The Best Miserable Game Ever

I look up from the dirty concrete of the 400 section, lifting my chin up above my knees to see the scoreboard read 27-6. My mind said "Scream" but my body screamed "Don't you move!" The Redskins were going to the playoffs for the second time in three years, but I just wanted to go to bed.

The night before is a collection of photographs in my mind, like an amnesia patient putting together their past. My dad and I arrived at our hotel in Alexandria early on that Saturday. The Patriots game was going to be on, because they were going for the undefeated season. So we decide on a place to watch the game.

We walk down the street to Bugsy's to eat a pizza and have a couple of beers. fortunately my dad has more money than I do, because those couple of beers ended up being $180 worth of a couple of beers.

After the game is over, which by the second quarter we had lost interest in, we head to the Blue Bayou. I stumble to the bar and decide to pay for the drinks here, since dad just ponied up about $200 at the last place.

"Two Jack and Cokes," I tell the bartender. A bit later, they are given to me. As I look for my dad to give him his drink, I notice he's sandwiched between two twenty-somethings dancing. Apparently being the oldest guy in a bar has it's perks. That image of my dad is the last thing I remember from that night.

The next morning I'm woken up by the sound of housekeeping knocking at the door, like police serving a warrant. As I open my eyes, it all hits me. The headache, the confusion, the thirst, oh god the thirst. I look to my left for a bottle of water, because I must have been drinking one in bed last night and spilled it. Or I was so drunk I wet my pants. The smell of the sheets confirm my fears. I pissed myself.

But where was dad? Why won't this demon stop pounding on the door demanding to keep the house? So I get up to let her in, the knocking must stop.

As I lay flat on my back, marinating in my urine-soaked sheets, I see the housekeeper walking towards the bathroom, the door is slightly ajar. As she pulls it open "PRRRRRRRRRFFFFFFFF!" and my dad erupts his bowels right in front of this poor woman. "OH! I come back later," she exclaims, walking quickly out the door. I want to laugh at what just happened in my presence, but using the necessary muscles would be too painful.

Had that game been at one o'clock, we could not have made it. the pain was too great, the metro ride to Morgan Boulevard too long and the walk to Fed Ex Field too argous. Oh but we made it. we made it and watched the Redskins win on that cold, rainy and horrible day.

What a great game.

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