GatorsFirst
Gator Fan
Thursday, January 8th was the greatest day of my life. I’ve been alive for 8,832 days, but that lovely winter day was undeniably the best of the bunch. That day, you see, was the day that I watched the Florida Gators win their second football national championship in three years. So why then would 1/8/09 be any better than 1/8/07, when I watched the gators win their first national championship in ten years - and as a student no less? Well, for that second championship I watched the game in person, at the stadium. That alone would probably be enough, but that’s only the half of it. See, I didn’t have a ticket to the game. I snuck in. Yes, I snuck into Dolphin Stadium to watch my beloved gators do what they do best. Spent a grand total of zero dollars and zero cents and wound up celebrating in club seats arm-in-arm with my best friends. A gator national championship always makes for a great day. Doing it the way I did, well that just shoots it right to the top of the list.
In mid-December, I got an offer directly from an Orange Bowl Committee employee to purchase a club-level ticket for $680. I live about 25 minutes from the stadium, and it just so happened that I was going to be home on game day as my holiday break from grad school wound out its final days. While those conditions seemed almost heaven-sent for a hardcore Gator fan, I unfortunately had to remind myself that I’m an unemployed grad student living in southern California for 95% of the year. I just couldn’t part with that kind of money, though nine of my best (and employed) friends jumped on the offer like it came with a BJ from Carrie Underwood or something. I was content to tailgate with them and then watch it on TV in the Dolphin Stadium parking lot with a couple other broke-as-a-joke friends.
No, I did not plan on seeing this game in person. I showed up to the stadium with a 24-pack of Busch Light, a Publix sub, and $43 in my wallet. Though I consider that a pretty solid barter offer, scalpers thought otherwise, demanding $500 and up for single tickets. At about 7:45 I walked with my ticket-holding friends to the gates, gave them all high-fives, and then scampered off, nicely buzzed but still able to make rational decisions. Rather than heading directly back to the tailgate, I decided it was worth walking around the edge of the stadium, looking for a hole in the fence or something. My thought process was that I had little to lose. It was unlikely that I would get in, and I would just head back to the tailgate and watch it with friends when this excursion didn’t pan out. I decided that I would not attempt to jump any fences or anything that could get me arrested and cause me to miss the game. Then, JACKPOT! As I moved along the perimeter fence and behind a dumpster I witnessed a bribe-in-progress. There was a group of probably 12 people talking to a garbage man who had opened the gate to access the dumpster. A guy in a University of Miami hoodie was next to me watching the same thing.
“You think this is the spot?” he asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But let’s keep an eye on this.”
After a few words, the group leader handed a stack of money to the garbage man, and he stepped to the side and opened the gate about a foot. Almost immediately the Miami fan and I start moving forward to test our luck. The people in the group started moving through the opening in single-file, ducking underneath a chest high chain as they passed through the opening. The Miami fan got to the end of the line with about one third of the bribery group already through the gate. I was right behind him, dead last in the single-file line but with the gate only about ten feet from me. The group was so caught up in the excitement they didn’t even notice the two non-paying hangers-on behind them. When I was about four feet from the gate, a second stadium employee saw what was happening and screamed “HEY! DON’T DO THAT!” to his money-grubbing coworker. Panic set in, but our line had momentum and the final four of us passed through before the garbage man closed the fence behind me. I was in the stadium, but that angry coworker was now approaching us, presumably to scold the unscrupulous, but now far richer (no thanks to me) garbage man. The bribery group scattered like roaches when the lights come on as me and the Miami fan darted around the last few garbage cans and maintenance supplies like Brandon James returning a punt. Knowing that “a white guy in a blue gator shirt” would be hard to track, I sprinted up one of the iconic curly cue walkways up to the 100-level of the stadium and merged with the crowd. I was in. The Miami fan was right behind me. We gave one another a high five, went our separate ways, and never saw each other again. I usually hate Miami fans as non-students stuck in the past bragging about their former glory. No exceptions here.
