I'd never been to an NFL game in New York, excuse me, New Jersey, so I was more than willing to take one of my brother's tickets (he got them from a co-worker as a wedding present) and see what the fuss was about. The Meadowlands, home to LT!! Phil Simms!! Charles Way!! Wait, Charles Way? Apparently the mediocre mid-90s fullback warrants a mention as his name was on a few of the jerseys that people were wearing. And what lovely jerseys they were. I'm not sure why we invaded Iraq, but if one day we can look back at grown men with kids, drunk on a Sunday wearing a size XXXL Charles Way jerseys walking around Baghdad, well, then I submit to you that we invade the REST OF THE WORLD!
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Like I said, our tailgate left a little to be desired. It was essentially some soggy sandwiches from a deli and a case of lukewarm bodega Budweiser. We were the laughing stock of Section ZZ. But when you get taunted by a guy with a huge, dare I say, GIANT inflatable GIANT on his car, well, who's the joke really on? And our lackluster 'gate didn't stop the scion to the Gorton's Fish Sticks empire from stopping by with his cigar. Awwwrhhhhrr, matey.
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Make no illusions, I didn't go into this tailgate without some idea of what I would find (see: this and this for reference), but I was still amazed at the amount of money, time and face paint spent by NFL fans. What seemed like sheer insanity wasn't even looked at twice. For instance...
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This guy!!! I mean, I don't even know where to start with this: a sixty-year old guy in LONGJOHNS (!!!) driving a tricked-out riding lawn mower in the shape of a helmet. The best part? Nobody even batted an eye. It was almost as if they looked at this guy and said, "Oh, there he is." Second best part? The side mirrors!!! He'd hate to mow down some 14-year old playing two-hand touch at 5mph. The crazy thing is - if there can be something crazier than a giant Giant helmet on wheels - is that in Vegas you'd probably get 3-2 odds that this dude is a principal at a middle school in Rumson, NJ.
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Then, of course, there is the tailgate sword fight where all the dudes whip out their massive grills in a show of force and power that - in their minds - make them the asphalt lions to be regaled in Hooters up and down the East Coast proper. "Dude, he had four Foreman grills!" I wish I had a better picture, but this tailgate was so excessive that you honestly thought this is what Rome looked right before it fell. Three TVs, full buffet, two enormous grills, full tent, truck with four beer taps on the side; you name it, and they had it. Oh wait, did you name the mini-motorcycle?!?! You know, in case they run out of relish or something. They can jet over to Section M for a refill. Decent!
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We never could shake the Gorton's guy. One bummed beer turned to six. Even if he did give us free cigars, I'm not sure it was worth listening to him parade around his idea for a new product line for Gorton's. His idea? Fish sticks made with hemp called "Phish Sticks." Awful. (I actually made that up. He never said that. I got that joke from Randy a few years ago. Now that is just plain sad.)
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Actually, not bad seats. For a football game, the upper deck at the Meadowlands isn't so bad. You also get a little more hoi polloi for your buck. 20% more Charles Way fans and 45% more vocal fans screaming obscenities at Jeremy Shockey while wearing...yep, you guessed it, Jeremy Shockey jerseys. Oh, the irony. I looked at the guy next to me when Shockey dropped his umpteenth pass of the day and the fans, some wearing Shockey jerseys, lit into him. "Can you believe the irony?" He took a swig off his flask and retorted "It's not his irony, it's his hands. He f(@Q$ sucks." And that was that.