I, the Single Guy, remember why I love visiting my alma mater for huge home games.

I wake up Saturday morning to married guy pounding on my bedroom door at the shit hole apartment we rent for the entire fall. I’ve heard some douchebags at work snicker behind my back about me coming back for every football game even though I’m fast approaching 30. Fuck them. They can have fun cuddling with their wives while I’m busy giving the business to multiple coeds.

This morning I roll over to find no fat chick in bed with me, so despite feeling like a cat shit in my mouth last night, things are already looking up. It’s always a pain in the ass to to wake up and look for some butter in the fridge to grease up the Wooly Mammoth I made a bad decision on the night before and try to squeeze her through the front door before my asshole friends see here.

I stagger toward the shower and see that it’s only 8:30 in the morning. This sucks. Married guy and his morning person bullshit can suck a dick. Two minutes into my shower, married guy is pounding on my door again. “We need to get to the tailgate spot before the lot fills up.” I tell him he’s going to have to wait ten minutes for me to finish punching the clown.

I wander out of my room and see everyone’s waiting on me. My cool and tough friends are already drinking. What are my beverage options? The dudes are drinking bloody mary’s and the chicks are slamming back mimosas. I fucking hate tomato juice. I crack open a beer because the last time I opened up the morning with a mimosa I got called a homo the entire day.

We pile in one car and I have to sit dog box with two other dudes. There’s no arm room to drink my beer. Dagger. We get to the tailgate and some parents already have the place firmly established. This is the one time other people’s parents aren’t a complete burden. By 10 AM I’ve taken down 4 beers and two ham and egg biscuits. I’m starting to feel back to normal.

My friends and I share quality stories about hooking up with mediocre chicks, blacking out in inappropriate situations, and just all around general awesomeness from our college days. I get the crew to watch an obscure Big East match up that just kicked off. The H-Man gave me the pick so I’ve loaded up two months rent on this game. By the end of it I’ve polished off 12 beers and cleared enough winnings to make some bad decisions.

I AM TRASHED. Just in time to get into the stadium for the 3:30 kickoff. The walk to the stadium is where I really take form. I offend as many of the opposing teams fans as possible. I tell them how gay their quarterback is and that their kids are ugly. I see a buttery biscuit of a coed that I would let do anything to me. I remind married guy of how I used to pillage that girl in school. He reminds me that I’m a liar and that girl was 14 when we were in school.

My alma mater dominates the opponent. Their quarterback throws three picks, firmly cementing my accusations of how gay he is. Our safety decleats their wide receiver and I can’t suppress my erection. I am extremely pleased. Now to go dominate the tailgate for a few solid hours before a night of trolling for college girls with low self esteem.

Downtown we take four rounds of celebratory car bombs. I run game at some coed who’s asking for it. She says something about a boyfriend and walks away. She looked like she had an STD anyway. I grab another drink.

After initiating a beer spraying fight with my buddy I’m asked to leave the bar. On the way out I knock over a table full of empty beer bottles. Fuck them. They shouldn’t have put the table there.

The other single guys and I finish off the night with reruns of Sportscenter and two large pizzas since all the chicks in this town are officially ugly prudes.

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