The Legend Of The Vest

Football season is upon us, which means that thousands of angry, horny, feisty pretend fans will converge upon this great nation's red cup-littered parking lots to participate in traditional tailgating revelry. These are not those stories

This series will run on MONDAYS this year. Again, consult the initial post if you'd like to help us out with this.

ONE:

The following isn't your typical FAILgate story. It doesn't involve cops, fights, trips to the drunk tank, or wang exposure to the innocent (at least that we were aware of). It's a story about a man and his hair-color-matching vest.

It was February 2006, about a dozen friends and I had descended upon the parking lots of Lambeau Field for a truly epic sporting event. Our beloved Wisconsin Badger hockey team was taking on the Ohio State Buckeyes in the first ever hockey game at Lambeau. We knew that a certain level of intoxication must be achieved to watch outdoor hockey in Green Bay that time of year, so we arrived early for the afternoon puck-drop.

The tailgating scene was fantastic, and we quickly made friends with the other reasonably sized groups of Badger fans nearby. And then an hour or two into it, we saw him. He was wandering around our area, completely shit-canned, and he was dressed in layers, topped off by a vest that remarkably was the exact same color as his hair. At the time, that aspect for some reason was hysterical to most of us. Thinking he was with one of the other groups, we asked around only to discover nobody really knew who he was. Could it be? Had destiny placed him in our midst?

Not caring enough to know his actual name, he immediately adopted the nickname Vest (did I mention his vest was the same color as his hair?). And Vest meant fucking business as he decided to impress us with his beer slamming abilities. We formed a circle around Vest, started a slow clap, and began to chant…

"Vest!...Vest!...Vest!..."

He ripped through that first PBR and triumphantly hurled the can one aisle over into a group of unsuspecting tailgaters, much to our delight. We suspect Vest might not have been drinking the entire can, as it doesn't seem there's any way one could throw an empty beer can that far. But I also didn't think a person could so perfectly match a vest to the color of his own hair.

Thinking he had done the job, Vest attempted to exit the circle. But we wanted more. The circle tightened as others gathered in, and someone tossed him another beer.

"Vest!...Vest!...Vest!..."

A group of probably 30 of us at this point were cheering on Vest as he continued to pound and hurl his somewhat empty beer cans with everything he had, miraculously not drawing the attention of cops who were patrolling the lot. This scene repeated itself for probably 5 total beers until Vest, clearly overcome by the enormity of his accomplishment, yacked all over the ground and himself.

The Legend Of The Vest

Presumably using the motto "to be the best, you gotta beat the best," a friend of ours challenged Vest to a series of Franzia-bongs. Because if you're going to consume Franzia, it had better at least be through a beer bong. The challenge was also issued through a sumo pose of sorts…..I remember it making perfect sense at the time.

After the two successfully completed a few Franzia-bongs, Vest was gone just like that. Off to where, who knew? Well, we didn't know at the time, but now have an idea. After the weekend when I uploaded my pictures, I noticed something about Vest that a lot of us somehow had missed while we were in his presence; Vest was wearing a press pass, as you can see in the previous picture. Had we been blinded by the vest? Possibly. Either way, this leads one to believe that Vest had left our tailgate to head into the stadium with soaked clothes while reeking of PBR, Doritos, and stomach acid, and drunk off his ass to perform a job, one which he possibly had to interact with other people. Vest was clearly not about to let a job get in the way of a good tailgate, and for that he deserves the utmost respect.

The legend of Vest has lived on amongst our group of friends, as we frequently reminisce that glorious day. Roughly a year later, we heard a story about a writer for a Badger sports website who showed up at a Badger road football game to cover the game and ended up getting kicked out of the press box because he was wasted, argumentative with other reporters, and passed out during the 2nd quarter. Could this have been Vest? Who knows...maybe that's just how he rolls? Frankly I'm not sure I even want to know. I'm perfectly content remembering him as the mystery man who inspired dozens that frigid afternoon with his grit, his determination, and his exuberance. And also his vest.

