After nine long months, we are finally on the cusp of football season and the return of something special: The first tailgate beer.
Let me paint the scene. After a long winter, a boring spring, and a summer full of bad decisions, we have arrived at fall. You wake up at the crack of dawn and make your way to MetLife Stadium.
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On the way there, you call your buddy to break down the upcoming game, even though you’ll see him in about an hour at the tailgate. After listening to sports talk radio and the CBS theme song, you arrive at the world’s largest air conditioning unit.
You flash your parking pass and begin driving around the lots. You peek out your window to see a Chad Pennington No. 10 jersey. A little bit further down, you notice a Brett Favre No. 4 Titans fit, and out of the corner of your eye, you see a 400-pound fan wearing a custom No. 69 throwback jersey brandishing “[NSFW]” on the back. You’re officially home.
After parking your car and opening your door, you’re greeted by your tailgating crew. This is the part where you realize you forgot half the names of the people there. Every tailgate has the random cousin of your buddy, the uncle and aunt who always bring you food (where you can’t say no), and, of course, the old guy who has to tell you how long he’s been a suffering fan.
Slowly but surely, their names start to come back to you, and you’re right back where you were last season. Unfortunately, Uncle Kevin is no longer a part of the crew after his divorce from Stephanie (she got to keep the season tickets in the split), but nonetheless, the vibes are still high.
Once greetings have finished, you make your way over to the trunk and grab your first beer. No IPAs. No experimental beer that your weird neighbor brews in his basement. Just a classic domestic beer in a can. When you crack the top, the sound can be heard across the parking lot. It’s the perfect sound. People turn and begin to judge you because it’s only 8:15 a.m., but you don’t let that stop you.
This is God’s cocktail. 72 degrees and sunny, a light breeze, the smell of grills, and a domestic beer. You raise your can, and the moment that beer hits your lips, it’s like that scene in Ratatouille where the food critic’s life flashes before his eyes. All the memories come back. I start to remember all the moments from the games over the past decade. You know it’s wrong to be putting this liquid poison in your body when all you’ve eaten was half a bagel, yet it feels so right. It’s a new season, and your team is undefeated… and so are you.
Cars and fans continue to fill in. You begin debating whether Micheal Clemons deserves a roster spot. The guy on the grill reminds you for the 500th time that he was at the Monday Night Miracle. Then your best friend arrives, it’s NYJ Mike. A random kid and his dad are throwing the football, but not anymore, as Mike jumps the route and takes it 99 yards to the house. He, of course, returns the ball and lets the kid know he has a great spiral.
Finally, 12:15 hits, and you begin to remember why you’re here. It’s gameday, so you have to start saying your goodbyes and that you’ll see the whole crew next week to do it again.
Important note that shouldn’t have to be said but will be: Always have a plan to get home safely. Whether you use ride-share services or rotate each week with your buddy, never drink and drive. There are no excuses.
Enjoy that first tailgate beer responsibly. There is simply nothing better.
