As I mentioned, the town in which I was born and raised, is football-crazy. There is no word to explain how pigskin obsessed this city, let alone the entire state, is. It completely shuts down. Everything within a twenty block radius of the Stadium is packed so tightly, it's worse than the first time I took only a carry on bag for a three day trip (still proud of myself for doing that, by the way). The minute the University campus is no longer in view, the rest of this place is a ghost town from a Western movie. Examples of how extreme this is:
1. If one is planning a beautiful wedding and wants to invite their family and friends to celebrate this union, it can't be done until the football schedule is published. If there is a home game, it is guaranteed that 50% of your guests are season ticket holders or have a prime tailgating location in the local Newspaper's parking lot. The percentage is still high if you plan this for an away game as well.
2. Stores, restaurants and offices are closed, have shorted hours or are understaffed. This seems extreme. Not everyone can be fans of college football.... Can they?
3. The most celebrity interactions I've had in my life and heard from everyone living here has taken place at these football games. My closest experience with a famous person, with the exception of Robin Williams in San Francisco (story for another day)? When our team played a Southern California football team, my sister that was working at a downtown hotel delivered room service to Will Farrel. He told her that he liked her braided pigtails. Gasp!! Side note: now the bitch is working for a different hotel group in the South and has recently been serving a certain dreamy but easily forgotten One Tree Hill star. So jealous.
So, needless to say, about seven weekends of my year for the last twenty-some years have been predetermined by the Red and White Gods. The University also has a Spring Game every April. I had never been, mainly because I don't care about any of the regular season games. People pay to watch the team practice. They pay money. These people waste an entire Saturday that could be spent working, sleeping, shopping, reading, picking up dog poop...really anything sounds more appealing than this. However, in the spirit of unity (and vodka), my extended family all came to the football metropolis of the Midwest to attend this Spring Game(practice). We took pictures, planned who had what tickets (that they PAID FOR), and what bars and tailgates each respective group would hit.
Naturally, my middle sister and I went together because we have the same opinion of the football in this city: we don't care. We're about four years apart and our friend groups have overlapped quite a bit since I was at the age that I should have grown boobs (still waiting on that). Middle Sister and I went to a couple of tailgates and headed to the Stadium. I wasn't in the mood to drink, probably hungover from the night before since it was the second semester of my senior year of undergrad. While at the overpopulated practice, we sat with my oldest sister, our nephew and two of our aunts.
Middle Sister and I lasted about fifteen minutes. It was the "half time," of the glorified scrimmage and children were storming the field for what appeared to be an offering. Just kidding, it was D.A.R.E "just say no," campaign. I don't know if you're familiar with D.A.R.E., but it's a drug and violence awareness program geared for very young children. Fun fact, I read an article last summer about D.A.R.E's statistically shown ineffectiveness. Either way, Middle Sister and I heard the words "Drug and Alcohol Free," boom over the loud speakers and bolted. We were out of our seats so quickly, there were smokey outlines of our bodies like Wile E Coyote.
While heading down the stairs of the Stadium toward the closest exit, we were discussing which bar we should go to first, the typical bloody mary versus shot special discussion. I was ready to drink after realizing I just sat and watched a bunch of 19 year old boys play football when I could have been working on my graduation application or tweezing my neighbor's back hair. The exit was within arm's reach and all of the sudden, it hit me.
Something literally hit me.
The velocity of whatever nailed me on the left side of my skull, just above my ear, was so intense, I fell gracefully (not) UP the concrete stairs to the upper section of the Stadium. Half-time shows in regular season includes footballs being launched from the field, throwing contests, etc., -- everyone has seen a half time show. Apparently nothing says "half-time"like an Anti-Drug campaign and a trivia contest. I feel my sister grab my arm and yank me into the exit, which is good because I'm getting tunnel vision and vertigo.
We tried to determine what it was that hit me as we watch the bump form on my noggin form. This was far more entertaining that the practice we had just left, which isn't saying much. I think that the conclusion was that I had been hit with one of the footballs being launched, I don't remember due to the throbbing pain in my head. I had tunnel-vision the rest of the day and had to limit my drinking because I was 90% sure I had a concussion (after consulting with a physician, I did have a concussion). A bruise formed with the growth on my head as well, making it look as though I had gotten into a lover's quarrel with Chris Brown.
Later in the evening, my sister and I returned to the mother-ship for more family time. At this time, my face is only slightly bruised but very washed out, as I was extremely light headed from the air-assault. She and I were telling the rest of the crew about how I was hit with the football and how disoriented I was, when my oldest sister interrupted our story with her contagious cackling. She was laughing so hard, she could barely get the words out. My sister watched my assailant and knew what had happened. I was hit with a hot dog from the Wiener Schlinger. Not sure what that is? Then you aren't from 'Round Here (hillbilly accent). Here is Urban Dictionary's definition of Der Wiener Schlinger:
1. An over-the-shoulder devise used by an
oversized man that shoots Fairbury hotdogs to distracted ______ fans at
______ sporting events.
I had a concussion that limited a weekend of drinking, a bruise that looked like I was in a bar fight and a very beat-up ego. So, like everyone else in 2011, I posted the events on my Facebook page. Thinking it would be a silly post that would make some of my friends giggle and move on to the next duck-lipped selfie or Coldplay lyric. This didn't happen. I had an overwhelming amount of comments that indicated that some people saw this broadcasted on the big screens, others saw pictures of it or friends' posts of seeing "some chick getting drilled with a Fairbury Hot Dog," and a few lucky pals that saw it live but didn't realize the mop of blonde curls hair was me. This was completely mortifying, but too hilarious to not tell others about... which I'm doing again now. Reminds me of Mean Girls, when Karen says, "Gretchen, I'm sorry I laughed at you that time you got diarrhea at Barnes & Nobles. And I'm sorry for telling everyone about it. And I'm sorry for repeating it now."
Either way, anytime I hear Der Wiener Schlinger, I feel pulsing right above my left ear. Come to think of it, I haven't been to a sporting event at the University since this trauma occurred over two years ago.Now that I'm headed to Chicago, I don't plan to attend any events ever! Auf wiedersehen, Der Wiener Schlinger.
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