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Scenes from the Season Opener
Last night RZ's school had their first football game of the season. Normally this wouldn't have been worth writing home about, but since I was bored out of my skull I decided to write a post-- this post.
RZ, Leslie and I get to the field about an hour and a half before kick-off, not that punctuality is our hang-up or anything, but RZ and the other LEADERS OF CHEER (L.O.C.) had planned a tailgating party.
oh joy.
When we got there the festivities were starting to crank up. The LEADERS OF CHEER had their social order in action, their "game on" so to speak.. RZ and her crowd pooled together like mercury. The other parents, whose finely-honed small talk skills were in high gear, grouped together much like the L.O.C.
Leslie and I... well, let's just say that small talk soirees are not our thing. That's analogous to saying that pre-frontal lobotomies are not our thing either.
Don't get me wrong, we were there like a good set of parents should be, we just decided that this particular situation called for our anonymity. Anonymity from the tailgate of OUR car. Anonymity with bourbon.
So we're sitting in the back of our 100 degree car, having a drink, completely invisible, whispering sweet nothings into each others ear...
"...Hey look! It's the Queen of Planet Big-Hair..."
"...Oh my god, She's anorexic..."
"...Oh shit look the other way or they'll come over..."
"...yeah it's sad. It reminds me of The Virgin Suicides..."
"...her facial features are ape-ish..."
"...I heard he beat the shit out of her because..."
Our anonymity gave us the opportunity experience the closeness of our gossip. No real harm done, just our little thing. In retrospect, I guess it was our little piety (or perversion, whichever fits in your opinion).
So after a few drinks it's time for us to head inside the stadium.
We walk in and take our seats. Top row of course, so we can lean against the fence. It's also cooler on the top row because of the breeze, but anyway.
We get to our seats. We're not there more than five minutes when Leslie leans over and whispers, "did you bring your camera? You're gonna love this..." to which I say " uh-uh, why?" then she bumps her head and looks over to our right. There, not 12 feet away from where I sat was the most perfectly formed mullet I had ever seen. It was on the head of one of the moms. It was the pure, un-adulturated definition of mullet. It was an ubermullet. It was a fem-Mullet of the highest order. From that moment onward, that woman was to be known as: MulletFury. MulletFury had a child with her. I'm sure the kid had a mullet as well, but for the life of me I can't recall anything other than MulletFury's flowing locks on the backside and her amazing bristles on the frontside. I was hip-no-tized by MulletFury. She was a true, rare gem.
Kick-off!
By this time Les and I are caught up in our little gossip-game. As odd as it sounds, it was kind of romantic sharing our laughs while the others around us were clueless.
"Hey look at the guy in the wife-beater. A might bit studly wouldn't you say?"
"Why yes. Why just look at the testosterone puddles under his pits...You can see 'em from here."
"Manly."
"Manly indeed."
"...There's Regal-Beagle.... his ass is so uptight, that..."
"...There's Potsie McGillicuty (not his real name), I'd like to pop him like a zit..."
"...That lady has crazy eyes... I bet she'd kill you in your sleep...."
"...naaah, she'd wake you up first then off you...."
End of the first quarter...
Big Funny shows up and sits with us. The hilarity continues.
Half time...
Big Funny and I are having a political discussion while Les and MaryLou (not her real name either) go to the concession stand. It's no secret as to whom--politically, we have a problem with (pssst...his last name rhymes with Shoosh, smoosh, and push, and ironically enough is spelled like Lush, but with a "B"). Well Big Funny is soapboxing like a pro. The man is quite an orator. Soon I notice the couple in front of us are bending their ears to listen in. That's when I decide to pour it on thick.
"HITLER-ESQUE BASTARDS!!! The tactics they are using are no different than that of the Nazis during to World War II! I can't BELIEVE they haven't been brought up on charges... YET!!! Cheney blah, blah, blah. Halliburton blah, blah, blah. Bush blah, blah, blah. " I didn't really know (or care) what I was saying, I was just pandering at this point.
It worked. Within a few seconds those two were yanking up their University of Georgia stadium seats and finding a more "like minded" part of the bleachers. It was great, but I was just doing it out of meaness and spite. Besides, they were taking up Leslie's legroom.
Third quarter...
Big Funny announces that he's going to the concession stand and asks if anybody wants anything. As he's about to walk off I join him.
We're talking about movies and music on the way to get our snacks.
"...Have you heard of this song by John Prine?..."
"...Have you heard of Wilco?..."
"...Alt Country, what the hell is Alt Country?..."
"...What about Modest Mouse? They remind me of Rusted Root...."
We banter back and forth.
We get to the concession stand and Big Funny orders and gets his food.
I get a Snickers bar.
We're talking and joking on the way back to our seats. I'm gnawing on my candybar like there's no tomorrow when, i stumble at the same time I'm chewing and...
~~~SSSSCLUNCH~~~
I bite my tongue.
Scratch that... I mangle my tongue. I bite a frikin' hole in my tongue. I bite the tip off of my tongue. Think of that Dairy Queen commercial where the guy gets his tongue caught in the blades of a hand mixer then add blood!
It hurts so bad that I'm seeing stars and my whole face goes numb. I'm half about to pass-out, half about to throw-up from the pain. Dizzy. I'm dizzy it hurts so bad.
I get back to my seat and sit quietly wishing to die.
"What's wrong" Leslie ask. "Uh Bih Mah Tuh" I say, trying to be cool and trying not to black-out all at the same time. "I bih ah-ight" then Leslie wants to see IT. There something a bit humilating about sticking your tongue out and gushing blood on your wife while your at a high school football game, but I do it anyway. "OOHHH MYYYY GGGODDD" she shudders "You've got blood and skin hanging..." Then she starts retching.
I'm starting to fear that my tongue-- the strongest muscle in my body-- the pride of my mouth, is damaged beyond repair.
And I'm starting to feel a tinge of self-consciousness at this point along with pure agony.
Game's over. Home team loses by one...
"Lesh guh hoom... eww godda dwibe" (interpreted: "Let's go home. You've got to drive").
On the way home I was quietly reeling in pain when I realized that:
A.) God doesn't like it when we're mean, and...
B.) God doesn't like it when we talk about other people and...
C.) Above all God must really dig mullets.
If my tongue gets back to it's normal self I'll never make fun of another human being as long as I live...
"Suh he'p mah Gaah!"
8/28/2004 10:24:39 PM
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