I love football. I’d say I love it even more than the metaphorical next guy. And as a red-blooded American male, I know that the best preparation leading up to kickoff is a proper tailgate. So around 10 yesterday morning some companions and I made the trek down from the wasteland that is CoRo to the notorious Walsh Hall, where our group met up with more kids before we left for Brighton. After an hour of Party 3.0 and an abundance of the whitest dance moves since Footloose, we landed at the tailgate and set up shop. Coolers stocked with beer + overly generous alumni. You do the math. By the time we made it to the stadium, I thought I had lost my mind somewhere between the second and third game of flipcup (#frat). My eyes had to be deceiving me when I read the score of 35-0 with two minutes to go in the quarter. Upon seeing that the game had already been won my interest completely dissipated and all I could think of was being back in the friendly confines of my room in Welch.
I was greeted warmly by my floormates who had beaten me back to the room and immediately became immersed in an all-time classic, School of Rock. Not watching it would have been nothing less than disrespectful to my nine year-old-self. One by one, those around me and myself began to feel the effects of our early morning shenanigans. Maintaining that amount of school spirit is nearly impossible, especially for someone like me who religiously avoids the million-dollar stairs and is a frequent flyer aboard the Maloney elevator. So they dozed off and I took a nap. Not your run of the mill, 45 minutes to 2 hours nap. This was a monster of a nap spanning six hours. I’m convinced I sleepwalked through dinner. By the time I woke up, it was 9PM and those who were strong enough to begin the pregames once again had already done so. Many of those in Welch 3 had succumbed to the #naplife as well and had been left behind as the night began.
And that’s why 1PM games are the worst. It’s unfeasible to expect that the high energy level be kept up from 10 AM through the night. The entire campus was walking around in a daze for hours on end following the game and many chose to stay in rather than rally the troops for Round #2. Despite the snapchat stories of off-campus houses and packed 8 mans there was a large contingent of us that chose the bed over another bottle and traded our pastels for sweatpants (#fatguymoves). Some people were still recovering from Friday night, others were detoxing following the game, and everyone lacked the motivation to leave their beloved foam mattress pads/fire hazards. If the football game is the climax of the day then what follows is the denouement, to use a literary analogy (we don’t go to BC for nothing, kids), and Saturday night suffers as a result. All those plans you made with people down at the tailgate and later at the game are forgotten and your incentive to go out and look respectable is minimal. 1PM games: be better.
In terms of the game itself I have no idea where to begin. Seriously Howard? My dad’s name is Howard and he could’ve put on a better show than that himself. The dude’s 53 years old and sits behind a desk all day. Even the referees took pity on you. The quarters were shortened from 15 to 10 minutes in order to expedite your inevitable defeat. The stats from this contest are staggering: Howard gaining a TOTAL of 11 yards (they had collected negative yards until the closing minutes), BC gaining almost 44x as many yards as the opposition (483 to be exact). Oh and the score being 76 to fucking zero. Howard throwing up a goose egg. Nada. Zilch. Tough day to be a Bison fan. Next up: Florida State on Friday. Buckle up, superfans.
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