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.


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.



This story comes from East Lansing this past weekend during the Michigan v. Michigan State game. An enjoyable tailgate preceded a Spartan victory, and by most standards was a pretty good day up to that point. The most noteworthy event from the tailgate was a friend being ticketed for urinating in public. After the game a number of people post up at our friend's apartment to rest, eat, and watch the Tigers choke away the division. Around 6:30 the decision is made and drinking commences once again, while plans for the night are formulated. Around 8:30 we make our way to the bar, with plans to head to a party afterwards. At this point it is known to all that one of our friends is real messed when he accosts a bicyclist and challenges him to a fight for no apparent reason, liter of Rich and Rare in hand. The biker is pissed but knows better seeing 10 of us and his only his gay self on a bike. Some point during the trip the intoxicated fellow and a few others in our group meet up with some broad, while the rest of us go to bar.

Periodically through the night we receive texts and pics of the hammered one's status, and eventually we learn that he had to be escorted back to our friend's apartment, where he is passed out in his bed butt naked. Why he was naked, I have no idea. Most likely he puked all over himself. After a long and uneventful night that included spotting TJ Duckett with a pretty nerdy entourage, we headed back to our friend's apartment to call it a night. There we find our friend, naked, caked in vomit, and evidence of projectile vomiting on the walls, sheets, and pillow. Someone writes "insert here" with an arrow pointing to his bare ass. Another draws a penis on his face. A good laugh is had, but is quickly interrupted when the dude snaps to, jumps to his feet and starts punching the wall. He is screaming "okay motherfuckers!" over and over. He chases us out of the room and into the living area. We are pretty much stunned at this point. He gets right into one of our friend's face and starts punching the wall all the while yelling "motherfucker!" Then he beelines for the door, trips, and knocks his girlfriend over. He runs out and we each ask each other what the fuck just happened. We then realize there is a naked man running through the streets of East Lansing, and that he will most likely be arrested shortly. Some set out to find him, I sat on the couch and laughed hysterically.


A short time later he is found in the apartment's laundry room, passed out leaning on a windowsill. His girlfriend cleans him up, while he gives us death stares, clenching his fist. We contemplate sleeping in one hour intervals, and hiding the knives. The next morning we survey the damage. There is blood on the walls, but no holes. We are convinced the guy has a broken hand, but to our surprise he just has no skin on his knuckles. We expected some of that explosive rage to spill over into the next morning when he saw the dick on his face, but he was cool and had a good laugh.


This one is a combination FAILGATE/SOFTBALL Failure without the softball. A bunch of my friends and I were fortunate enough to score tickets to an early December Philadelphia Eagles game against Seattle in '07. The birds were going through a mediocre season; sitting at 5-6 with AJ Feeley at the helm. Needless to say, our mission that day was to get shit faced and yell obscenities at our unproductive back up QB.


We started out early, leaving for the stadium at 7am to get a jump on the festivities. Perhaps, in hindsight, the first sign of debauchery came soon after our arrival. It became apparent that two of us had forgotten to relieve our bowels and a bee line was made for the nearest portable toilet. I was quite disgusted by this event, as I consider going #2 in a port-o-john a major violation of the human code (I stood in line at a CVS for over an hour at the Phillies parade to do my business). Anyway, after the second guy came out of the crapatory, a female proceeded to open the door, walk in, and, after literally one second, bolted out with a look on her face as if she had just seen and smelled a rotting dead body.

Over the course of the next few hours we met up with another group where we huddled around a fire, fried some meats, and had a generally tame time. Around the 9:30 mark, a friend of mine, we'll call him Matt, started a round of shot guns. And then he started another, and another, and another. I would guess that about eight beers were shot gunned in the span of two hours. While Matt was feeling good, belting out Sixers basketball theme songs, our other friend, we'll call him Byron, was not doing so hot. At one point, Byron decided it would be a good time to run some routes. The first route was a fly pattern and our friend the QB led Byron about 5 yards into the woods where he tripped and landed head first into a pricker bush.

For most people, this embarrassing fall would be a wake up call that maybe its time to tone things down a bit. But not for Byron, he continued to quench his thirst for Natty Light up until it was time to head into the game. We all started to pack things up and make our way for the Linc. About 30 seconds into our walk, Byron called out everyone in our group, challenging them to bring him down. I went first and my 5'8" 155 pound frame was unable to get the job done. This small victory really got Byron pumped up and he was ready for the next challenger. Unfortunately for him, that next challenger happened to be a former all state high school Offensive Lineman. Surprisingly, Byron's initial stiff arm was quite effective, but it only lasted for a few seconds. All the beer muscles in the world couldn't keep him standing upright and he slowly crashed to the ground. He stayed on the ground. He couldn't get up and we all thought he was faking, trying to blame his failure on a made up injury.


