Despite my pal's scrumptious recipes, he's got it all wrong. There is one, and only one, tailgating food. The bratwurst. Dress it however you like: mustard, spicy brown mustard, ketchup (not really, we both lived in Chicago so ketchup on a brat is a sin), relish, hot sauce, onions, giardeniera (my personal favorite, once again, the Chi), jalapenos, chili, sauerkraut, or whatever else you can think of, but make no mistake, there is one and only one ideal tailgating food. The Brat.
Bratwurst Recipe:
Purchase Brats
Preheat Grill
Cook Brats Thoroughly
Eat and wash down with cold light beer.
Play Thunderstruck to celebrate. 1...2...3... Drink that shit, b***h.
Eat another bratwurst to soak up that beer you just chugged when you got thunderf***ed.
Discuss detailed statistics of football and why they prove Denard Robinson is the best quarterback ever.
Srsly, ever.
Explain to Sparty friends what statistics are and how they are relevant to football.
Give up explaining anything math related to Spartans.
Challenge Sparty friend to beer bong contest.
Lose.
Challenge Sparty friend to beer shotgun contest.
Lose.
Bring back discussion on statistics and explain that beer drinking ability is not nearly as important as knowledge of statistics when it comes to future success in life.
Acknowledge to self that this argument has only been used because you lost those damn drinking contests, resolve to do better the next time.
Promise to learn to open throat during bye week.
Realize that every Spartan within 200 miles would love to add a joke to the last statement.
Shake fist at juvenile nature of Sparties.
Chug beer to prove you aren't a total nerd after everyone has been looking at you while you made that weird face during your inner turmoil.
Vomit. A different type of inner turmoil.
Avoid arrest but watch Sparty fans herded by police on horseback (in person or on tv, either works...did their women's basketball team make the Sweet 16 or something?)
Listen to Sparty friend tell story about how "awesome it was when we got teargassed, bro!"
Roll eyes, because, c'mon, "We're Michigan" and yes, that's a pretentious thing to say and we know that. In fact, we're pretentious enough to know that we're clearly better than you, your riots, your recipes and even the color green. It's putrid. In fact, it's the color of that beer/brat/relish mix I just regurgitated.
Pound one final beer to wash it all down. Follow it with one final brat, and one more final, final beer.
Enter stadium.
Make little brother joke, not because you think it's clever or original but because you just pounded two beers after shotgunning one and beer bonging another and being thunderf***ed and having 4 or so more to start the morning, not to mention those GD jello shots your girlfriend made, and after all of that you're good and drunk and "little brother, ughh" is the best you can come up with.
Think to yourself how sh***y that joke was, and then remember "Henne rhymes with douche bag" and how every Sparty you know used it for two years and rolled on the floor like an idiot laughing every time it was ever said and the satisfaction you gained from victory in those years and feel much better about yourself and your cleverness and gain a pleasant satisfaction in the knowledge that a bunch of your future employees make up the MSU fanbase.
Remember that you are currently unemployed.
Blame economy. Those bastards in California don't recognize the value of a degree from the University of Michigan.
Feel reassured, not for any real reason but you just drank a lot of beers and emotional rollercoasters are the way of life when you're buzzed up. There's no reason to get down about your employment status.
Think about how fast Denard is, smile.
Watch a Michigan victory.
Boom.
Best. Tailgate. Ever.
