A recent tailgating invitation from the editor of the Texas Exes Alcalde magazine noted that space for tailgating was available in the parking lot. The email reminded me of my first tailgate party. As the new broadcast and film chairman at University of North Carolina, I was invited to tailgate with one of my new colleagues.
The University of North Carolina was playing Texas Tech. We didn’t like when they came to my home town Abilene nor when they self-promoted themselves to a win or two against University of Texas in Memorial Stadium. I wasn’t Tar Heel born, as they sing, but I had no trouble rooting against the boys from Lubbock.
Professor Hardy had served as an engineer officer on U.S. submarines, and he said that time spent underwater in the Sea of Japan taught him how to blend his own kind of Tar Heel lemonade. Clear. No smell. Imported from Russia, I discovered. Nice. Neat.
By the time we got to our 40-yard-line seats, the Red Raiders moved the ball to just in front of us. Three rows down, an enraged fan stood on the aisle yelling:
“Kill Texas! Kill Texas! Kill Texas!”
By the time I climbed three rows down, the Tar Heels called time out and the Yeller was seated. I knelt beside him and spoke nicely.
“Friend, I went to Texas, and I agree with you. But that’s not ‘Texas’, that’s ’Texas Tech’. Would you mind changing that to ‘Kill Tech’ and I’ll yell with you.”
He did. I did.
That is until our Tar Heel punter named Elam, from Charlotte according to the program, shanked his kick. Only went about 20 yards.
“Get Elam out of there!” yelled my new friend, three rows below.
Before my embarrassed wife could stop me, I scrambled down three rows.
“Friend, we’ve got another problem….my name’s ’Elam’.”
Before he could answer, I heard a call from the aisle three rows above. “Come on, Dick, we’re leaving. Let’s beat the traffic out…” Professor Hardy said.
So Editor now that I recall my first tailgate party, nobody has ever invited me to another. Allow someone else to tailgate in my space.
