So I was awakened Saturday morning really really early. Early enough that people should have been killed, but I let it slide this time. Apparently Butch, Sundance and Jeb were putting a tailgate together and had to be out there ungodly early. I had hoped to sleep until at least noon and then stroll on over to C.P.'s tailgate for a little fun, but now I was up and figured I should probably go there when they said to be there instead. In their attempt to be extremely organized (I think this is Christine's doing) they had assigned each person into a team earlier in the week, which told you what to bring. I was placed in classy team R, which meant that I had to bring cheap wine, chips or dip. I decided on the delectable Cold Duck, an alcoholic beverage so treacherous and at the same time delicious that they named it after a woodland creature. We had a history with the Cold Duck (which involved purple vomit on the Holtzendorf building) and due to its cheaper then cheap price tag I figured it would make a good addition to the tailgate.
So I headed over, strolling across campus with the bottle of Duck in one hand and my wallet and cell phone in the other since the damn basketball shorts I was wearing somehow didn't have pockets. Clemson on game days is pretty much a free-for-all as far as laws go, as the cops are more likely to stop you for not understanding their convoluted traffic flows they have set up then for openly drinking in the streets. I traipsed past plenty a cop with my prized bottle clutched in my hand. Its not exactly the manliest thing to be walking down the street with to a tailgate but I managed (and was only stopped by one crackhead scalping tickets to be asked what I had).
The tailgate proved to be a lot farther then I thought, probably close to two miles away. Combined with the early morning Carolina heat I was dying by the time I made it there. I was greeted with a Mimosa and a sausage wrapped in a pancake (wrapped in bacon, wrapped in a pizza, in a commemorative bag full of vegetarian chili). C.P. and the Katie were of course really late so we just hung out and baked in the sun until they arrived with the tent. From then on, since only two of us had tickets to the game, we boozed it up and played some games of cornhole and the ill fated tackle football version of 500, where C.P. spent most of the time just brutalizing me to the point where I didn't catch a ball the whole time. After that we were sitting around and Kristin decided that she wanted more Mimosa but we had polished off the champagne hours ago, so I had the idea to make it with Cold Duck instead. It was surprisingly a big hit and was deemed the Crackmosa.
I was sorta tired by this point of sitting out and sweating in the heat and after a "hold on one minute and we'll give you a ride" turned into a "yeah I don't see that happening" I decided to walk back to Jeb's and catch the rest of the game. Unfortunately it was still several miles away and now just around midday, so it was hotter then liquid hot magma walking back to the house. By the time I got there I felt like I was on the verge of death in which only a cold shower and a drink could save me. Eventually Butch and Sundance came back over with Louis and his wife/girlfriend who I have no idea what her name was. We decided to hit up some always delicious Mexican food where I learned that Jeb apparently speaks fluent Spanish. He and our server sounded like the best of friends which surprisingly didn't warrant us getting refills on chips and salsa. It was still good and short of the rest of the weekend packed with Bourne Identity, that was the weekend.
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