Toilet Bowl Promises

As I sat in the stands of FIU Stadium this past Saturday watching the Golden Panthers rally past Arkansas State, my head screamed at me for not keeping myself properly hydrated while tailgating all afternoon. It reminded me of all the nights I’ve spent hugging the toilet, cursing myself and promising God and anyone else who might be tuning in that I would never drink again.
You see, I approach college football tailgating with a vigor unlike anything else. The Xterra gets packed on Friday night and Tina and I spend most of the evening in the kitchen preparing Saturday’s feast. Usually I make my own special variety of wings in three flavors--hot, hot w/minced garlic, and extra hot--and Tina makes something fancy and healthy. For Arkansas State she made some turkey bacon club wraps and festive bean dip while I took the week off from making wings and just brought hotdogs. Of course, what tailgate would be complete without a cooler full of beer?
At my age, I’ve learned to become a smarter drinker, not only for the sake of others around me, but for my own sake as well. As I down beer after beer, I mix in a bottle of water here and there. Usually, I try to keep the ratio at a 3 beers to 1 bottle of water minimum. This not only prevents me from getting embarrassingly drunk, but it also helps to quell any potential hangover. Unfortunately, this past Saturday I forgot to keep up with the water intake.
I was fine up until halftime. Tina, our friends and I were in the student section chanting, cheering, romping and stomping. We went crazy when Paul McCall connected with T.Y. for an 84 yard catch and run play and booed when ASU scored. After the half was an entirely different story. Seeing that we’re all a bit older than the average student, we decided the atmosphere in the student section was a bit too frenzied for our taste and relocated to the visitors seating. Apparently, someone forgot to tell the ASU faithful that there was a game.
That was when the exhaustion set in. I suddenly felt like I had gone a week without sleep. My head started hurting and my legs were nowhere to be found. It wasn’t an early onset hangover, this was different. I chased down a soda vendor like he owed me money and bought a Powerade. After gulping that down I felt better, briefly. A good game was being played between two teams fighting for third place in the conference and a potential bowl game and all I could do was stare at my feet: my eyes couldn’t take the lights. I didn’t miss the wide receiver end around-fumble-option-pass to end the game, though.
I felt so bad that I couldn’t help but think back to the night that some friends and I did eight shots of Jagermeister, each. That night cost me about two days worth of toilet bowl promises, including a promise to never do Jager shots again, a promise I have kept to this day. Tina dragged me to a friend of hers divorce party once, and I proceeded to drink margaritas like a fish drinks water. There were many promises made that night, too. For my 34th birthday, when it seemed like everyone inside Buffalo Wild Wings bought me a shot, I promised myself that I would never tell my boss that I would come in on my day off again, especially when that day off falls on the day after my birthday.
Saturday night wasn’t nearly as bad as any of those times. The way I felt was caused more by exhaustion and dehydration than it was excess alcohol intake. When we made it back to the parking lot following the game I was able to down a few bottles of water and I felt better almost instantly. Although the exhaustion was still there, the headache went away once I got some H2O in me. Unfortunately I found that someone had stolen our mini-grill. There were no toilet bowl promises to be made that night though, only celebration of another Golden Panther victory, the fourth of the season so far. Not bad for a team projected as the worst in the country at the start of the season.