Super Bowl Stupidity at La Cage Au Sport
Beginning with the year this story happened (2004), my buddies and I have been going to La Cage, a local sports bar, every year to watch the grand finale to the NFL season. It’s pricey and the food is marginal but there are TV’s everywhere and the crowd is insane. You basically pay for the atmosphere and I guarantee that it is absolutely worth every penny. So anyway, as you might’ve guessed, we got ruthlessly drunk and made fools of ourselves. Well, maybe it was just me.
The Ukraine had gone through all the arrangements to reserve our seats. Apparently you have to leave a deposit of 20$ a head in advance. It drives him fucking nuts collecting from us but he still does it because he’s a nice guy. And because the Ukraine is weak. We had 12 seats reserved (I think) and it was a mixed group. BrownTown was there with some of his and The Ukraine’s French buddies, Gonads the Barbarian showed up for a bit and some wild drunken were also present. We were a decent group and we were already drinking up a storm.
The game itself was pretty good, I guess. I hate the New England Patriots and I hate the Carolina Panthers, so I was really just stoked for the halftime show (screw you, I love Janet Jackson) and the commercials. I was swilling beer like it was going out of style. We were all pretty rowdy and belligerent but nothing of significance really happened before halftime. I mean we were pretty drunk but everything was running smoothly. Then, around the time Justin Timberlake ripped off Janet Jackson’s nipple during the halftime show, we turned it up a notch.
I was sure I saw some titty but no one else seemed to see. Of course there were barely any replays since the prudes in America never suckled a tit before let alone seeing one sort of exposed on national television. Anyway, I was pissed that I knew what I had seen and essentially no one else was paying attention to me so I decided to go take a piss and get some popcorn on the middle floor.
I fell down the stairs leading to the washroom. The only person who saw me was this old stumbling drunk making his way out of the washroom. He laughed at me then made his way up the stairs one step at time. The urinals were all being used so I went in a stall and pissed next to the toilet as I snickered to myself, you know, because I’m classy like that. I went back upstairs, forgot about the popcorn, and sat down at our table.
The third quarter was starting, everyone had finally seen the nipple and I let them know (mostly the idiots around me at other tables) that they were all bumbling fools and that I was better than they could ever hope to be because I had seen it first. Somehow, I didn’t get my ass kicked that night though I thoroughly deserved it. The game went on, The Ukraine was talking shit to me because I bet him the Pats would never win the Super Bowl at the beginning of the playoffs and here they were, winning like the cocksuckers they were. Whatever, the Jets suck and that’s the cross he has to bear.
The rest of the table bored me so I set out to make my own party. How did I do this? I took off my shirt. Yep. That’s it. For some reason, I felt like my bare, bloated beer belly would incite something I had seen in a porno. Unfortunately the only attention I got was from the old waitress who kept telling me to put my clothes back on. This night was turning out to be pretty shitty. When my nights go to hell like this, I resort to petty theft. I stuffed 6 or 7 pint glasses into my jacket from the beginning of the fourth quarter up until we left. Picture a sloppy drunk thinking he is absolutely incognito while he is very obviously up to no good. I thought I was pulling off the heist of the century while the rest of the table was watching me like I was a leper.
Luckily my table were the only ones to see me putting all these mugs into the sleeves of my jacket. In the dying seconds of the game, Adam Vinatieri kicked a field goal to win the game for those scum-sucking Patriots forcing me to dish out a few bucks to The Ukraine, prick. We paid the bill and made our way to the exit. I was wobbly knees drunk so going down the stairs made me nervous. I had already failed once, it could easily happen again. Happen again it did as I stepped onto the first step and fell down the rest. The first time wasn’t bad because only some geriatric had seen me. This time, everyone saw me. And to make matters worse, I had all those mugs in the sleeves of my jacket so imagine the symphony my arms were orchestrating while I went down the stairs. I sounded like a destroyed "fragile" package.
After being helped up by the hostess and BrownTown, and fielding dirty looks from every employee who had heard me go down the stairs, I slinked out of the bar feeling abused and embarrassed. I was going through my personal events of the evening and realised that falling down the stairs twice, pissing everywhere except in the designated areas, stripping in the middle of the bar, yelling at other patrons and generally being a complete fuck-up was the bars fault. I let loose a galaxy of curse words and a series of urinary propaganda all over the windows to let them I know I meant business.
I was brought home by BrownTown; I gave him a pint glass for his troubles and passed out half on my bed, half on the ground. I woke up the next morning with coasters and pint glasses all over my bed and floor. I had broken every glass I stole and there were bits of glass scattered around the floor (BrownTown somehow managed to get the only good one). Naturally I remembered very little until the phone calls starting pouring in. “Do you remember what you said to so and so?” “You fell down the stairs, you remember that, right?” *sigh. No, no I don’t.
Its nights like these that I get so fucking embarrassed that I refuse to go out in public for the next few days. It’s my personal penance for being such a dickhead.