Up until 5:30, I had no hope of hitting up the dome. I was trapped at work, seemingly, until 8pm.
Providence struck (not the Friars) and I got the call from the boss and was allowed to close up early.
I zoomed from the south side of the city to the north side, where I live, hitting the liquor store in shop city for some intense half-hour pre-gaming. A pint of svedka, a flask of rum, and a taxi ride later, my friend and I arrived at the dome around 7pm.
We had almost forked over the $50 for both of our tickets, not caring where the seats were, when a nice group folks displayed AMAZING generosity by giving us tickets in section 123.
Sitting 4 rows up from the R in the ORANGE endzone, I was completely enthralled. (I had gone to Maine and Pitt, so sadly I haven't seen the Orange beat a decent team in person this year.)
I, of course, returned their thoughtful favor by buying their group beers whenever they wanted them. (Takes strategy, for they have a 2 beer limit so you have to do some handing off and circling)
Any that were at the game don't need my explanation of what ensued. I kept cheering for our team, as we all should, but it was dreadful to watch.
After the game, I hit up Faegans. We each grabbed a beer and a table in the back section of the lower half of the bar. I don't know if any of you folks made it there after the game,but I asked a few people and they just looked at me funny.
I left for the pisser, and when I came back I found that my friend was engaged with some folks, and hilariously had them convinced that his drunken British accent was authentic. The funniest part was, he didn't TRY convincing them it was real, they just assumed.
My friend Paul is from Solvay, and at this point we were on the edge of being just plain trashed. He continued to talk in his accent while explaining he was a 315er. They would NOT, for ANY reason, accept that he wasn't a foreigner.
One of these guys got pretty heated and claimed he was a liar and that "THATS NOT HOW YOU TALK WHEN YOURE FROM SYRACUSE" (I, in turn, asked where he was from and his reply was Rome, so I got a good chuckle out of that) He then proceeded to say he would break Paul's nose if he didn't reveal where he was from. Mr. Rome and his friend had it "narrowed down" to Ireland or England.
Paul hit the pisser and I was left at a booth with Mr. Rome interrogating me as to where Paul was from, and he could not be convinced he was from Solvay. He bought me a Coors Light, and re-joined his group. Paul returned with a beer for me that I actually like, so I gave him the Coors. Mr. Rome stomps over to our booth, rips the beer out of Paul's hands, and proceeds to dump the entire beer right there on the bar floor. DICKMOVE.
With that type of rudeness, I felt it was time to go. We stumbled over to the Pita Pit, while Paul proclaimed he would love to knock the guy out. I'm no pacifist, but I knew nothing about a fight at Faegans waging my 6'0, 250lbs friend Paul against a 5'6 140lbs guy from Rome would end well. We ate our pitas and called a cab back to the north side and called it a night.
It was, all in all, a good night even though we lost. And Mr. Rome, if you're reading this, if it had been my house you were at and you had wasted an entire beer out of spite, I would have slapped you around a bit :)