Here's how Saturday went down:
1. Unreasonably hot tailgate.*
2. Unreasonably stupid ballgame.
3. Dead car battery at midnight after said unreasonably stupid ballgame.
4. Unreasonably long search for someone, anyone, with jumper cables.
5. One of five gameday buddies (for the record there where originally six gameday buddies in the car, we had lost one) , while attempting to climb over Suburban seat, puts her hand through ceramic dish decorated with the Arch and fried chicken grease.
6. Several good Samaritans come to our rescue. Chip, without hesitation, rips off his Georgia t-shirt (now that I think about it, not that big of a sacrifice given the recent on field debacle) and applies appropriate pressure to the spurting wound.
7. Paramedics are called.
8. A Downtown Atlanta resident of extremely questionable gender is flagged down on Marietta Street and wheels into the parking deck in his, er her, um whatever, awesome ride to save our bacon--car is successfully jumped off.
9. Paramedics arrive, provide some assistance and tell us to go on our merry way.
10. We arrive at Kennestone Hospital where I sit until the walking wounded's mother comes to take over for me. Twelve stiches to her palm later, she leaves. I am crashed out at home by this time.
Seriously, if the South Carolina game blows this bad I'm becoming a Georgia State fan. Seems less hazardous.
*Oh, and an unreasonably rambling and never ending walk to find the folks with our tickets because someone, and I'm not metioning any names here but it rhymes with Jes Pith, had not arranged for that little detail prior to the tailgating festivities. This resulted in the mother of all blisters on the back of my heel which is now adorably covered with a Curious George bandaid.
Yep. GO DAWGS!
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