There’s nothing quite like college football in the South. The all-day tailgate bingefests, the perfectly-planned and school color-coordinated outfits (well, for the girls), and of course, the actual excitement of the sport. And, then there’s CLEMSON football, which brings school spirit to a whole ‘nother level and IS home to the “most exciting 25 seconds in college football.”
As a Clemson grad, I’ve been to more football games than I can count, rushed the field after we beat Florida State my junior year and helped (read: watched others) take down the goal post, snuck copious amounts of alcohol in the stadium, and sweated my ass of in a brand-new orange sundress at least twice a season.
But, as I grow older (ugh), I’m realizing that I actually don’t care that much about football, or any sport, for that matter. Yeah, I said it. Of course I want Clemson to win, but these days I’d rather opt out of sitting in the sun for four hours while the vodka I snuck in quickly runs out and, instead of a beautiful tailgate spread in front of me, there are stale chips and fake cheese for $10 at a crowded snackbar. Then there’s the whole “comfort” issue. Either your ass hurts from sitting on the bleachers, or you have to stand, or worst of all, you have to sit-stand-sit-stand the whole time. I don’t prefer any of those options. Especially after downing a bottle of champagne and 4-6 vodka drinks.
I went to Clemson this past weekend and was beyond excited to tailgate with my college friends, don my new beige romper with signature orange Clemson scarf, and most importantly, bring the Sinless Margarita to Tigertown.
The jug fit perfectly right between the salsa and “redneck sushi.”
But, for the first time ever, I had no plans to go into the game and didn’t even pretend that I did. Even though upper deck tickets were a measly $15 and were as easy to come by as a group of frat guys in khakis and ties, I didn’t even attempt to get one.
For the record, I do appreciate the fun and excitement of the game. I will usually go in once a season to watch the Tigers run down the hill and stay for a quarter (or half a quarter) before retreating back to the tailgate where I can stand and sit at my leisure, mix a drink without having to hide it, and choose from a plethora of ham biscuits, Chick-fil-a nuggets and homemade cookies. But, this just wasn’t going to be that seasonal appearance.
Now, a dose of harsh reality. Most girls say they like football and/or sports in general. The truth is, two-thirds of those girls are straight-up lying. No girl (especially in the South) wants to admit she couldn’t give a shit about football. I mean, that’s the whole reason she just spent $100+ on a dress she may only wear once, isn’t it? Plus, what would her husband/fiance/boyfriend/crush think if she dropped a bomb like that?
Girl: “Hey babe, truthfully, I don’t really like football that much.”
Guy: “Oh really? What’s next? You hate beer and blow-jobs, too?”
Girl: “Well, while we’re being honest….”
Just kidding. A lot of girls do like beer.
Yet, if most girls asked themselves, “do I REALLY love the sport of football?” I’m pretty sure the answer wouldn’t be yes. Tailgating? Yes. Food/outfit shopping for gameday? Yes. Pretending to be interested in the game while at someone’s house or at a bar while you’re really just gossiping with the other girls in the room? Of course.
After owning up to my lack of desire for the game, I actually got excited to hold down the tailgate solo while everyone hoofed it to the stadium. I listened to some Black Keys, polished off the jug of ‘ritas, caught up on some unreturned texts and emails, semi-drunk dialed Dewey’s daycare to check on him, and waited for the first person to return to the tailgate because they couldn’t stand the smoldering heat of the 3:30 p.m. game.
I was in luck and within 20 minutes (which was just enough time to complete all the aforementioned tasks), two of my friends returned. Girl friends?, you ask? Uh, yeah, duh.
Slowly, others started to trickle back to the tailgate, some new food items surfaced (namely, Steph’s “BLT dip” she apparently had been hiding) and Flip Cup resumed.
All was right with the world.
Oh, and we won the game, too.