|This is probably a HUGE book|
Eggs are laid, slaughterings occur, and smokings proceed; hell, I'm sure there are clocks cleaned and children spanked. All of which happened Saturday night down at "The Farm," down at Stanford, where the better coached, more disciplined and physical Stanford Cardinal slaughtered, smoked, cleaned, and spanked the 'Cats. Conversely, the 'Cats laid an egg.
I managed to observe this despite my intoxication levels and in spite of the underwhelming Stanford crowd. I know the Cardinal fans didn't miss the memo on the smartphones they developed that their Cardinal were 7-1 and playing a top-15 opponent on national TV. Damned wannabe Ivy League. At least Arizona picked a make-believe creature for a mascot not a ripped off color and a tree who's M.O. is to get itself smacked..
Anyhow, if you're ever looking to go into "enemy territory" wearing the opposition's colors, but maybe you're just a wee bit timid to do it, go to Stanford. The average tailgater is just under one-million years old and the average smile is just over one-billion kilowatts. They're so damn nice. I swear to god my cubicle is louder than a Stanford tailgate. SHHH, you might be too loud reading this.
Let me ask you: at how many other schools would it take 30 MINUTES TO FIND LIQUOR? That's right, once off Caltrain (which we could drink on), Hayley and I searched for a half-hour before finding an accommodating CVS (30-rack and a 12-rack, BL and Coors, respectively).
Booze in hand we met up with Timbo Fischer (my nickname for Tim) and merrily made our way through the tailgates. We partied with the Arizona backup center's family and various other degrees of UA alum and enthusiasts. Tailgating was highlighted by a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend invite to a 35-foot RV camper. A-mazing.
We Shotgun Saturdayed before heading into the masacre and that is where my story ends. Not one Stanford fan spoke a single iota of trash.