Robert Kimmerle
executive branch in a nation of one

Sunday, January 05, 2003
Rah, happy new year.

Went to Jets-Colts yesterday, likely the last New Jersey home game of the year, barring more utter weirdness. The game turned into a frozen blowout, and we left when Testaverde came in, at which point it ceased to be a playoff game.

The most impressive thing about the proceedings, however, was the professional-class tailgating gig we attended beforehand. I had once or twice shown up to a couple of games early enough to eat before entering the stadium, and it is our custom to dodge over to Rutt's Hut in Clifton before games, but this was something to behold. Burgers, hot dogs, steaks, beef stew, chili, shrimp, and my favorite, a Velveeta/salsa queso dip with strangely addictive properties. Not to mention the large but remarkably well-controlled bonfire, which induced several members of the party to declaim that staying out here, drinking whiskey and tending the fire, was vastly preferable to actually watching the Jets play. (I, semi-traitorous spy wearing my Shockey jersey amongst the various layers, held my tongue.) Our contribution: a dozen Rutt's dogs, a twelve of Yuengling, and twelve Cokes. Ten of those beers are now camped in my fridge. We gave younger brother Bill the other two, which he appeared to down with far more alacrity than would be expected of a lad who doesn't drink.

Rob's immutable law of tailgating: if everyone attending a tailgating party brings more food than they themselves can take down, then, no matter how hungry/drunk/diligent they are, not even the shrimp will all get eaten.

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