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7:30am: Jolt out of bed and dash two steps towards the shower only to realize it’s Saturday. Go back to bed.
8:30am: Finally roll out of bed. Make yourself a bowl of cereal. Kickoff is in eight hours. Eat bowl of cereal in silence at your kitchen counter while watching Sportscenter.
9:00am: Watch College Gameday, Indian-style in front of your TV with another bowl of cereal. Get lost in Sam Ponder’s eyes.
9:45am: Check social media. Your envy rises as you are met with pictures of kegs and eggs, tailgates and beer runs. On top of that, your starting running back is out with a shoulder injury. Hold back tears.
9:46am: Shower. Put on gameday golf polo. Start sending out texts to see where everyone is watching the game.
10am: No answers to your texts.
10:15am: Grab your car keys to go to the store to stock up on beer. Stare longingly at 30-racks of Keystone before settling on a six-pack of Blue Moon.
10:20am: Exit liquor store and legitimately consider hitting the highway back to your college town for gameday. You could get in about an hour of tailgating if you hit the road now.
10:21am: Calculate how much you would spend on gas. Go back to your apartment.
10:45am: First text of the day. It’s from your mom: “Go [insert alma mater’s mascot here]!!” Crack open first beer.
11am: First game kicks off. Florida International at Ball State. It’ll have to do.
12:30pm: Halftime. Text from friend: “I don’t know, man. Went a little too hard last night. I’m a gametime decision.” Throw phone to the other end of the couch.
1pm: Text from hot girl: “OMG!! Deuce just told me the story about when you guys went to Athens! LOL! Miss you! <3”
1:15pm: Finally, a text from a friend: “LET’S FUCKING GO! FUCK STATE! [insert generic sports bar here] NOW, BRO!”
1:16pm: Leap off the couch and book it to the bar. Send mass text to friends to meet you at the bar.
1:30pm: Friend who texted you hasn’t stopped drinking since yesterday, is a mess and in the process of getting kicked out of the bar.
1:31pm: Load drunk friend into a cab, just as a small group of your friends is rolling up at the bar. Relief washes over you. You don’t have to sit at the end of the bar by yourself like Steven Glansberg.
1:35pm: Bucket of beers with friends. The sweet nectar of freedom washes over you with your first sip.
2:00pm: One hour to kickoff. You and your friends polished off the brews and now it’s time to kick it up a notch. Order a round of bombs and put “Still Of The Night” on the jukebox. You let all 17 people in the bar know you mean business.
2:30pm: You’re feeling it now. Your extended group of friends has shown up now and you’ve taken over a solid area of the bar. The bar begins filling up.
2:45pm: Handshake agreement between you and your best friend on taking bombs every time your squad scores a touchdown.
2:55pm: Power down one last beer before kickoff. Order another one and find a seat.
3:00pm: Kickoff. The bar is going nuts for the beginning of another season.
3:01pm: Kick return TD. First round of bombs is ordered as the fight song blasts over the sound system.
3:05pm: See girl you used to hookup with across the bar. Avoid making eye contact.
3:07pm: Touchdown #2. Pick six. Another round of bombs. You seemed to have forgotten that you’re playing a team from the Sun Belt.
3:15pm: You are now joined by another group of friends. Order them a round of beers. You make $30k a year, stud. You can afford it.
3:25pm: Touchdown #3. 67-yard TD reception. It’s now 21-0 with five minutes left in the first quarter and you’re already completely shitfaced.
3:45pm: Touchdown #4. Punt return TD. It’s getting ugly now.
4:30pm: Halftime. You’re bordering on blackout right now. Mix in a water and hit the patio for a cig. Bum one off the guy who is obviously not there to watch the game and talk his ear off about how great the first half was.
4:45pm: Back in the bar. The second team is already in the game, but you remain steadfast in your touchdown bomb pledge with your buddy. Another TD. Another bomb.
5:00pm: You’re over the edge now. Your stomach is a sea of Red Bull, sugar and alcohol.
6:??pm: Full-blown blackout mode. The game’s over. Final score: 65-3. Bar tab: $285. Put it on the credit card.
6:30pm: Time for dinner. You feel like steak. Head to a steakhouse.
6:45pm: Get denied service at the steakhouse because you and you friends aren’t in “appropriate condition to dine at this establishment.”
7:00pm: Eat a slice of pizza in the street.
7:15pm: Cab back to your apartment. Tell your friends you’ll meet them out around 10 after you’ve showered and changed.
7:20pm: Pass out on the couch.
Respond
Brian McGannon
What do I love? I love happy hour, a good golf tan, and getting moderately drunk during dinner.
@BrianMcGannon
@brianmcgannon
brianmcgannon
Shockingly accurate
Depressingly accurate
Great, after reading this I have to stay seated at my desk until this erection subsides
I am 30 mins out from my weekend and have been dealing with pissed off customers for 2 hrs. Then I read this. It’s like y’all want me to be depressed.
7:40 am: Wake up with crippling hangover. Call in sick.
On a Sunday?
This reads more like a “To-Do” list.
All of this is so accurate, until the part of a friend texting back and seeing a girl I actually hooked up with in college. Both very unlikely…