The Game

The game Sunday was fun, even though the Redskins lost. They lost, after going up 14-0 early, in the first game I've been to in almost twenty years. Which means, as a friend pointed out, the last time I was at a game my youngest brother James - who was sitting next to be - had yet to be born. Of course I was eight then, but that's beside the point. I was there with Scott(my other younger brother, but the oldest of the three), his girlfriend Devin, and James.

I only have a couple pictures of us tailgating:

Scott, drinking while wearing his Laguna Beach sunglasses.

James, who only slept two hours the night before(Scott, zero)

We waited for the local liquor store to open at 11 am before heading over to FedEx Field. Without a parking pass, we had to pay $30 for the privilege of parking in a nearby strip of brown office buildings and taking a Metro shuttle to the stadium. We managed to kill about half of a 30-pack of Coors Light(Scott's girlfriend's preferred beer, which does taste as if it was brewed in a mountain stream: cold, watered down dirt). In the middle of our Rocky Mountain fun, though, a man walked up and asked us:

"Are you under the influence....?"

I panicked. Was James(who is underage) drinking? Are we going to get busted?

"...OF THE REDSKINS!" he finished, producing some Redskins buttons. He asked for a donation of a couple of bucks to some charity in return, and we obliged, even if the charity was probably "The Button Guy Charity".

After this, Scott announced for at least the fourth time he really had to pee. I gave him my advice, which was to think about fucking(I read in Men's Health that this helps by blocking the urinary tract, but I could be mistaken). Since his girlfriend was right there, I didn't think it would be too hard, but it only worked for about five minutes. We set off to find him a bathroom.

Circling the brown office building(which was locked), all we could find were some small bushes surrounded by other Redskin fans. The only possibility was to run across 202 to the woods on the other side, or pee in some empty AMP and beer cans in the car. He took the second option.

James, Scott's girlfriend Devin and I surrounded the back of the SUV to prevent any peeping and Scott proceeded to fill up one tall can of AMP and half a can of beer. The AMP can was a stroke of genius; before disposing of it he loudly announced if anyone wanted anymore "AMP" before he poured it out.

On the way to catch one of the last shuttles to the stadium, we found a porta-potty just over the crest of a hill. Scott was not nearly as amused as I was.

The bus dropped us off on the opposite side from where our seats were. After a little hike to the correct gate, we split up; James and I going to our seats, Scott and Devin going to theirs.

I gave James twenty dollars to get us two hot dogs and a soda before we went to our seats. If I hadn't actually seen the lady ring the items up, I would have accused my younger brother of trying to steal from me when he gave me my change: $4. I finished the hot dog before we even got off the escalators up to the upper deck.

You can read about the actual game here.

Afterwards...well, right now I'm finding it hard to write because I keep getting up to help my roommate clean the kitchen. Every time I feel we've finished and sit down, she starts cleaning something else. She's sweeping the front room as I type this. I'll get the dust pan.

Anyway, after the game, we couldn't find the right shuttle back to the parking lot. Scott tried to get us to board the bus back to the Landover Metro, despite the fact that we didn't park at the Landover Metro. We found what we were told, by a Metro employee, was the correct bus.

The bus was packed; Scott and I stood while Devin and James sat. We traded disappointed banter and looks of dejection and fatigue. Suddenly, I had a nice kick in the shin to go with my dejectional bantering.

A drunk girl seated behind me was going on and on about her asshole boyfriend, and in between repeated exclamations of "is it me, do you understand?" to her friend, she was kicking her leg out with an exasperated sigh before bringing a hand to cover her bloodshot eyes. What followed was the most cliched conversation I've ever heard: the dying relationship pep talk. The girl's friend and the friend's boyfriend kept telling the drunk girl how strong she was, how independent she could be, and that she was too good for the asshole boyfriend. Before the bus ride was over, everyone in the back of the bus had shared knowing glances of annoyance and laughs under their breaths. Scott and I wondered if we should turn around and offer some kind of intervention in the form of an inspirational rap, or repeated slaps to the face.

After running off the bus, we realized we were in the wrong parking lot. Sure enough, there was a brown building, just not our brown building. In fact, there was nothing but brown, nondescript office buildings for as far as we could see(if you didn't count the stadium mocking us in the distance). We wandered between the buildings, crossing grass fields and hedges, ending up behind a warehouse.

We found the road to our lot at the front of the warehouse, where Scott and James also found two small pumpkins. In the middle of an asphalt parking lot, just chilling, doing whatever it is pumpkins do in the wilds of Landover business parks. Whatever that is, it couldn't have been has thrilling as the aerial ride the pumpkins took before their untimely demise a half mile before we finally found the car.

We had dinner at Outback, and there - in the usually tranquil burg of Bowie - something happened that will now forever be known as the Tabasco Incident.

After Scott and Devin went to the bathroom, I dared James to put Tabasco sauce in Devin's cosmo(because I'm an evil asshole), but he put Tabasco sauce in Scott's water(because, being related to me, James is also an evil asshole). The trap was set, and what James did when Scott got back should be in the set-up hall of fame. It should be framed and studied by spies, negotiators, and con artists.

Scott sits down, and James simply says: "H20!", to which Scott replies "H20, yeah!" and takes a HUGE gulp of water. There are no words, in English or any other language, that can accurately describe the look of horror that was on Scott's face when the taste hit him. He froze for a second, then spit the water back into the glass.

"You FUCKERS! Watch out! Watch out, see what happens when you get up!" he said, pointing his steak knife at me and James.

James' plan for me was almost as brilliant. When I returned from the bathroom my potato soup and obviously been tampered with, so I reached for a piece of bread. Luckily, one side was very, very damp from the Tabasco sauce and I didn't eat it. If he hadn't gotten greedy and soaked it, he would have fooled me too.

And that was the end of that. It was a good day.