Tailgating might be one of my favorite things on the planet you can do with clothes on. There isn’t much better than grilling up good food, drinking too much liquor and playing outdoor drinking games while surrounded by close friends and totally inebriated strangers. There is sort of a thrill that comes with it as the possibilities of where the day can lead are endless.

Is that guys girlfriend drunk enough to go hook up with you by the porta-potties? Normally probably not. But when tailgating you bet you’ve got a shot.

Are those people going to get mad when you walk up and make yourself a top shelf Bloody Mary while they’re carrying their grill out? Maybe! But it’s worth a shot.

Can you really throw a football sixty yards in the air right over a group of people eating? Your last three throws would suggest no, but you’re going to try it anyway. And why? Because you’re tailgating. And when you’re tailgating the normal rules of society don’t exist.

There are a few type of people you’re going to find every time you go to a sporting event and you’re tailgating. These are some of them.

The guy who doesn’t help setting anything up, but is the first to drink and eat. Hand up, I’m for sure this guy. But this is because of my constant need to use the bathroom. Once we arrive I’ve basically gotta sprint to the toilet so I don’t piss my pants. This is what happens when you drink twelve beers on the way to tailgate, so you really can’t blame me.

The guy who jumps into your casual game of catch and starts drawing up routes for you to run. This is the same guy who throws the ball no where near you and then acts like you didn’t hustle enough to catch it. This guy is the worst. Maybe he played football in high school, but he for sure didn’t start as he’s about as athletic as a stack of used car tires. This guys dream is for some wild NFL strike to happen so he could live out the life of this guy:

The guy who gives you the keys to victory even though you didn’t ask him. “You know what we’ve gotta do? We’ve gotta run with a lower pad level and the quarterback has gotta keep his head on a swivel. The linebackers need to keep an eye on the play action pass too.” Basically he just regurgitates whatever shit head thing world renowned moron John Gruden spews out during his broadcasts.

The guy who hovers behind the grill and tells you when to flip the burgers. I know what I’m doing you idiot. Yea sure, one time I fed all my friends basically raw meat when we were wasted and a bunch of them got diarrhea, but I’ve learned my lesson in drunk cooking. I now know how to fully cook burgers even when I’m totally blacked out. Which is a pretty handy life skill.

And then there are the professional party gamers. The people who complain about the beer pong table not being regulation length. Or they’ll complain insistently about how the lip on the table is not conducive to flip cup even though no one else is having trouble flipping the cups over.  That the cornhole set is not exactly twenty seven feet apart. Who the fuck cares? We’re drinking in a parking lot like scum bags. Now isn’t the time to have standards.

Also, speaking of standards, keep your head on a swivel. This part is for sure going to piss a lot of people off but whatever, I’m hear to report and serve. Sure, there are going to be a lot of girls tailgating. But be careful, for some inexplicable reason girls are like thirty percent more attractive when tailgating. Maybe it’s the tight jersey. Maybe it’s the way the sun reflects off their makeup in the sun. Or maybe it’s because you’ve drank seventeen beers and eaten two cups of vodka soaked gummy worms. But the worst thing that can happen is your going to sober up as your walking out of the stadium and you’re going to see some bowser that looks like the shell of the girl you made out with before the game started. This is why giving a fake number exists.

And I’d like to finish this up with a little life pro tip. The day before you are planning on tailgating you should totally dehydrate yourself. This will prevent you from having to piss a million times on the way to the stadium while you chug a twelve pack in the back seat of your friends shitty car.