The Greatest Story Ever Told About Secaucus

The melody of a shitty ringtone fills the air. Awake. Where the fuck am I?! Ah, the hotel room.

Hello?
Hey Mom, Good You?
The game was good. The score?
What WAS the score of the game?
Hey, what was the score of the game? I asked my friend, Sags as I covered the phone.
3-1 Barcelona

After a short conversation, I hang up the phone. Phew. Close Call.

What the fuck happened last night?

Glimpses of the previous night come and go like some kind of dream. To get you to understand my current state of alcohol-induced confusion, I would have to start somewhere around 24 hours ago.

So here I am, sitting in the smallest of backseats in some kind of corn-powered hybrid with 75 horsepower or something like that.

*Shoulda called shotty*

And we are off, with Shane to my right, Tommy riding shotgun, and Sags driving...or is he pedaling this piece of shit. I'll never know. Onward, we trek towards Secaucus, NJ to watch Barcelona play the NJ/NY Redbulls. Up Rt. 1 towards the hellhole known as Northern Delaware.

Fucking 45 in a 55?! What the fuck are you doing, Sags?!

*Shoulda taken my car*

As if we aren't late enough as it is, we hit traffic. Does this thing have A/C? I don't think it does. Don't you know that a silver car is like tin foil. I'm dying back here. Finally, we reach Christiana Mall for food and to reevaluate our driver. Should we leave him here? We're late. How are we going to pregame for the soccer game? We better hurry. I grab my teriyaki chicken and my giant-ass iced tea and walk to the car.

And we drive on, listening to Will Smith unsure of what lay ahead. We drive and drive. I sip my iced tea, hoping that Sags flips the car and I die a quick death and end this hangover from the previous night. I slip into a coma-like state until something jolts my attention.

A sign reads: Truck-Buses Only

Now, I've seen trucks and I've seen buses. Hell, I'd even go as far as to say that I had seen a few fucked up things before in my life, but never, not once, had I seen a Truck-Bus. The thought of a bus fused with a truck in some kind of fucked-up creation was scary. Had man become so absorbed with innovation that he would mend a vehicle for cargo with a vehicle for passengers into one single being? My mind raced as I imagined a Truck-Bus bearing down on our little ball of aluminum foil at 75 MPH. I slip in and out of conciousness. Iced...Tea...Wearing...Off

...Crashing...Asleep.

I snap out of my slumber by a loud noise.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?! A TRUCK BUS?! JESUS CHRIST!!

No, just my imagination.

Where are we?
Not too far.
Hurry up
Your'e only going 65?!
FASTER!!

We near Secaucus but come to a halt as traffic gets heavy. Ah, Secaucus! We can see it. With a little less than 2 hours to find our hotel and pregame, we begin to worry.

I'm not too familiar with what a Triangle Motor is but our place of residence was called the Triangle Motor Inn or something like that. We finally get off the highway to Secaucus but have no idea where this place is.

STOP, STOP
Fuck, you passed it.

Apparently, In New Jersey, if you miss your turn, you are fucked. With absolutely no way to get back to the parking lot of the Triangle Motor Inn except for going the wrong way for 30 feet on a highway, we park in the lot next door. Trust me, it crosses our minds. No one bothers to mention to Sags the dangers of being towed. It was better that way.

A laughing fit mixed with a Giant-ass Iced Tea makes me piss my pants.

*Shoulda gotten a small iced tea*

Fuck, I pissed my pants

They don't believe me, or they don't care. Fuck it, we made it, who cares? Check-in takes way too long. Hurry up. We gots to drink. Less than an hour to get drunk! Psh, easy.

10 minutes later, we're settled in and ready to drink. In some act of desperation, we make some retarded drinking game out of a really bad game show on TV. It turns into shots, Shots turn into chugs, and chugs turn into too much fun. We take our gatorade and Svedka and get to the car.

I feel I must give a disclaimer at this point in the story and say details may be fuzzy and every thing done in this story by these four characters is in every way, shape, and form, fictitious and not to be used in a court of law. Thank you.

We sit in traffic and drink as we pass hispanic after hispanic with Barcelona jerseys on. I hate Barcelona and that's for one reason, a fucking alien that people call "Ronaldinho." We pass drunk people who sense we are drunk. It's a silent understanding. Jubilation ensues. We make our way to a parking lot and pay an obscene amount of cash for three hours.

We park and play bartender. We make them stiff and strong. We have a chug before we leave the car. Don't want to be caught sober at the game, so we mix a strong one to take in the stadium. Tickets are dispersed and we make our way to the gate. We join a mass of moving bodies like cattle to the slaughter. Faces become blurs but somehow we manage to stay together.

Sorry, No beverages allowed inside.
Fuck, we have to drink them now.

We take our lethal concoctions of half-vodka and half-gatorade to the face. No sweat, Right? Did we just drink countless shots of vodka infused with the uber-drunkifying gatorade in 45 minutes? Yes, I think we did.

Seperated into two groups yet guided by some unseen force, we all find our correct seats. It's funny how when you're wasted, you manage to do miraculous things like find your seat among 90,000 others yet you can't keep your pants on.