At this point I was standing in the concourse unsure what to do next. I found an empty area and called a friend in the parking lot.
“Dude, I snuck into the stadium. I’m in the stadium,” I said, breathing hard with nervousness.
“What? How?” he replied.
“Dude, it was amazing. There was this group. I’ll have to tell you later. Just understand that I may or may not be joining you to watch the game.”
“I hate you.”
I walked up to the top tier of the stadium since I figured my chances of finding a seat were better up there. The ushers weren’t really checking tickets since I guess they figured no one sneaks into the upper deck. I called a friend in the $680 dollar club seats.
“Hey I’m in the stadium,” I said. “I snuck in. What section are you guys in?”
“Wow. I’m not surprised you cheap f*ck. We’re in 225,” he replied.
I could barely hear him.
“Ok, keep an eye out for empty seats,” I said.
I hopped into one section but realized immediately it was the Oklahoma side and I probably wouldn’t make any friends. I went to the opposite side of the stadium and found a seat for the national anthem and flyover before getting kicked out by the ticketholder. I sat in another seat for the first play before the same thing happened. I missed Major Wright murdering the Oklahoma receiver as I headed up the aisle with my back to the field. There was not an empty seat to be found in this section, or really in the whole stadium from what I could see. I walked to the very top of the aisle and sat on the steps with my back against the outer wall of the stadium. Two minutes later, three Florida fans approached me and I stood up assuming I was blocking their way to their seats.
“Do you mind if we sit here?” said one of them.
“I don’t care. You’re doing the same thing I’m doing,” I replied with a smile.
“I highly doubt that,” he said. “How did you get in?”
“I bribed a garbage man,” I told him.
“Oh, we found a guy who told us he could get us in for $200 each. So I said $500 for the three of us, and he took us to a line where he knew the ticket taker,” he replied.
“See I told you we’re doing the same thing,” I said. “Have a seat.”
“How much did you pay?” he asked.
“Fifty bucks,” I said.
I just didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.
We watched the entire first half from those steps.
With thirty seconds left in the half, I walked down to the section entrance to watch the final plays. The plan was to hit the exit to see if anyone was leaving and ask them for their ticket stub. However, Oklahoma was inside the 10 and driving. As soon as Major Wright picked Sam Bradford with three seconds to play, I made a mad dash down the curly cue to the exit. Right as I got there I saw a couple heading for the one-way revolving door.
“Excuse me,” I said, right as they got to the exit. “Are you guys leaving?”
“Yeah,” he told me.
“Do you think I can have your ticket stub, if you’re not keeping it as a souvenir?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, and without further ado handed me his ticket stub. I honestly did not care where the ticket was. I was just ecstatic to have a seat for the second half and the comfort of knowing I wouldn’t get kicked out or arrested. I looked down at the ticket. Section 224. Right next to my friends. I didn’t even call them. I ran back up the curly cue to the 200-level, showed my freshly won stub to the guard, and passed through into the air-conditioned, carpeted, glorious halls of the club-level. I found my section and walked in. Right behind the endzone. I looked to my left and saw six of my friends bullsh*tting in their seats, oblivious to my presence. I casually walked behind them and tapped my buddy Adrian on the shoulder.
“Tight game,” I said.
“What the f*ck are you doing here?!”
I returned to my seat a section over and watched one of the most exciting halves of football I’ve ever seen. With 1:30 left in the 4th, and the game wrapped up, I returned to section 225 to join my friends. As the final seconds ticked off, we hugged, possibly cried a little, and screamed to each other how this was the most amazing experience ever. We walked out after the awards and trophy presentation to our tailgate, where the TV-watching crew had already started making it rain with beer by standing on the roof of the car and slinging beer all over the parking lot. I spent the next two hours right in that spot drinking, dancing, celebrating, and recounting my story to my half jealous / half amazed friends.