Well it turns out he wasn't faking. The poor guy broke his leg and needed surgery to get 6 screws inserted into the bone. I accompanied Byron and the guy that did the damage to the hospital (via police car) where we watched the first half in the emergency room, drinking some left over beers all the while. When Byron went in to be treated we hopped in the first cab we saw to get back to the game. We still got to see AJ Feeley throw three interceptions, including one at the end of the game at the goal line (Eagles lost 28-24)! Byron was released from the hospital before the game ended and met us in the parking lot, but not before embarrassing himself one last time. He hit a patch of ice and did a split with his crutches, much to the delight of the otherwise disappointed crowd.


Around 2001 in my early twenties two high school buddies and I along with my brother in-law took a bus trip to see Notre Dame play USC in South Bend. A friend of my father ran the trip and we leave on Wednesday evening and drive 12 hours straight through the night in a bus full of kegs and Delaware Counties (just outside Philly for your readers) finest white alcoholics. I could give you ten stories about the bus(delaware countians are one step above kenzo's) and the shithole that is Elkhart Indiana where we and the visiting team stayed but in the interest of time I will focus on one 12 hour span involving my brother in-law who is a few years older then me and was supposed to be the more mature member of our party. Its Friday(that's right this drunken episode happens a full day before the game) and the bus drops us off at the stadium at ten in the morning. At that point you can either go to the college football hall of fame or drink. CFHF blows so we decide to go to the Quarterback Club bar (the one with the billboard trashing Weiss recently) and drink as much as we can before the pep rally that night. By noon we're shitfaced. The QB club is similar to any other hole in the wall dive that never fixes itself up regardless of how much cash it makes. My Bro in law ends up playing pool for money with some Indiana locals sporting full mullets and Nascar hats. He's getting slaughtered for $20 a game due to the fact he sucks at pool along with being hammered. The hick opponent has just the 8 ball left and I'll never forget that Benny and the Jets is on the jukebox. That's important because my Brother in law being an asshole drunk leans over and sticks his face right over the 8 ball just as the guys about to hit the cue ball to win the game and sings\screams "BeBeBeBenny and the Jetsss!". The hick is so pissed he drills the cue ball across the table at the 8 as hard as he can and it hits with such force the cue ball hops up and hits my brother in law(who's less then 6 inches above the felt) straight in the face to the extent you can hear it ricochet off his teeth. Somehow the 8 ball goes right in the corner pocket and I witness the greatest pool shot of all time. We fall down with laughter and my Brother in law pays up the $20 while checking to see if he has all his teeth. Believing we are not long for an ass kicking by some locals we decide to go to the campus to see whats going on. Its only 1 PM and we are barely coherent walking across the field hockey fields and all the sudden my brother in law gets a nose bleed, no idea if the cue ball caused it or what. He runs to a conveniently located porta potty to get some toilet paper to clean up with. He comes out of the john believing he's stopped the bleeding and is ready to rejoin society. In fact he has blood smeared all over his face top to bottom and looks like a serial killer after he satiated his blood lust. Picture Mel Gibson in "Braveheart" during the battle scenes with all the war paint on. We again fall down laughing as William Wallace looks at us like we are crazy. He gets pissed and decides to go back to the bar because he's too cool for us. God knows what happened to him after that. My buddies and I go to campus, find a beer garden selling fucking Heineken pounders in the middle of some quad and continue to get our drink on and stare at coeds out of our league until the pep rally starts at six o'clock. Some how some way the great one Wayne motherfucking Gretzky is the surprise speaker at the pep rally. It was every white boys dream. After one of the coolest events I've been to we all file back to the bus and I'm a little worried where my "chaperon" is at since the bus is about to leave for our hotel without him. Luckily we get back on the bus and he's passed out in a seat with a less blood stained face. I shake him awake and scream "Wayne fucking Gretzky!!!" right in his face. Notre Dame and the Edmonton Oilers aren't really synonymous with each other so he refuses to believe us and for the rest of the trip thinks we had the the whole bus in on the joke that he missed Gretzky at the pep rally. That was the last time ND beat USC and my brother in law is now sober so it turned out to be a great weekend for all.


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 Subject: FAILgate