What Will Happen at the Next Pants Party?

Aileen Gallagher is filling in as the Cultural Oddsmaker this week. Email her to let her know what you think.

Oooh, boy! Uncle Will went to a wedding this weekend to try to read John Donne poetry ("How do you pronounce his name," he asked, while doing a run-through last night.), and he's left Deadspin in most capable hands. Of course, those audacious hands of hope are a little busy today, so Cultural Oddsmaker is being sloughed off to the plebes. Full disclosure: I can't stand football; I can name only five players on the team I purportedly follow ("Let's go ... Mets?"); and the one competition I can speak about with some confidence is horseracing. But the most important disclaimer of all: I have been invited, but never attended, a Deadspin Pants Party.

The Newark Pants Party was announced yesterday. Seton Hall, a school I wasn't even aware was in New Jersey till it caught fire some years ago, is playing Louisville, a city I didn't realize had its own school (Go, not the University of Kentucky!). Now, when I go to horse races, I bring a flask, a six pack, and some fine sandwiches. I make notes in the Form, furl it as the horses enter the gate, and beat it on the track fence to accompany my screams, which are directed at an animal: "Come on (Number)! Come on, baby!" These moments are the most raucous of my year. In my head, Deadspin Pants Parties are similar. So this week I'm donning my "You're With Me, Leather" t-shirt; leaking a memo from my employer, ESPN; and placing odds on what will happen at the Deadspin Pants Party at Seton Hall.

Will Leitch will gladly accept your beers: 2/1 Here's a little secret: Will Leitch expenses the shit out of everything. (We all have the same accountant.) That trip he makes to take in a game with Deadspin readers? Write-off! You all spend your paychecks to get to the game, buy a hotdog and some beers. Deadspin provides everyone so much workday entertainment, why wouldn't you get that stubbly-fingered slave a brew? After all, he drinks Miller Light. Unless you're at Yankee Stadium, it can't cost that much. Your pal Will will gladly take it off your hands. In fact, you're so generous he can't keep up. Good thing he always wears that black T-shirt the spills don't leave a mark.

Some so-called New Yorker will get lost on the way: 1/3 "Mere steps from the Newark PATH Station!" claims organizer Rob Iracane, who I always confuse for a football player in my brother's high-school class named Rob Iacone. Oh please, Rob (Iracane). You're asking New Yorkers to swap transit systems in order to go to New Jersey for a recreational event. The people with cars will show up; the people coming from the city will claim some sort of train shenanigans. This is why Will never visits AJ in Philadelphia.

That Deadspin Guy will make everyone uncomfortable: Even Is that Barbaro I see at half-court? Oh wait, I think the popcorn vendor is Carl Monday, here to go undercover in my Pants Party! I had to get tested for the HIV last week, but I used a fake name: Don Uruguay! I'm going to pour tequila down this tan girl's throat like Ben Roethlisberger! Woo!

You won't remember to respond to your Commenter Name: 5/2 After a few beers with congenial strangers, it's tough to recall your actual name. Forget about that witty Deadspin moniker (Or not so witty; in my case, my once-used commenting name refers to my ancestral village in Ireland.) you barely know your own name. On the upside, this is the perfect time to have an affair.

That Commenter you like is a total jackass in real life: 14/1 The Internet is so deceptive, isn't it? You read these people's thoughts every day. You know their opinions better than your dad's. You're all amped to go to the Pants Party and meet this one commenter. And then you do and, after some perfunctory chatter, "Seton Hall, huh? So who'd you vote for for SHOTY?" you realize you'd rather be home raking leaves. Fortunately the guy in the row ahead of you is sitting next to Will and having the same experience. You lock eyes, and then go smoke a joint in the parking lot.