The Legend Of The Vest

TWO:

USC doesn't typically start games at seven fifteen (7:15) Pacific time. It's just disrespectful. We don't go later than five p.m. EVER. Today was an exception, so when the tailgate occurred (which typically starts at one (double parentheses 1) or two (double parentheses again, 2) and went until kickoff, I felt like the end of the first quarter was halftime. This guy, however, felt like he got hit by a Taylor Mays full of vodka. Take a gander:

There's even a finger pointing at his epic failgateness. There's a puddle of drool/alcohol spilling from his body. But this only culminated his day of alcohol consumption:

Mr. Blackout not only spent his morning/afternoon pounding hard A, but found a cozy spot next to Tommy Trojan to nap the game away. What occured right before the passout was the epic part of this tory. Fulfilling his role as THE incoherent drunk, yet entertaining, fellow, we decided to bribe him 50 bucks to go and seduce the best milf next our spot. He obliged with out hesitation and found this disgusting cougar from washington. But instead of using his mouth to spit game or lick her, as promised, he used her as a kickstand for three seconds before vomiting right down her top.

As she sprinted down Trousdale to the nearest bathroom, he was showered with chants of "PUSSY," (why this has to do with vomiting on a chick's cleavage, I have no idea) followed by his stumbling onto the nearest steps across from Tommy Trojan, falling into a drunken slumber and subsequent drooling.

Nobody ponied up the Grant bill, and the USC Department of Public Safety escorted him to his residence on frat row. He's now a legend, just like Matt Barkley but with a slightly less positive connotation.

The Legend Of The Vest



THREE:

In October 2001, I was leaving Foxboro Stadium after a New England Patriots game had ended, and thousands of fans were pouring out of the stadium and onto the street. For those of you on the interwebs not familiar with the Foxboro, Massachusetts area, after games local police rope off the sidewalks and force people to cross the street at certain spots. At least they did at the time. Now that it is Gillette Stadium/Patriot Place they may have ramps constructed over the road...

But one particularly drunk fan was determined to meander where he felt like it – ropes be damned. Approximately 35-years-old, he was clearly stumbling with his shirt completely unbuttoned to offer a better view of his happy trail-covered beer gut. My memory may be wrong on this, but in my head he will forever look like Zack Galifianakis from "The Hangover".

Without any friends to help him (my guess is they abandoned him) a horse–mounted police officer approached the man and asked him to go back under the rope and onto the sidewalk. The man refused, of course, and kept walking in the street. The officer followed him and once again ordered him to get back behind the ropes.

At this point, the man turned around and had a very natural reaction any well-balanced, sober person would have: he reeled back and cowboy punched the horse in the face. Punched. A horse. In the face.

The horse, to put it mildly, freaked the fuck out. The cop half fell off, half jumped off the horse while trying to grab the drunk at the same time. He managed to tear the man's shirt off as he fell, and the horse-puncher wiggled free and bolted down the street. But he didn't make it far.

Maybe it was the post-9/11 feelings about police. Maybe everybody assumed this guy was not a Pats fan. Or maybe people just seem to freaking love horses (see: Barbaro). But the fans definitely stepped up in a true act of…Patriotism? Heroism? Hilariousism? First, an older, bearded gentleman (think Gorton's Fisherman) ducked the ropes and basically dove in front of the man to trip him. As the man went flying to the ground, three or four equally drunk men tackled him. While the cop and a couple of bystanders wrangled the horse and calmed it down, these men held the now shirtless man down with a knee to the back and repeatedly bashed/smooshed his face and chest into the pavement. Not hard enough to kill him, just enough to say "hey guy, what in the sweet Jesus god is wrong with you that you would punch a horse."

The cop finally came over and arrested him, and the other fans, some would argue heroes, disappeared back to the crowd. My only hope is that the guy was charged with assaulting a police officer.


FOUR:

I was completing my final semester of college at Western Illinois in the fall of 2006, a school that has a good party rep. I was working on a live remote for the campus radio station during a tailgate before a Leatherneck game one fall morning, which consisted of handing out cups and other station swag to buzzed/drunk college kids. A truck had pulled up next to our spot and the guys and gals were having a merry ol' time with alcohol and our swag.

Also occurring on this day, the local Boy Scout troop was walking around the tailgate to promote fire safety or something like that. After a couple hours into the tailgate, one of the youngsters walked by our area, and one of the guys in the truck thrust a can of beer in front of the Boy Scout, urging him to chug it.

The Boy Scout (assuming that he was around 12 years old) proudly took the can and started chugging it. Unfortunately, he was chugging it right in front of a cop. The Boy Scout was dragged away, the tailgaters in the truck were subdued, and had to leave the party.

It was one of the funniest moments I had tailgating that year.

Attention tailgaters. It's a long season so please help us with this project and send along any and all shady stories, ridiculous videos, and photos from your tailgating experiences from this season. Or last season. Or 1952. Just make it funny/sad/gross/shocking. Email to tips@deadspin.com. Subject: FAILgate