It ain't Notre Dame, but Princeton still knows how to tailgate

Ah, tailgates. On October Saturdays across the nation, college kids everywhere wake up early, not for class or for work but for something much more important. The alarms bleep at 7 a.m. in Oklahoma, Southern California and Notre Dame because there's a football game that afternoon. For many undergraduates nationwide, 7 a.m. is time to start showing your school spirit — with cheers, face paint and a whiskey bottle.

Alumni can rest assured, however, that Princeton tailgates are still an exception to the rule. First of all, tailgates here don't start until 11 a.m. — or 10 a.m. at the earliest. We need our sleep after the five days of hard studying we had all week. And face paint? At Princeton? Absolutely not. Flamboyant orange pants or polo shirts or, better yet, an orange and black sweater with a huge letter "P" will be plenty to show our support.

While things may differ between Princeton and the nation's Division I football powerhouses in more than one way, some things don't change no matter what college town you're in. And so, this Saturday, with the 3-1 Tigers playing host to Brown and hoping to advance their undefeated record in the Ivy League, the Orange and Black faithful turned out to tailgate in full force.

While many Princeton undergraduates were too busy studying or finding other pursuits besides hard drinking in the early Saturday afternoon, a few diehards made up for the shortcomings of their peers. This reporter was lucky enough to entice one of these tailgating undergraduates, who will remain nameless for consideration of his future and reputation, to keep a diary of his exploits this Saturday. And what a Saturday it was for our nameless Princeton man!

9 a.m. — Alarm starts beeping. Piece of crap. Hit snooze.

9:56 — Finally get tired of hitting the snooze button and get out of bed. Rub my unshaven stubble, decide not to shave. Put on clothes — salmon colored pants with blue embroidered lobsters that just came back from the dry cleaners. Definitely going to put those on. Find belt embroidered with the logo of my eating club. Now no one's going to mess with me. Get a shirt and sweater vest from the closet, put on pastel green and purple checked jacket made by Ralph Lauren. Good to go.

10:15 — Load both kegs in the back of my SUV with the help of my good buddy. He gets to hold the handle of bourbon for his efforts. Stop by the Wa for some ice and cups. Now we're rollin' . . .

10:30 — Arrive at the traditional tailgating field. We find a super sweet spot and open the trunk and take out the keg. My buddy taps it while I hold the bourbon for a little while. Success! We have beer! Chugging ensues.

10:55 — Boy, you can drink quite a few beers in 25 minutes. Where the hell is everybody? There are exactly nine people out here. And that, my friend says, is why we got the bourbon.

12 p.m. — It's game time at most state schools. There's still hardly anyone at our tailgates. Oh well. Our party of 15 kicked our first keg 10 minutes ago.

12:30 — Game time in a half an hour. My new friend observes, while dancing with me atop my SUV, that people are finally beginning to arrive for the party. Who cares? We're wasted!

1:00 — It's kickoff time. I can hear the roar of the crowd in the stadium, but there's no way in hell I'm walking all the way over there. Too lazy, and besides we haven't kicked the second keg yet. I'd rather just stay here and argue semi-lucidly about politics.

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4:25 — I awake to my friend's repeated slaps to my face. Wake up dude! What is it man? We won dude! Let's go party. I take a moment to process things. We won the game . . . what game? Why am I lying sprawled across the two front seats of my car? And why is there a puddle on my floor — oh fudge!

4:30 — I shake out of my stupor of self-pity to the sound of my buddy slamming the door. Let's go dude! Where? The street, bro. Oh. But I look down. Things are looking a little more dry. Is there beer there? Hell yes, boy! To the street, and the glory of Tiger Inn!