By then it was already certain in my mind that this had been the greatest day of my life. I didn’t even need to think about the other days that had claimed the title in the past. It was just one of those days where everything went your way. During our postgame celebration, I said to our group’s smoking hot friend Katie,
“Katie, everything’s going my way today. Do you want to have sex?”
“No.”
Okay, not everything.
Any thoughts?
You can find the original article at the link in my signature...
In mid-December, I got an offer directly from an Orange Bowl Committee employee to purchase a club-level ticket for $680. I live about 25 minutes from the stadium, and it just so happened that I was going to be home on game day as my holiday break from grad school wound out its final days. While those conditions seemed almost heaven-sent for a hardcore Gator fan, I unfortunately had to remind myself that I’m an unemployed grad student living in southern California for 95% of the year. I just couldn’t part with that kind of money, though nine of my best (and employed) friends jumped on the offer like it came with a BJ from Carrie Underwood or something. I was content to tailgate with them and then watch it on TV in the Dolphin Stadium parking lot with a couple other broke-as-a-joke friends.
No, I did not plan on seeing this game in person. I showed up to the stadium with a 24-pack of Busch Light, a Publix sub, and $43 in my wallet. Though I consider that a pretty solid barter offer, scalpers thought otherwise, demanding $500 and up for single tickets. At about 7:45 I walked with my ticket-holding friends to the gates, gave them all high-fives, and then scampered off, nicely buzzed but still able to make rational decisions. Rather than heading directly back to the tailgate, I decided it was worth walking around the edge of the stadium, looking for a hole in the fence or something. My thought process was that I had little to lose. It was unlikely that I would get in, and I would just head back to the tailgate and watch it with friends when this excursion didn’t pan out. I decided that I would not attempt to jump any fences or anything that could get me arrested and cause me to miss the game. Then, JACKPOT! As I moved along the perimeter fence and behind a dumpster I witnessed a bribe-in-progress. There was a group of probably 12 people talking to a garbage man who had opened the gate to access the dumpster. A guy in a University of Miami hoodie was next to me watching the same thing.
“You think this is the spot?” he asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But let’s keep an eye on this.”
After a few words, the group leader handed a stack of money to the garbage man, and he stepped to the side and opened the gate about a foot. Almost immediately the Miami fan and I start moving forward to test our luck. The people in the group started moving through the opening in single-file, ducking underneath a chest high chain as they passed through the opening. The Miami fan got to the end of the line with about one third of the bribery group already through the gate. I was right behind him, dead last in the single-file line but with the gate only about ten feet from me. The group was so caught up in the excitement they didn’t even notice the two non-paying hangers-on behind them. When I was about four feet from the gate, a second stadium employee saw what was happening and screamed “HEY! DON’T DO THAT!” to his money-grubbing coworker. Panic set in, but our line had momentum and the final four of us passed through before the garbage man closed the fence behind me. I was in the stadium, but that angry coworker was now approaching us, presumably to scold the unscrupulous, but now far richer (no thanks to me) garbage man. The bribery group scattered like roaches when the lights come on as me and the Miami fan darted around the last few garbage cans and maintenance supplies like Brandon James returning a punt. Knowing that “a white guy in a blue gator shirt” would be hard to track, I sprinted up one of the iconic curly cue walkways up to the 100-level of the stadium and merged with the crowd. I was in. The Miami fan was right behind me. We gave one another a high five, went our separate ways, and never saw each other again. I usually hate Miami fans as non-students stuck in the past bragging about their former glory. No exceptions here.
At this point I was standing in the concourse unsure what to do next. I found an empty area and called a friend in the parking lot.
“Dude, I snuck into the stadium. I’m in the stadium,” I said, breathing hard with nervousness.
“What? How?” he replied.
“Dude, it was amazing. There was this group. I’ll have to tell you later. Just understand that I may or may not be joining you to watch the game.”
