So here is the final FAILgate for this year, replete with a voting poll where you, Deadspin nation, will get to decide which lucky individual walks home with the coveted "Deadspin Prize Pack."

Below you'll find the winners from each week of FAILgate. Read them over again (if you'd like) or just start pressing buttons in the section below. Vote for your favorite number, if your brain is too cloudy to make a well-informed decision.

The winner will receive:

*A box full of sports books and other assorted items, like, food and stuff.

Yay! Read and vote.


Freshman year at Auburn University. I had just started drinking heavily, and did so the night before the LSU game. We're out tailgating near the stadium. Not being familiar with the beer shits that follow binge drinking, I attempted a fart. But it came out wet and I notice the beershits trickling out of my shorts. So I make some BS excuse and take off sprinting towards the dorm to change pants. But I run behind a Jeep and directly into the bike rack hanging off the spare tire. I was clotheslined like Bradshaw had ran by and was flat on my back. With shit in my pants. My friends are laughing their ass off, but they still don't know why I was running so hard. It was because I had shit my pants. FAILGATE. Auburn won btw. Thank God I am not superstitious.



When my group of friends were in college (roughly 2003-2007) at the University of Tennessee, we always represented ourselves well at tailgates. And by well, I mean we showcased drunken behavior that bordered on total disregard for any laws or code of ethics that exist in today's modern society.

However, for some reason our tailgates at away games were generally much more out of control and produced downright criminal behavior. One particular trip that stands out is a voyage we made down to UGA for the UT-Georgia game in 2006. There are several hilarious stories from this particular weekend, however the one that gets brought up most went something like this.


On this particular day, our friend [Redacted] was quite possibly the most inebriated human in Athens, GA. [Redacted] had downed what was being reported as "close to a handle of gin" by noon or so. Kick-off was around 8 p.m. that night. Long story short, everyone at the tailgate is fully aware of [Redacted]'s drunken state.

The kid has fallen down several times (as evident by his dirty...are those white jeans?) and is a total mess. Our friend [Redacted], in the navy hat decides to openly mock him in front of the entire tailgate for being so drunk.


[Redacted] defends himself by doing the only logical thing in his mind at that point; passionately kissing him on the mouth in front of nearly 100 close friends, attractive women, and total strangers.


The following pictures capture the moment incredibly well...[Redacted] is knocked down by a blow from [Redacted] and helped up to his feet. Meanwhile, [Redcacted] spits repetitively in disgust, then realizes that the forceful nature of a man on man kiss has destroyed his Ray Bans. He is then consoled by a good friend and announces to the tailgate that [Redacted] is "a lousy fucking kisser."

On a side note, [Redacted] later is taken to the hospital by a friend for alcohol poisoning. The friend is asked by the nurses in Athens if he "can get his friend to stop using so much loud profanity and being so uncooperative." [Redacted] is later seen holding a beer at a bar in a near catatonic state, hospital bracelet on wrist.


*names redacted because people don't want to get fired.


My friend Dominic is a short, stocky, proud Italian with a short temper. One might say he has a case of small-man syndrome (hates everyone because they are taller than him). Dominic also has the inability to control his drunk. This story happens the weekend of last years Mizzou-Illinois game in St. Louis. Right before we leave Columbia he proudly announces that he doesn't plan on drinking that much...which we all knew was a lie. We reach St. Louis and meet up with my other friend Mark's family at their hotel near the Edward Jones Dome. After pregaming in the hotel and all of us taking our fair share of shots we were ready to head to the tailgate. At this point Dominic was already in a great mood, yelling at any and every Illinois fan in sight, no women or children were spared. To one Illinois mother and child he bellowed "You were born into the wrong fucking family baby!" To an elderly Illinois man, in his best Macho Man Randy Savage voice he yells "Illinois is going DOWN!!, THE WHOLE FUCKING STATE".


By the time we got to the tailgate the pregaming had kicked in (for everyone else anyway) and everyone was in full throttle drinking mode including parents and family friends. Shotgunning beers, Petron shots and boxing with MMA fighters in the gravel parking lot. After seeing Dominic posted up casually on the side of a truck, shitfaced, taking in the scenery with his penis hanging out of the crotch of his pants I knew it would be an eventful day.

It was time to go into the game and Dominic cannot walk. Luckily an ex-Mizzou alum Dominic had made friends with earlier (he was also Italian and Italians love talking about being Italian) was kind enough to throw him over his shoulder and slump his lifeless body to the stadium for us. After being refused at multiple gates, it was time for Plan B because we obviously weren't getting into the game. So we flagged a cab and threw Dominic in and took him back to Mark's car we left in a parking garage a few blocks away. There wasn't much life left in Dominic but he put up quite the fight and was determined get to the game that we had voluntarily abandoned for him already. We put him in the back of Mark's car hoping he would just pass out but to no avail. None of us wanted to babysit Dominic so we did the rational thing and stuck him in the back with the child locks on. Thinking that we had this problem taken care of we headed into the game. How naive we were.

