Freshman Guide: Tailgating

Freshman Guide: Tailgating

What’s up frish-frosh? You’ve officially popped your B1G Ten cherry via the Freshman Tailgate and you are feelin’ the dub dub LUV! Foam claws! A bounce house! Matching shirts! And nothing says tailgating like some poor shit struggling to keep hotdogs and bile down while 2,000 of his peers watch and professional photographers immortalize the moment! Haha fun!

No, froshie, haha LAME! Any college kid worth their obscene tuition knows that it’s 1000x cooler to gag on Skol than processed beef. Toss your orientation schedule and get with the REAL program (frosh tested, Morty approved):

8 AM:  WAKE UP IT’S GAMEDAY!!!!!!!! Get your roomie out of bed! Blast some Chance! Text your friends! What are they doing! Text your Deuce hookup! Do some shots! GAMEDAY!

8:15 AM: Ahhhhh fuck no one else is up yet. Fuck.

8:30 AM: Okay, so your Tour Guides™ definitely lied to you and this is not “just like every other B1G TEN school” and now you have to wait and pretend you woke up at, like, a cool time.  

8:45 AM: Should you awkwardly sit on your bed listening to music? Should you actually start trying to get to know your roommate? Should you pretend to go back to sleep so you can avoid that at all possible costs?

8:50 AM: Definitely the last option.


9:50 AM: Walk outside of your room drrrrippin purple! Purple Pride! Purple Rain! Purple Nurples! Is that a sex thing? One Eyed One Horned Flying Purple People Eater!

9:55 AM: Everyone is hotter than you oh no oh no oh no run back inside change six times.

10 AM: You’re actually ready!! Take some confidence shots with your roommate maybe three, maybe four, five seems like an advisable number. Remember to mix, kids: AND is in our DNA!

10:30 AM: Wake up on the Domino’s toilet??????

10:35 AM: Well, crap. Flush. Assess. You lost a member of your herd to the crepe stand, drunkenly venmo-d a second grader for lemonade that was mostly water, and broke your key trying to shotgun a beer.  Half-brain engineering + whole-brain headassery = $296 payable to the Kemper desk.

10:40 AM:  Your stomach growls. You realize your breakfast this morning was pretty one-note in terms of food-group variety (no, wine doesn’t count as fruit), and you figure you might as well make the most of your mid-morning nap location.

10:55 AM: So after 15 minutes of chanting Papa John’s slogans and trying to fight the cashier for not accepting NU dining dollars you’re now banned from Domino’s.

11:45 AM: Can’t tell if you fell asleep again or just blacked out but you have no fucking clue where you are. You raise your paws to rub your eyes and - hooooooly Pat Fitzgerald you’re wearing the Willie costume.

12:00 PM:  Something about this seems like your cue to gtfo, so you make a (really swervy) beeline for the athlete tunnel.  Unsurprisingly, you rack up more rushing yards during your sprint to freedom than the football team does during the whole goddamn game.

12:20 PM: Midway upon the journey of our life / I found myself within a dark forest / For the straightforward pathway had been lost  - Justin Jackson the Ball Carrier, probably.


2:00 PM: Wake up in Elder. You did it.  Somehow, against all odds, you’re in bed, safe and sound.  You’re unstoppable. You’re amazing. You’re pretty sure you peed your shorts. Snuggle into your covers, enjoy the sweet, sweet feeling of success, and let out a deep, long “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck this is not my room”. Better luck next time!


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