The Random Panderings of a Season Ticket Holder and a Regular Tailgater at Paul Brown* Stadium.
Note: Late post due to Duke Energy's incompetence.
Oh Jesus… Rough night. My Buckeyes got smoked and my drinking turned from possibly celebratory to drunkenly painkilling. Luckily, I awake on my buddy’s couch in the Gateway Quarter. Easy walking distance to PBS.
While I regroup, I notice I don’t have that Christmas morning feeling as I have had the past few seasons on opening day of Tailgating Season and Bengal football in Cincinnati. Oh well, nothing a few Miller Lites can’t handle. I throw on my 1980’s “Someone in Cincinnati Loves Me” T-shirt as I refuse to wear a jersey this year. The only jersey I would rock this season would be a solid Boobie Clark jersey, but for some reason, they aren’t selling those in the pro-shop these days, but I digress.
As I head out down Vine Street, case of Miller Lite in Hand, I'm getting excited. I see a few fellow Douche Bags hastily sporting Rudi Johnson and Justin Smith jerseys. Apparently they didn’t feel like buying new gear this season either. The lucky few had Chris Henry jerseys on, noticeably relieved at Mike Brown’s impeccable decision making skills, and the fact they wouldn’t have to shell out 50 hard earned dollars for a new replica.
I approach the beautiful** Millenium Hotel and spot a couple of Titans fans emerge. They looked glorious. Exactly what I expected a Titans fan to look like. You know, that Nash-Trash look? Gone are the days of Nashville locals looking like ruggedly handsome country music stars. Instead, the vast majority of them have that new age “crystal meth chic” thing going on. Gaunt, pasty white, malnourished, with a penchant for oversized Vince Young jersey’s, drooping jorts (jean shorts) and a sideways Titan’s hat with the tags still on signaling the street cred only someone from Murfreesboro could possess. Top that off with an ill attempt at a mustache and a mysterious ghetto accent and you have the two clowns who I catch up to on 4th and Vine.
If it was any of the past opening days in Cincy, I would have started to run my mouth right there, with the security of hundreds of fellow Douche Bags in Who Dey shirts around me. But today is different. It’s 9:30 AM and only a scattering of D-Bags are visible on the streets. Not to mention, I really don’t have the room to run my mouth after last week’s debacle in Baltiless. The only insults I could mutter were about Vince Young’s “suicide attempt” and the drunken Kerry “Tom” Collins (I failed to mention that I tried to pick him up on waiver wires in my fantasy league. That would defeat my sad insults). They asked me for a beer and I just laughed… I showed them.
I finally reach tailgate just in time for some cornhole, a wide variety of grilled meats and as many ice cold beers I can down before kickoff and before I have to pay Mike Brown 7 bucks per beer inside. The whole atmosphere is fairly eerie. The lots seem vacant, and what is usually a sea of Douche Bags is looking like a slow trickling stream of Bags. Pretty depressing for an opening tailgate.
Looking back, maybe Douche Bag Bengals fans have a 6th sense for inclement weather. Similar to those stories of dogs and other animals reacting and retreating long before a large storm hits. Maybe Douche Bags could sense something was coming Sunday afternoon. Of course I’m not referring to the 80 mile/hour wind gusts that blacked out much of the region this week, I’m referring to Mike Brown’s storm of neglect that was bound to blow through the Jungle as a few hundred straggling Bags watched as their once promising kingdom lost even more foundation of what was built in 2005.
From now on, for the rest of the season, I’m changing my tailgating purpose and I vow to get that spark back in our pre game festivities. From here on out, I’ll be hoping for a win, but tailgating for the Revolution. Beers will be consumed, Cornhole will be played, and meats will be grilled with the fiery passion to overthrow the long standing King of Douche Bags that is Mike Brown.
“Tailgate, like Revolution, is the festival of the oppressed”
*All honor to his name.