Missouri Versus Colorado: The Brown Out Game

I've managed to make it to every home football game since I was a freshman at Mizzou in the fall of 2003.  This season was no different.  After we helped Craig move in to his new place, Timmy, Craig and I headed to Columbia to relive the irresponsibility of college again.  Missouri versus Colorado, a game of relatively little weight aside for the fact that Colorado is a conference opponent.  We've handily beaten them for years.  Seriously, it's been a bloodbath.  The last five years' scores have been: 26-0, 36-17, 58-0, 55-10, and 28-13.  This year, game day is October 9th.  We begin tailgating profusely.  A few of us had tickets to the game.  I did not.  Instead, I watched the game in a bar with some friends.  That means we drank for another 2 hours.

After the rest of the guys got out of the game, I met them at McNally's.  This is when the night begins.  Javo and his girlfriend were there, Craig and his girlfriend were there, then there was me and Timmy.  The couples decide they want to go sit in the hot tub at Matt's place.  I turn to Timmy and with my saddest of sad faces, I ask "you're not going to leave, are you Timmy?"

"No."

"Good!  Can we just get really, really drunk?"

"Oh yea."

At this time, we proceed to the bar.  The couples leave.  We begin by taking a shot of Jameson. That leads to another shot of Jameson.  That leads to several shots of Jameson.  We decide it's time to leave and go to another bar.  This is when the brown out begins.  Let me explain what it means to "brown out".  It's a less severe black out.  You remember certain things, forget others, and with a little help from witnesses, pictures, or police reports, you can piece together your night.  Everyone has browned out, this one is a little more intriguing than most.

I have no idea what bar we went to after McNally's, where it was, or what street it was on.  When we walked in, it was very, very silent.  There were three other people in the bar.  It was a nice, chic place.  Dim lighting, candles on the tables, sleek bar, not the kind of place two liquored up college football fans should be.  In the best decision of the night, we take more shots and order some whiskey cokes.  I'm  mid sip of my whiskey when Timmy notices a guy we went to high school with.  If my vocal cords weren't too busy getting doused in rail whiskey, I would've tried to stop what happened next.  Timmy called him out.

"Finef!  Where you at?!"  Finef looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Who are you?"

"Tobaggon.  Mantis Tobaggon," he replied suavely.  

I choke on my whiskey at the reference to It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia.  Finef was not having it.  The bartender was not amused.  The two girls with Finef look angry.  Timmy and I begin to panic.  To mend the situation, we do what seems logical.  We order more shots! Shots for everyone!  I remember throwing my head back to take the shot.

Scene missing.

When I come to, I'm looking at my feet, one in front of the other, quicker and quicker, my pace is picking up, my arms are pumping and I'm breathing heavy.  I'm in a full sprint down an unfamiliar alley.  Timmy is behind me. I have no idea why we're running.  When I look behind Timmy, I see why.  We're being chased by at least 15 guys.  One of them stops, takes off his shirt and begins flexing, trying to intimidate us.  Being the sarcastic, scrappy, witty drunk that I am, I begin to make fun of him.  Or, as Timmy puts it, saying "some truly hurtful, angry things".  Timmy picks me up and carries me down the alley as I'm still antagonizing the shirtless guy.

Everything goes blank.

I come to in the passenger seat of a huge van.  The first things I see are, again, my feet.  My glorious Chuck Taylors.  I look behind me and there's Timmy, sitting in the back seat of the van.  He's yelling.  "Bethel!  Bethel!  Bethel!"  That's a street in Columbia that's kind of close to where we were staying.  Sort of.

Nighty night.

When my awareness returns, I'm sitting down on a front porch, leaning against the door of a house.  The place looks familiar.  While trying to figure out where it is, something comes flying toward me and hits the door I'm leaning against with a loud thud. Then, the object falls on my head.  Angrily, I mumble "what the fuck?"  Then, I hear it again.  Woosh, woosh, woosh, thump!  This time, I see what it is.  It's a newspaper flying through the air.  Timmy is in the front yard, throwing newspapers at the front door.  By some miracle, we got back to the house we were staying at.  Throwing newspapers, it's the new knocking.

One of the guys that lives there answers the door and looks at Timmy, "not cool dude".  We go in and I instantly pass out on the couch.  The next morning, we decide on HuHot for food.  Whatever, I was still drunk, I went with it.  HuHot sounded good until I made the stir fry on the first recipe card I came across. The Burn Your Samurai.  Not the best hangover cure.

I don't plan on browning out again soon.