious mixture of sugar, egg and lamb. If you are a vegetarian, I recommend not mentioning it, as you will most likely be excommunicated. Instead, come up with a good excuse for not eating, such as the stomach flu.
There is always camaraderie at tailgates too, the kind inherent to close war buddies. Indeed, there are many similarities between the two. Both drink before the fight, both march off together and both take breaks to order extra-cheesy nachos. Because many tailgates are hosted by alumni or older fans, you'll also have plenty of opportunities to listen to elderly men and women talk about the wonderful days of yore, when soda pop cost five cents and everyone bathed in Tupperware, because like hell they could afford a shower head.
"I was here," one old man might say, "when men were men and women were women." To which you will reply, "And which one were you?" because you have no respect for your elders who do so much for you such as taking precious time out of their busy days of watching "Judge Judy" just to tell you how much soda pop used to cost.
You will have plenty of time to atone for your disrespect, though, because tailgates usually begin four to eight days before the game. This is because, as the old Yiddish saying goes, you must wait 30 minutes after eating to cheer. Otherwise you will throw up, and although vomit on somebody's sweaty shirt won't be too noticeable, this is not a great way to make friends. Unless, of course, the person you vomit on is from another school; in that case you'll be asked to be the school's new mascot.
Just like the first Thanksgiving, tailgates also bring together rivals who would normally try to rip off each other's scalps. For instance, the last time we played Maryland at home, our tailgate invited over some lone Terrapin fans. We ate, we laughed and a good time was had by all. And just like the first Thanksgiving, we afterwards chased them away with our horses and hamburger prongs.
And how can one not enjoy the tailgate debates that seem to last approximately the entire Mayan calendar about who is going to win? For example, here is a conversation from a recent tailgate:
Tailgater #1: I think U.Va. is going to win.
Tailgater #2: Me too.
Tailgater #3: Me three.
Tailgater #1: Tailgater #3, that was a bad pun. Go sit in the corner.
I've found that everyone always thinks his school will win. Call it wishful thinking, team loyalty or having a brain the size of an earplug, but it's the truth. Sure, there's always that guy who says something like, "But we haven't won one game, and our opponents are number one!" This apostasy usually leads to the person being kicked out of school. I think it's against the honor code to say stuff like that.
So if you've never been to a tailgate, attend one! Even if you don't have tickets, just walk around dumpsters until you find a tailgater sleeping. Take his clothes and ticket and walk over to his tailgate. If it's late enough, chances are nobody will notice you aren't him. Or, more likely, they will be too busy eating the lamb chop cheesecake to care.
Chris's column runs Mondays. He can be reached at shuptrine@cavalierdaily.com.
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