We take our seats next to Tommy and Sags.
Fuck, they have Miller Lites.

Where's ours?
Gimme money!

Shane and I watched hopelessly as Sags and Tommy sipped their delicious Miller Lite out of plastic bottles. Hmmm Plastic Bottles? I suppose it's so when you give them to children to drink and they drop the bottles, they won't break.

Sandwiched between Barcelona fans, a father and son, and two older men, I tell myself to behave. Ah, the two older men, they were wearing trench coats, it was August. Are they jacking off under there? I think they are. Gross.

The electrolytes in the gatorade carry the alcohol to my blood quickly, creating a thirst for more. After some announcing and the National Anthem, I sit down. America, Fuck Yeah. My world was spinning.

We had successfully completed our mission: Get drunk before the game. Kudos to us.

Sags and Tommy set off to get Shane and I a couple of 8 dollar beers. After 20 minutes of watching the game beerless, Tommy returns. No Sags. Fuck. We laughed and joked that he had left with our money, got kidnapped, or got arrested. HA, arrested! That's so crazy it's funny. Too happy or too drunk to care, we watch without him.

bzzzzz bzzzzz bzzzzz

NEW TXT MSG

From: Saagar Patel
Sent: August 13th, 2006

Yo I got arrested

FUUUUUCK

Somewhere below the stadium, he is being detained in a holding cell with other fans for some crime. Half an hour later, he returns with stories of his time in the slammer. Cruel guards who refuse to put on the game for the prisoners. Many of Sags' fellow prisoners were being detained for throwing bottles. Sags had tried to use a bad fake ID. Foolish. Who wanted beer anyway? Oh yeah, Shane and I. They let him off with a firm warning, a firm anal raping, and a permanent ban from the stadium unless he wrote them a letter beforehand. Better get writing for next year pal. Oh yeah, and they took his ID!

With confirmation of no KIAs on Operation: Get Shane and Alex beer, my inebriation hits a new level. My voice grows louder, my random thoughts become verbalized, my hatred for Ronaldinho grows, My reputation as the drunk asshole at the game is set in stone. I had become THAT GUY.

The laughter of others fuels me. My three friends laugh. The father and son laugh. The two creepy guys laugh. Sweet, I had gained the approval of the guy who was whacking it under his coat. HIGH FIVE. maybe not...

Suspect: Alex Clark

Alias: Asshole at the game

Known offenses: Yelling Profanities at Ronaldinho, Yelling "FLAVA FLAV,'' Telling the refs to "MOVE THOSE CHAINS" (an AMERICAN football chant, not soccer), Flashing ass to 90,000 fans, Trying to start a wave, Underage drinking, Public Intoxication,
Associating with a known criminal, Saagar Patel, and Corruption of a minor

Partner in crime: Shane Barry

The game comes to a close and we make our exit. How I did not get kicked out, I do not know. We exit a different way than the way we came in. We follow a path that resembles the US-Mexico border in Texas. Fences, Hispanics, Security Guards. The whole nine yards. Again, guided by an unseen force, we find the car.

I grab a parking cone and climbed on top of the Honda Shitpiece and continue to yell shit. Out of control. Madness Ensued.

What is this? A green mask?
My green Goosebumps mask from 3rd grade resembled Ronaldinho which is why I brought it. It has found a new purpose though. Stuck in traffic leaving the stadium, something inside of me is inspired.

It tells me, Put on the mask, C'mon, Do it.

Even the mask looks at me yearning to be worn. I put it on.

It tells me, Now take off your clothes and run around traffic.

In bumper to bumper traffic, I hop out in my boxers and mask and run around. Protected by anonymity, I do foolish things. Some cheer, some laugh, others threaten and lock their doors. Fuck them, I live for the people who laugh at the half-naked guy in the Goosebumps mask. I make my parade short and sweet. Back in the car, we make our way back to the Triangle Motor Inn.

Wasted at this point, I want sleep. They want to go into New York City.

ME ALEX. ME TIRED. ME BREAK CONCRETE PLANTER FULL OF PLANTS ON HOTEL FLOOR.

Come on, Alex!

They lead, I follow. I slip into a zombie-like blackout state. All aboard the crazy train. We make it two blocks and Shane and I have what I like to call a difference of opinion. Words turn into shoves, shoves turn into wrestling, wrestling turns into an epic battle. We battled and battled. A small crowd gathered as we wrestled on the ground. Like two modern-day gladiators, we fight. As quick as it starts, it ends with a cop nearly running us over.

We were just playing around officer.
GO HOME!
Yes sir.

The fun is over. To the gas station we head for drinks and such. I grab a drink and take it to the counter. Fuck, no cash. I dump my wallet in front of the man. Blood donor card, UNseaW card, ATM card, Driver's License, but nothing of value.

What the fuck is all of this?
Let's go, Alex.

Fun's over. As the drunkest and craziest out of all of us that night, I get a bed by default. After a tirade of abuse by Shane about being out of control and being too drunk or some shit, I don't remember, I am too drunk, I pass out.

The melody of a shitty ringtone fills the air. Awake. Fuck.