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F**k Your Gameday Wedding

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I was a junior in college. My school was playing a huge non-conference game against a ranked SEC team and I had bought tickets several months in advance. My mom called me two weeks before and asked me if I was ready to come home for my cousin’s wedding the same weekend. Fuck.

I was 25. My alma mater’s schedule came out. We were playing our biggest rival on homecoming weekend. I got a save the date for my best high school friend’s wedding on the same weekend two weeks later. The game was College GameDay’s game of the week and they won in stunning fashion. Shit.

I was 26. My friends and I had enough money to take a road trip to one of our conference road games. We had it budgeted, planned, and even put a deposit down on an RV. That was quickly ruined by a couple’s wedding on the same weekend. My team took down a top 10 team on the road for the first time in 20 years. The couple that got married are now divorced. God damnit.

What’s my point here? My point here, is fuck your gameday wedding. Fuck it right in the pussy. Men are vilified and chided for our irrational love of sports, especially football, but we get less than 15 weekends a year to enjoy our beautiful college pigskin before it’s violently ripped from our loving, booze-filled arms. I know Pinterest says that fall colors beautifully complement a wedding, but I say that your fall wedding is merely an inconvenience to anyone who gives even the tiniest of shits about the grand game of football.

If you asked me about any of the three weddings above, I couldn’t tell you anything about them. I couldn’t tell you what we had for dinner, what song the bride and groom’s first danced to, where the reception was held or at which hotel I stayed. I was so caught up with keeping track of games, trying to find a TV or someone with a laptop that my photographic memory shut down. I ruined the atmosphere at your wedding by sneaking off into the only corner of the venue with cell phone reception so I could check the score, making it look like I was some sad sack who was drunk and texting his ex during the “YMCA.” Did you play “Come On, Eileen” at your wedding? Wouldn’t even know, because as soon as I found out there was a sports bar two blocks away, I hightailed it out of there and found solace at a bar with four standard definition TVs and even fewer beers on tap. I missed you cutting the cake for that, by the way. I’m not pathetic, you’re pathetic!

It’s hard for me to enjoy your wedding when my team is driving with the ball, down three late in the fourth quarter. Your grandfather’s touching speech about how he and your grandmother met the day after he came home from Korea could have very well been interrupted by me shouting “FUCK YEAH FUCK YOU MATT BARKLEY YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” You’re lucky it didn’t, because I’m sure that would’ve been the highlight of everyone’s night and the only noteworthy thing that would’ve happened at your wedding. Your grandpappy was drunk anyway and mentioned something about how “we’re all lucky I’m not making this speech in Japanese or one of those Chineses.” That would’ve been a nice diversion.

When it comes to your wedding, go spring and summer or go home. However, I understand that weddings are a huge fucking rip off and you gotta save money wherever you can. We’re not all Rockefellers. Know this, I will definitely be happy for you and full of support. Just don’t expect me to pay attention.

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Brian McGannon

What do I love? I love happy hour, a good golf tan, and getting inappropriately drunk in public.

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