Around half time our friend Bones (nickname from HS) gets a phone call, who else could it be but two Jamaican security guards, "Bones? Bones? Tis dis Bones? We found your friend Big Sexy, we have Big Sexy" (Dominic has a tattoo on his ass that says "Big Sexy" in the Italian colors of green, white, and red...I told you he is a very proud man). Bones leaves the game to go see what the hell was going on. He finds Dominic puking outside the parking garage with the two security guards. It turns out that Dominic had been found face down on the concrete in the middle of the parking garage (a floor down from the car at that), pants (and boxers) around his ankles, dick on the pavement, and had shat himself. Quite the mess. But Dominic still had one more trick up his sleeve. We walked back to the car and Mark erupts into anger "What the fuck?! What the fuck!!" There was glass all over the ground near Mark's car because his back seat window had been knocked out. Mark takes the empty plastic liquor handle he was holding and slings it directly into Dominic's forehead then slams him to the ground. Dominic was so fucked up he thought he had gone into the game with everyone else and took a lot of convincing before he finally believed us. Dominic was pissed off about being in the car and not being able to get out so he kicked out the side window, fell out of the car, crawled to his feet, wandered down a level only to fall down pass out face first in the middle of the garage driveway with his dick out and his pants covered in shit. We still aren't sure why his dick was out. Now that, is a true fan.



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…



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.



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.


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.



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.



This fine young man was found in this state at about 8:45 a.m while tailgating for the annual Michigan-Michigan State game. A game which our friends in Ann Arbor would lead you to believe doesn't really matter, since MSU is not their rival. But I digress. Thousands of Walmart Wolverines descend on East Lansing every other year for this game. Every college-aged kid that knows someone enrolled at Michigan State will be making the trek to see how tailgating is really done, and with the hopes that they can participate in some couch burning or tear gas breathing. Year after year it never fails that hundreds, if not thousands of Chippewas, Cardinals, Bulldogs, Lakers, Broncos, Wolverines and the high school siblings of all of the above flock to East Lansing to participate.


Sometime around 8:00 am this young lad was seen stumbling around several tailgates, before coming to rest against a van. After an exchange with the owner of the vehicle, and some angry words from the young man's friend, the two stumbled away to drink more. Not 45 minutes later, after coming up for air from shotgunning a beer, my eyes were drawn to this young lad apparently sleeping on a van across the narrow parking lot from our tailgate tents.

Drawn to him like a bat to light (or is it moths?) several of us at our tailgate went to observe the beast in his natural habitat. After many pictures were snapped, including several onlookers posing next with him some semblance of humanity prevailed and someone called 911. Making their first run of the day, East Lansing's finest paramedics exited the vehicle saying only to us, "Is he a Michigan fan?"

After the young man was woken up by an onlooker just prior to the paramedics getting to him just 20 feet away, he tried to run, but apparently his brain did not tell his legs as he ate it and bloodied his nose against the van, all the while vomit trickling down his face and jacket. Some of it had even pooled in the folds of his excessively sagging pants. After the impromptu photo shoot the paramedics strapped him to the stretcher loaded him in the back and allowed MSU Police to write him his well deserved and hard earner Minor in Possession Ticket.



In 2006 (I believe) some friends who are big Michigan fans and myself, a UMiami supporter, decided out of their love of Michigan and my love of college football (and more importantly Miami having an off week) that we'd head north from our Southern Indiana command center and take in the annual pillowfight that is IU vs. Michigan.. We arrived Friday night, and with beers cracked at 5:30am Saturday we headed into Ann Arbor to find a spot to plant our flag. We set up shop between a drug store and a car wash in an empty grass lot that during football season doubles as a parking lot.

No sooner than the first member of our team finished a beer, we were set upon by bums. "Hey man, can I have that empty?" it became like clock work hordes of bums would circulate through the lot looking to help you offload some of those cumbersome aluminum cans.


As the morning wore on it occurred that we had been remiss in not bringing anything edible. I mean nothing in that van would serve as food. Luckily some guy had set up shop selling fried chicken. Being generally fat and most certainly drunk we ended up purchasing (conservative estimate) a combined 1,200 pieces of chicken. The mountain of bones that accumulated resembled that of the pirate piano ("Play the right note or we'll all b flat") in The Goonies. As is usually the case after we burned through a ton of beers, that bitch mother nature came a'calling. With the only option a port-a-potty a mile away, with a line just as long we had to find something better. We had arrived in a conversion van with instead of a sliding door, 2 doors that opened outwards. And when opened formed something like the dividers in a men's bathroom at the urinals. So we all took our turn filling up a McDonald's cup and dumping it out on the pile of chicken bones we had been piling up on the opposite side of the van.

We hit the game, returned to the van and found the van and found the pile of our urine soaked bones gone. "Maybe some community service kids were picking up trash or something?" this was quickly ruled out as our and everyone else's trash was still billowing throughout the lot. "Uh-oh man, check that out" we all turned in horror to see one bum after another gnawing on the bones we had been dumping our piss on for the better part of 7 hours.