Black Butte, Ducks, and more Beer: Part III

10 10 2007

At halftime of the Oregon-Fresno game, it was decided that we would hit up the “beer garden,” as Fresno was down by entirely to many points for us to concern ourselves with the rest of the game.

When I got word of our inner-Autzen migration, I was standing where I had been for the first half, somewhere on the concourse. Joe called me from the entrance to the building we were to go to, and from where I was standing I could see him, so I figured I should get down there and join the group. I say “down there” because the concourse itself was raised up maybe two stories from the ground level, with not enough stairs to descend.

On the right, you can see the wall which bordered the narrow cement stairs. At the top and to the right of me, people were waiting in a crowd as they were herded like cows to the top of the stairs.

Being the intelligent drunkard I am, I decided to follow the lead of all the other young people. If they can charge down the hill, so can I goddamit!

Nay, I could not charge down the hill. At least not successfully.

While the hill looks to be covered with tall grass (which is what I assumed), it is not. It is covered with some sort of low shrub, and from the angle of the picture, it looks as though this shrub covers the hillside in its entirety.

It does not.

Had I taken a picture of this hill from the bottom, you would see that there are large patches of bare spots. Had I seen these bare spots, I probably would have not been so hasty in my inebriated scamper down the hill.

Let me describe these “bare spots.” They are dirt, yes, but not the type of dirt I am used to. I can only assume that there was some special type of Oregon dirt on the ground. This Oregon dirt is rather soft, much like a sponge. A sponge that absorbs human feet up to almost mid-shin level. And when you sink down into this dirt while running down a hill, it grabs you and makes you fall backwards.

Realizing that I did not want to fall backwards, I made a drunken decision to twist to my right so I would catch myself with my right hand. The twist worked, the catching worked, but I had so much momentum that I still fell backwards, and because of the twist I managed to yank my ankle pretty hard. If that wasn’t enough, I landed with my arm locked at the elbow, which didn’t feel to great either.

So, since I was on my ass, I decided to kick my foot out of the soft Oregon dirt and slide down the rest of the way. THAT plan worked out perfectly, and left a nice green patch on the rear of my shorts.

Nevertheless, I was at the bottom of the hill.

Unlike the setup at Fresno State, Autzen Stadium, during the games, sets up their indoor practice field as a beer garden of sorts.

There is beer, food, and big screen TV’s that you can watch the game on. Also, there are lots of people.

See, lots of people. This is taken almost halfway to the back wall, so there are just as many people behind me.

This is probably the best thing at a college football game that can be done. Beer was 5 dollars a cup, but that’s to be expected. They had a variety of food, of which I ate none because I was busy drinking 5 dollar beers.

The best thing, besides beer, about this massive party was the quantity of drunk Ducks fans to mess with. Or, even better, the drunk Ducks fans that were messing with us. Like I already mentioned, these Oregon folk are rather friendly, and the normal ripping done between opposing fans was altered into an initial insult, then went immediately into a cordial conversation about anything.

Meet DrunkWhiteGirl. She’s the one standing between me and Joe, if you can’t quite tell who I’m talking about. This is about how close, if not closer, she was standing next to me while we were talking. She was quite drunk, quite interested in me and the fact that I live in Fresno, because her sister goes to school in Sacramento. That’s some good drunk logic, if you think about it.

DrunkWhiteGirl was there with her husband, a big white fellow who supposedly was in the construction business. He was a cool guy, and did not give a crap that his woman was hanging all over me.

However, when I took a picture of them both, he did flip me off. I don’t know if thats accidental, or if that was his way of throwing negative vibes at me. Whatever, he was a pretty cool guy either way.

Here is another picture of DrunkWhiteGirl with her feisty friend, ForeSkinBiter.

ForeSkinBiter was angry with us for being Bulldogs fans, and she was looking for a fight. I don’t mean a verbal fight, she seriously wanted to fight us, especially Joe. I had the feeling she was drunk, and probably not a professional fighter, so clearly either of us would whoop her ass. Also, it’s not cool to beat up drunk girls, no matter what I have said in the past.

DrunkWhiteGirl kept warning us that she was a “biter,” and I said (rather loudly, it would seem): “I got some foreskin she can bite!”

And everybody laughed, and thus the name ForeSkinBiter was bestowed upon her.

Maybe you are wondering why I’m using only slightly crude nicknames. Thats because I don’t remember these girls names at all. Such is the nature of meeting people when you are drunk.

After the game, we went out to eat at a place called “Roadhouse.” Not “Logan’s Roadhouse,” or even “Texas Roadhouse,” but just “Roadhouse.” True to roadhousian style, the beer was served in mason jars.

Now, I’m not against drinking beer out of a jar, as I’ve drunken beer out of weirder containers. However, I still feel that when you pay for a pint, it should be in a proper pint glass, not a mason jar, even if they hold equal portions.

After dinner, it was time to sleep. It was a rather good sleep, with the days alcohol providing all the necessary “Zzzz’s” over our heads. You heard me.

On the ride back, on our first stop, I had to buy a tube of Ben-Gay. Apparently, when I fell backwards on the hill, I did manage to hurt my entire right arm.

Of course, when drunk, the body ignores these types of pains, but to have such extreme pain the following day and not the day of is always a trip to me.




5 responses

27 09 2007

well worth the wait 😉

28 09 2007

Why are there no photos of the grass stain on the rear of your shorts?

29 09 2007

Because I’m not flexible enough for that sort of wide angle shot.

1 10 2007
Joe Drinker

I think next time you’re there you should set up a dramatic re-enactment of the falling down event. I’d be worth the set up time for some good photos.

1 10 2007

Sounds like a plan. I’ll just get drunk again and set up a video camera.

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