Ladies and gentlemen, it’s that orange and green, oddly sticky, glorious time of year. Get your beads, mesh tops, knockoff turnover chains and whatever alcoholism you have left after sylly week, because it’s tailgate season!
By the time you are reading this, I hope you’ve nursed your natty-light headache and are in the process of gradually recalling the events of Saturday morning. I can only pray that a few of those memories were made beyond the driveway of the Pi-Lamda-Why house and that you’re not recalling said memories from Chad’s unsheeted box spring mattress.
By now you’ve probably been made aware by the whoops and hollers of every UM athletics golf cart on campus, but just to be safe: We won. Go ‘Canes!
Now that you’ve conquered the elevated surfaces, put an ungodly number of white claws (and Chads) in your system, let’s actually watch some damn football. I’m aware many of you prefer to be lying unconscious in the parking lots by frat row, but this season is shaping up to be a great one, so watch the score of the games instead of watching your Bud Light calorie intake.
Maybe even… dare I suggest it… brave the bus to Hard Rock stadium. I know it may sound daunting, sitting next to Britney who fifteen minutes ago swore she could “hold her Tito’s like a bad-bitch,” but I assure you it’s worth it. Aside from the MILF and DILF infested alumni tailgates (the Class of ‘89 hosts ragers), pussy literally falls from the balconies of Hard Rock.
So, sure Britney may yack all over your overpriced bookstore tube top, but no frat can compare to the magic of Hard Rock on game day. I mean you do you, but you can certainly catch me with a tallboy Corona I sold my kidney to purchase and throwin’ it back with the Band of The Hour.
It truly is the best time to be a ‘Cane and in Crist-o-god we all trust.