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.
I'm a Senior at the University of Arizona, which prohibits me from participating in failgate 09 for one reason; this story includes events from various games because we lost them all anyway and who the fuck can remember the difference when you're watching the U of A play football (our greatest achievement of the decade is the Vegas Bowl). Three quarters of the "zona zoo" leaves at half time ‘cus they start to sober up and realize what horseshit they're watching. Whatever, all this shit actually happened at a game we'll just call the Mike Stoops era.
Because we were playing ASU we decided to start drinking at 10 in the morning ‘cus we were freshman idiots and it was a good idea (after all, the fucking territorial cup was on the line). By the time the game rolls around our friend from ASU is drunk enough to not be making any sense yet pansy enough to wear a U of A shirt to the game. Halfway through the first quarter he starts pissing in a cup and fills it to the brim right in the middle of the "zoo". No one seems to notice and or give a shit. Five minutes later, the cup is inevitably spilled onto the row ahead of us. We apologize to the people it may have gotten on, who had luckily replaced the ones who were sitting there earlier and definitely got dip spit on. We wipe it up with pansy's ASU shirt, which gives him some sort of regenerative power. Puss-devil takes the piss soaked ASU shirt, tries to start a "Fuck the Devils" chant, and throws the shirt about ten rows ahead. The Zoo is fucking inspired by this. The guy who catches the shirt proceeds to tear the shirt in two, and toss both pieces in different directions starting an unstoppable piss-shirt-rippin'-rally. By the time all's said and done, the shirt is in about ten pieces all across the zoo, and the crowd is going nuts.
I go to take a piss and coming out of the bathroom, who do I see? David fucking Hasselhoff. He's walking towards me escorted by two security guards, but he's at least as trashed as I am, so I throw a hand in his direction and ask the Hoff for some love. Naturally, he obliges with a raucous "GO CATS" and a hardy high-five. I didn't J.O. with that hand for a week.
Wilbur (our mascot) then decides it's a good idea to crowd-surf up the zoo. When he gets to our section one friend starts tearing at his hat (which is attached to the costume) screaming, "gimme the sombrero you little fuck or I'm gonna rape Wilma", while another attempts to cornhole our beloved mascot. Come to think of it I'm pretty sure it was the same guy.
At this point, we're playing the UNM Lobos, a team that is theoretically a lot shittier. They're handing it to us with their second string QB. A bunch of our friends are from New Mexico, and we're tired of watching the Wildcats lose to terrible teams, so we join in on their "everyones a lobo, woof, woof, woof" chant. Everyone around is just generally confused as to why a bunch of people in Wildcat gear are doing this. Having seen enough, we walk out yelling, "leaving the game early, look at these guys", adding to people's general confusion as to just what the fuck we were doing there anyway. Just as I start wondering this myself, I see two girls dual-yacking in one trash can at the same time. Coincidentally, this dually justifies both my attendance of the game and decision to go to the U of A. And oh yeah, puss-devil now goes to U of A, and looks like this. (Up above)
Hey Daulerio, I have a FAILgate story I'd like to share. Speaking of underage drinking (i.e. the Boy Scout story), when I was 15 (maybe 16), I dated this 18 year old loser and he decided to take me, my best friend & his buddy to a game at Three Rivers Stadium. The best part of said loser was that he could buy alcohol, so he bought the girls wine coolers and the guys beer. My friend and I drank the sh** out of those Bartles n Jaymes drinks, while shelling and eating peanuts. Since we were so young (!), our tolerance was non-existent, so we were wasted when we got to the game. I was sitting in my seat and I felt sick, so I urgently told my friend, "I have to go to the bathroom, come with me", to which her drunk a** responded, "in a minute!" Okay, fine. I then proceeded to barf all over the guy in front of me (on his jacket). I mean, he was COVERED in pink vomit mixed with chunks of peanuts. My bimbo friend was all "Uh, okay, let's go to the bathroom now" (gee thanks!), so we left to clean up. The kicker about all of this was that the dude that I puked on never turned around to notice I had ralphed on him. The people behind us were laughing so hard, but he never knew what was going on. Needless to say, we beat a hasty exit to the door and left before he realized he had someone else's puke on his jacket. To this day, I cannot stand the smell or sight of wine coolers; get me within 5 feet of those evil things and I start having flashbacks of this awful day.
A series of events contributed to this particular FAILgate, events in which the principals go unpunished, except for a relatively innocent bystander.
