Saturday: Part III
1:30 p.m.: The long trek towards the Stadium has begun. Every man gets three beers for the road: one for each pocket and one for the hand. Sunglasses and a hat hide obviously blood-shot eyes, but the smell and the stumble gives away our horribly drunken demeanor. It is very likely we'll fail to consume all secret beers on the way to the Stadium, but they make great bartering items for food, a mixed drink, or just a smile from a cute girl.
1:45 p.m.: Stop briefly for a picture with the St. Joseph’s County mounted patrol. The deputy can’t tell, but the horse looks at us a little funny. He can smell the booze, and stamps his hoofs in disapproval. We also make the pilgrimage to Senior Bar, which looks roughly like you would imagine downtown Baghdad did after the first wave of cruise missiles rained down at the start of Operation Desert Storm. Dead beer cases, muddy pools of beer, ice, and only the Lord knows what. Friends are lying in heaps amongst the rubble, in SUV back-seats, and folding chairs and grassy medians, trying desperately to rally and make it inside the stadium. We leave these brave soldiers behind--onward to victory!
2:00 p.m.: Arrive casually late at the game--by the sounds of the PA Announcer and band, we've already scored. Smile widely (and stupidly) at the kindly old men guarding the entrance. The gate Nazis catch the beer Spider had in his front pocket, but not the one stored cleverly under his Irish wig and hat. The men's bathroom in all their urine-stained glory is an essential stop, and the long troughs are a sight for sore eyes. Upon exiting, the eyes meet those of an old flame at a nearby concession stand, but she hustles away much to our amusement. See another random SYR conquest and strike up some drunken smack-talk. Turns out she’s not too mad about the 4am fire drill--"sh*t happens!"--and she offers a sip of her coke. Take a hearty pull- yep, bourbon. Despite the psychotic antics a month prior and her insistence that going shopping with her was more important than the kegger at Lafayette, she’s looking good and a promise is made to call.
2:30 p.m.: Finally find Kevin, donning his cut-off sweater and the big wide grin of a drunken Irishman, just before halftime. Some guy you remember from CORE didn’t think a nipple twist from Kevin was funny, and continues to stare at him as we traverse the tunnel and emerge into blessed Notre Dame Stadium. The ushers are eying Kevin and the crew as we take our seats, but Kevin is eying one of their yellow jackets left unattended under a bleacher. Since we arrived “a little after kick off” we’re way up at the top of the student section. No one thinks Bob Davie is cool, and as usual, we just root for this football team. A challenging game of "Down secret beers, sprint down fifty rows of bleachers to the restroom, and try to return to the correct row" begins ad nauseum. Realize it is way too early to be this tired.
3:15 p.m.: Another TV time-out. Out of the blue--carpe diem!--Kevin ducks off the bleacher and snatches one of the yellow jackets. Everyone is shocked and totally impressed. He disappears with a hapless, jacketless usher in pursuit. During the calamity, several rows of students topple forward onto one another. We observe from our kingly perch on high with much satisfaction.
4:00 p.m.: The sun has made everyone tired, it’s third quarter, and the game is going well. Joey and Tony decide to call it quits. On the way out of the stadium, Kevin is walking back. He needed to turn in the car keys he found in the pocket of the usher jacket to lost and found. Joey and Tony swing past Senior Bar. They spy a huge blue banner hanging near the entrance to the back yard “Welcome Notre Dame MBAs.” Bo, our Engineeering/Business school roomate, will totally love this! But how can we snatch it without getting caught? Joey calmly rattles off the bold solution, “Just act like we own the place and are supposed to be taking it, fold it and walk off..” Done.
4:25 p.m.: Return to the Donkey with our new treasure. Pitch it in a corner, turn down the noise from the game on TV, polish off the warm half-beer on the coffee-table, kick off the grody tennis shoes and sprawl out on the couch. Eventually all sound fades, and darkness and blessed, blesssed sleep soon cause the day to slip into night.
To be concluded....
1:45 p.m.: Stop briefly for a picture with the St. Joseph’s County mounted patrol. The deputy can’t tell, but the horse looks at us a little funny. He can smell the booze, and stamps his hoofs in disapproval. We also make the pilgrimage to Senior Bar, which looks roughly like you would imagine downtown Baghdad did after the first wave of cruise missiles rained down at the start of Operation Desert Storm. Dead beer cases, muddy pools of beer, ice, and only the Lord knows what. Friends are lying in heaps amongst the rubble, in SUV back-seats, and folding chairs and grassy medians, trying desperately to rally and make it inside the stadium. We leave these brave soldiers behind--onward to victory!
2:00 p.m.: Arrive casually late at the game--by the sounds of the PA Announcer and band, we've already scored. Smile widely (and stupidly) at the kindly old men guarding the entrance. The gate Nazis catch the beer Spider had in his front pocket, but not the one stored cleverly under his Irish wig and hat. The men's bathroom in all their urine-stained glory is an essential stop, and the long troughs are a sight for sore eyes. Upon exiting, the eyes meet those of an old flame at a nearby concession stand, but she hustles away much to our amusement. See another random SYR conquest and strike up some drunken smack-talk. Turns out she’s not too mad about the 4am fire drill--"sh*t happens!"--and she offers a sip of her coke. Take a hearty pull- yep, bourbon. Despite the psychotic antics a month prior and her insistence that going shopping with her was more important than the kegger at Lafayette, she’s looking good and a promise is made to call.
2:30 p.m.: Finally find Kevin, donning his cut-off sweater and the big wide grin of a drunken Irishman, just before halftime. Some guy you remember from CORE didn’t think a nipple twist from Kevin was funny, and continues to stare at him as we traverse the tunnel and emerge into blessed Notre Dame Stadium. The ushers are eying Kevin and the crew as we take our seats, but Kevin is eying one of their yellow jackets left unattended under a bleacher. Since we arrived “a little after kick off” we’re way up at the top of the student section. No one thinks Bob Davie is cool, and as usual, we just root for this football team. A challenging game of "Down secret beers, sprint down fifty rows of bleachers to the restroom, and try to return to the correct row" begins ad nauseum. Realize it is way too early to be this tired.
3:15 p.m.: Another TV time-out. Out of the blue--carpe diem!--Kevin ducks off the bleacher and snatches one of the yellow jackets. Everyone is shocked and totally impressed. He disappears with a hapless, jacketless usher in pursuit. During the calamity, several rows of students topple forward onto one another. We observe from our kingly perch on high with much satisfaction.
4:00 p.m.: The sun has made everyone tired, it’s third quarter, and the game is going well. Joey and Tony decide to call it quits. On the way out of the stadium, Kevin is walking back. He needed to turn in the car keys he found in the pocket of the usher jacket to lost and found. Joey and Tony swing past Senior Bar. They spy a huge blue banner hanging near the entrance to the back yard “Welcome Notre Dame MBAs.” Bo, our Engineeering/Business school roomate, will totally love this! But how can we snatch it without getting caught? Joey calmly rattles off the bold solution, “Just act like we own the place and are supposed to be taking it, fold it and walk off..” Done.
4:25 p.m.: Return to the Donkey with our new treasure. Pitch it in a corner, turn down the noise from the game on TV, polish off the warm half-beer on the coffee-table, kick off the grody tennis shoes and sprawl out on the couch. Eventually all sound fades, and darkness and blessed, blesssed sleep soon cause the day to slip into night.
To be concluded....
tale spun by Cherith Cutestory at 2:23 PM
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