“9 a.m. — Show up for tailgate. It’s a late game today, which means I can actually get a good night of sleep. On the walk to Melrose Court, several girls are seen walking home in bar clothes, less shoes. My friends and I aptly nickname them “the shame train.” Also seen: a man sitting in the grass smoking a cigarette, using two cases of Coors Light as arm rests.
10 a.m. — Two girls stand on a tree swing making out. Cheering ensues. I doubt the suffragists would be proud.
10:30 a.m. — A neighbor, notorious for taking pictures of public urination on her dividing fence and sending them to the cops, walks to the stereo system and turns off the music. Booing ensues. Girls make out again. More cheering.”
and from the decidedly less intense Richmond Game:
“Then, from my ultimate stalker window, I saw students rolling grills down the sidewalk. Ah yes, the first home football game. Bingo. Something foreign to too many students: not tailgating, but going to the game, going to the ENTIRE game.
It wasn’t easy. After one pinky swear with my companion and one promise of her favorite Chipotle burrito to stay the whole game, one quarter later I was already looking for an alternate ride home. As the buzz from the tailgate wore off, so did my friends’ enthusiasm.
But credit to them and the rest of the student section for watching a half at all. The question I’d posted to most people I’d talked to at the tailgate – “So, going to the game?” – had returned the typical reply. Albeit some variation: a laugh, a sneer, raised or knit eyebrows, I received the same core response, “Ah, I don’t think so.”