Saturday: Part I

[Author's Note: The following entry is the first part of the final post in a series of a semi-autobiographical diary entries which seeks to capture the spirit of a typical Thursday thru Sunday weekend during senior year at the University of Notre Dame. For entertainment purposes, we purposefully omit any mention that this gameday occured during the Davie Era. -JPL]

7:30 a.m: The sun has been shining down from a beautiful, cloudless South Bend sky for a couple hours. Nearly everyone made it back to their beds at some point in the dead of night. Somewhere upstairs, an alarm clock sounds, and it’s like a hammer pounding the brains of every roommate in listening distance. No matter how much you mentally prepared for it the night before, the actuality of the hour and amount of sleep are scary. But courage is needed now, at this early hour; dozens of Fighting Irish denizens are depending on our actions this early morning. Roll over and stand up out of bed, whereupon a hangover drops like an anvil which threatens to split the forehead wide open. In a fog, locate some mesh shorts, a cut off T shirt and running shoes. No time for pain--it’s go time. Only have a few more home games left, and each one must count. But just for good measure, grab a handful of Aleve and a full cup of water and wash both down.

7:45 a.m.: Bo is also awake and has made his way upstairs, whereupon he and Tony discuss how best to integrate the sleepover “houseguests” into the morning’s game plan. There is much to be done, which will require a team effort: load the truck, buy ice, clean up the Solo cups and broken furniture in the front yard, start breakfast, get sober, then get drunk, and bring the living room into some kind of working order. And freakin’ Spider is still asleep!! Bo fixes that by loading in the CD player the Band of the Fighting Irish, and the opening trumpet blast of the Notre Dame Fight Song shakes the Donkey to its rickety foundation. Joey and Kate trudge upstairs looking the worse for wear, whereupon Joey publicly declares for the third time this school year that he “is never drinking again” Kate is quite the trooper, and she is amazed at the housemates’ attempts at organization despite last night’s revelry. From the basement, Spider bellows a “whooooo!” from inside his bedroom. Finally, the morning can begin.

8:00 a.m.: The crowd needing a ride to main circle, College Park or St Mary’s walks into the front yard and surveys the site of last night’s triumphant destruction. There are dead, dented kegs and shards of broken Solo cups floating in giant beer puddles. There are three (formerly four) legged tables, various articles of stained clothing, and muddy footprints in memory of the hundreds that stormed these yards just eight hours earlier. And behold! The Cups table is still intact, standing fast like the Star-Spangled Banner through the chaos of Margaritaville. Alas, it must be taken down and transported to the tailgate, but not until Kegs and Eggs is over.

8:15 a.m.: As the houseguests load into Bo’s luxury cruiser, Tony readies the truck, as it must be pre-staged in order to secure a prime spot near the radio tower, and the earlier the better. Joey and Tony hoist the last of the essentials into the truck bed: cases of Busch Light, the back-up grill, keg tub, table, a few chairs, the cooler and a cardboard box full of Mad Dog 20/20s. Before departing for the soccer fields with Bo driving chase in the van, Tony hollers downstairs at Spider, still lingering in the basement dungeon, to remember to add milk to the eggs to achieve maximum fluffiness. Only the best for the regulars at our Kegs and Eggs. As the vehicles rumble through the alley, a brief discussion is held wondering whether Spider’s “guest” is not included in the transportation plan, but it is decided that the group is already a few minutes behind schedule, so she’ll have to fend for herself. The soccer fields await.

8:30 a.m.: Joey beings the unenviable task of cleaning up the Donkey, but notices quickly that Spider has not emerged from his den of filth. He ventures downstairs to see if he cannot speed up the process of waking the dead. Spider’s room still closed. Joey tries a subtle approach initially, calling in his best falsetto, “Spidey, big boy, come on out.” After no evidence of stirring, and after apologizing in advance to Spider’s guest, his patience is spent and he pounds on the door as hard as possible and screams “ALRIGHT F*CKER, GET UP NOW! You have to make the pancakes!” Logic overcomes lust and lethargy, and Spider finally crawls from his lair. His companion, disheveled hair and all, makes an appearance in the kitchen a few minutes later. Spider gets the ingredients together and kisses her on the forehead after telling her he doesn’t have time to drive her home. The second she leaves in a cab, the house fills with a horrible smell. It’s been pent up all night; Spider is dispatched to the shower post haste.

9:15 a.m.: Bo and Tony arrive back at the Donkey after establishing the forward command post at the radio tower and taxiing folks all over St. Joseph county. Time for the final preparations, the guests will be arriving soon, clean but hungover and in search of sustenance. Joey has the house “almost spotless” (i.e., there is no more rotting food or stale beer in the middle of the floor, and the barf and blood stains have either been wiped up or cleverly concealed from public view). Everyone still laments the fact that they are hungover, but Joey decides that it is time to kill the ache with some thumping of our own, and the Notre Dame band is cranked to maximum decibels. Spider lets out another “WOOOOOO!!!!” Who’s got time for a hangover—this is game day!

9:30 a.m.: Music is blaring; the sausage and bacon are frying and the biscuits in the oven. Today is a special Kegs and Eggs, as parents are in town. We make sure to hide the red CD after last night’s chicanery--we had a close call with Kevin’s parents at a tailgater the week prior. Most of the parents are cool, but we need to not look like idiots today. With most of the physical work behind us, we get dressed in our Saturday’s finest. Crappy jeans, a ND t shirt, but not “The Shirt” (because this year’s sucks), and a complement of hat and sunglasses.

9:45 a.m.: The regulars arrive fresh from Campus, some of which only left the Donkey an hour earlier. It must be nice to wake up a half an hour prior. We say hello even though we said goodnight just hours earlier. Kevin is his usual surly self, and he has a bottle tucked in his pocket. He’s wearing a t-shirt sporting the opposing team’s mascot name, which he has artfully adorned with the word “SUX” spray painted across the midsection. Parents follow a few minutes later, with Mr. Plummer remarking that we nearly did him in last night and asking for water. The moms are very impressed with our spread, and even more impressed at Spider’s ability to flip manhole-sized pancakes in the skillet. Tony’s little brother Jon and another youngster show up and start looking for ways to squirrel away some beer, and Kevin obliges them by stuffing two warm Natty Light roadies in their coat pockets. Pancakes and beer for everybody, the breakfast of champions!

10:15 a.m.: Kegs and Eggs has been going full tilt for the last half-hour, and several rounds of cups are played with full parental participation, but the party is now starting to wind down. The “breakfast only” crew has already started walking to campus and the parents are off to see the Band at the steps of the Golden Dome. The paper plates and left over eggs are in the trash can, and the last of Spider’s skillet-sized pancakes are tossed away. The biscuit gravy is almost solid. Bo declares the need for a porch beer, and we head out front for a bit of calm. Suddenly, screams of terror permeate the air. Kevin has either 1 of 3 or 2 of 3 backed into a corner with a cup of beer over her head. She looks for help, but Kevin explains the offense. We all side with Kev on this one, and he pours some over her head. She smacks him, but with a big grin. Time to load up the van and get to campus to begin the tailgate festivities.