The morning after Halloween in East Lansing was a perfect day for the UM-MSU tailgate, and my crew embarked upon it in costumed grandeur. Having little ambition due to being drunk the night before, my costume consited of a hockey mask. My hearty companions dressed up as Uncle Sam, a sperm, and a penis.
Our journey to the tailgating area inexplicably was without interference from law enforcement. As large crowds, including several police officers, passed in front of our prime partying spot on Grand River Ave, I proceeded to chug several beers through my hockey mask. This was much to the amusement of passing crowds, especially when I proceded to barf with my hockey mask still in place, creating an odd "sieving" effect. Despite gross distrubance of the peace, the police seemed preoccupied with crowd control.
We soon starting walking toward the tailgate, at one point passing a homeless fellow who happened to have a perfectly functional, albeit soiled, paper towel. Having puke all over my person, I made a fairly large deal out of purchasing this paper towel for $3, which got a cheer from the younger members of the crowd (older members who I assume were alumni, were not as amused).
Which brings us to the penis and sperm. In the meantime, sperm (dressed in all white with white extension cord hanging out of the ass to signify "motility") had to take a piss, right on the MSU student union. The penis, sensing a prime burn opportunity, speared the peeing sperm into the building and bushes, getting much attention and cheering from the crowd. The sperm, having richocheted off the brick facade, was bloodied in several places. This led to many people to believe that sperm was actually dressed as a used tampon the rest of the day. However, this assault still did not get the attention of police, still preoccupied with crowd control.
The "piss spearing" had a profound effect on Uncle Sam, and he refused to piss the rest of the walk. Having recently been busted for minor in possession of alcohol, he wished to maintain a low profile and avoid law enforcement as much as possible.
When we finally got to the tailgate, much attention was given to our entrance thanks to being accompanied by a 5 and a half foot bloody playtex plug. Uncle Sam seized the opportunity and ran into the woods to relieve himself. However, he somehow pissed no less than 20 feet from a sheriff's deputy, causing him to be detained for urination in public. Due to his recent legal troubles, he was detained at the county lockup.
Having no sober friends or relatives within 100 miles, Uncle Sam had to wait until the next day to be picked up from jail, still in full costume. Coincidentially, me and the penis scored student section tickets for $20, and penis pissed in the middle of the student section in the 2nd quarter.
Yes, I suppose I have now been outed as a FAILgater myself. As I long ago lost whatever dignity I may have had, much of it on this very website, I suppose there's no harm in sharing the story with the world.
Kansas (of course) was playing at Missouri for the final game of the 2004 season. Both teams were suffering through sub-.500 seasons as was their wont at the time. A bunch of my college friends and I decided to meet up in Columbia - some friends now lived in St. Louis, others in Kansas City, and Columbia was a good midpoint -for the game to see our Jayhawks. We parked outside the stadium on some sort of frontage road...Columbia's tailgate setup isn't exactly charming, but it gets the job done. One of our friends brought along a big bottle of Crown Royal, of which I drank the majority. There may have been other booze involved, but all I can really remember is Hallas' bigass bottle of Crown. Or hell, maybe it was something else. In any case, it got me drunk.
When I was younger (i.e., five years ago), I had an annoying habit of wandering when drunk. This game was no exception. I left our seats near the endzone and spent a good majority of the game wandering around the stadium, making slurred small talk with anyone who could put up with me. In my drunken travels, I stumbled upon the section reserved for friends and family of KU's players. As there were some open spots, I invited myself in, sat down, and started talking with a very nice middle-aged woman who were kind enough to not punch me in the face. As it turns out, it was the mother of KU (and former Minnesota Vikings) cornerback Charles Gordon. We chatted about her son, California (where she lived) and any number of other pointless topics. We discussed meeting up after the game for drinks and celebrating the Kansas season, and somehow I ended up with the cellphone number of KU's star player written on the back of my ticket stub.
I was pretty pleased with myself so I continued my wandering, thrilled that Kansas was running away with the game and that I had made a new friend. Beaming with pride, I started back towards my actual section, and promptly lost my balance, fell down about 10 rows of stadium stairs in full view of thousands of Missouri fans, and knocked out a tooth. Bruised, bloody, but drunk enough that embarrassment didn't even enter the picture, I managed to make it back to my friends. That's the last thing I remember until I woke up in my bed the next morning. Charles Gordon's mom was nowhere to be found.— Pete Gaines
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 firstname.lastname@example.org. Subject: FAILgate