“I hate you.”
I walked up to the top tier of the stadium since I figured my chances of finding a seat were better up there. The ushers weren’t really checking tickets since I guess they figured no one sneaks into the upper deck. I called a friend in the $680 dollar club seats.
“Hey I’m in the stadium,” I said. “I snuck in. What section are you guys in?”
“Wow. I’m not surprised you cheap f*ck. We’re in 225,” he replied.
I could barely hear him.
“Ok, keep an eye out for empty seats,” I said.
I hopped into one section but realized immediately it was the Oklahoma side and I probably wouldn’t make any friends. I went to the opposite side of the stadium and found a seat for the national anthem and flyover before getting kicked out by the ticketholder. I sat in another seat for the first play before the same thing happened. I missed Major Wright murdering the Oklahoma receiver as I headed up the aisle with my back to the field. There was not an empty seat to be found in this section, or really in the whole stadium from what I could see. I walked to the very top of the aisle and sat on the steps with my back against the outer wall of the stadium. Two minutes later, three Florida fans approached me and I stood up assuming I was blocking their way to their seats.
“Do you mind if we sit here?” said one of them.
“I don’t care. You’re doing the same thing I’m doing,” I replied with a smile.
“I highly doubt that,” he said. “How did you get in?”
“I bribed a garbage man,” I told him.
“Oh, we found a guy who told us he could get us in for $200 each. So I said $500 for the three of us, and he took us to a line where he knew the ticket taker,” he replied.
“See I told you we’re doing the same thing,” I said. “Have a seat.”
“How much did you pay?” he asked.
“Fifty bucks,” I said.
I just didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.
We watched the entire first half from those steps.
With thirty seconds left in the half, I walked down to the section entrance to watch the final plays. The plan was to hit the exit to see if anyone was leaving and ask them for their ticket stub. However, Oklahoma was inside the 10 and driving. As soon as Major Wright picked Sam Bradford with three seconds to play, I made a mad dash down the curly cue to the exit. Right as I got there I saw a couple heading for the one-way revolving door.
“Excuse me,” I said, right as they got to the exit. “Are you guys leaving?”
“Yeah,” he told me.
“Do you think I can have your ticket stub, if you’re not keeping it as a souvenir?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, and without further ado handed me his ticket stub. I honestly did not care where the ticket was. I was just ecstatic to have a seat for the second half and the comfort of knowing I wouldn’t get kicked out or arrested. I looked down at the ticket. Section 224. Right next to my friends. I didn’t even call them. I ran back up the curly cue to the 200-level, showed my freshly won stub to the guard, and passed through into the air-conditioned, carpeted, glorious halls of the club-level. I found my section and walked in. Right behind the endzone. I looked to my left and saw six of my friends bullsh*tting in their seats, oblivious to my presence. I casually walked behind them and tapped my buddy Adrian on the shoulder.
“Tight game,” I said.
“What the f*ck are you doing here?!”
I returned to my seat a section over and watched one of the most exciting halves of football I’ve ever seen. With 1:30 left in the 4th, and the game wrapped up, I returned to section 225 to join my friends. As the final seconds ticked off, we hugged, possibly cried a little, and screamed to each other how this was the most amazing experience ever. We walked out after the awards and trophy presentation to our tailgate, where the TV-watching crew had already started making it rain with beer by standing on the roof of the car and slinging beer all over the parking lot. I spent the next two hours right in that spot drinking, dancing, celebrating, and recounting my story to my half jealous / half amazed friends.
By then it was already certain in my mind that this had been the greatest day of my life. I didn’t even need to think about the other days that had claimed the title in the past. It was just one of those days where everything went your way. During our postgame celebration, I said to our group’s smoking hot friend Katie,
“Katie, everything’s going my way today. Do you want to have sex?”
“No.”
Okay, not everything.
Any thoughts?
You can find the original article at the link in my signature...
