The Greatest Comeback Ever.

I'm pretty sure the phrase "hot mess" was coined at the Rail.  I bet one night, someone sober accidentally wandered inside, looked around at all of the red faced young adults running around like it was an adult play ground, sweat dripping from their receding hair lines, tossing back shot after shot, bathrooms flooded, girls dancing and crying all at the same time, and couldn't think of anything else to say but, "this is a hot mess." And thus the phrase was born. 

In every single way possible, that's exactly how it was on Saturday night.  And I, accidentally of course, was that semi sober person walking inside after the game. Sure it was a risky thing to do.  But I knew what I was getting myself into, and I was up for the challenge of playing the deadly game of catch-up. On a game night, and a great game night, no less. Some said it couldn't be done, "but Tay, you're so behind, you'll never catch up. Don't even bother." But I didn't believe the naysayers, I had faith. And so begins the story of the greatest drinking come back ever.

Tailgating started around roughly 12:30 at the Downtown. Lincoln was pretty quiet at first, it was a weird feeling. Our confidence was obviously very down, did we really have it in us after last weekend? So we started pretty hesitantly. Not too many shots, just trying to remain consistent, nothing too showy. I'm not an idiot, I know that people were doubting me, Taylor, after last week's tailgating performance. I really let the team down. The order had to be restored. After a few beers at the DT I made my way to my parents tailgate. I needed to reenergize on Gardettos and turkey wrapped pickles. Things were still moving pretty slow for me at this point. A bloody here, a beer or two there. I could feel the other tailgaters were gaining on me, especially my sister, but I was hesitant still and unwilling to break out just yet. There were too many distractions at my parents T.G., had I allowed myself one more scoop of puppy chow I had a feeling I'd be out for the entire game, so I had to leave.  It was about this time I stopped by the Red House in an effort to get myself back in the game. Big mistake. It was here I started to realize just how large my drinking deficit really was. The party bus that brought the kids from Omaha, the drunk boy stealing the microphone from the band (we all know who) the tornado that is Kari Schafersman pouring the remainder of her mixed drink/beer into my bloody Mary as she skipped off to pee in the bushes telling me "you better get your shit together and start drinking" was just all too much. I needed to regroup. Perhaps it was time to head to the third largest city on game day and get my focus back.

Chris and I entered Memorial a bit earlier than usual on account of our unusual sobriety. At this point I was way behind, I could feel it all around me and the pressure was building. I felt like everyone was talking shit about Taylor. Loser, failure, coward, scared to get hurt, looks like a monkey... Errr. It was painful, why was everyone hating on me so much? I was trying my best, couldn't they see that? 

The tunnel walk started. And it was when that music was blaring and the team came running out behind our glorious American flag that the goosebumps set in. They always do. And then it hit me. All of the negativity, the rude remarks, the doubters, none of it mattered. Because as I looked around the packed stadium full of cheering fans, I saw something that can't be lost, or forgotten, or talked shit about on a Husker website followed by 1,000 comments from asshole idiots who should get off the computer and get ready for their shift at Brothers. I saw tradition. I felt it, I was a part of it. My part is the drinking part. As loyal, hard working fans, not loved enough by God to be graced with the rare ability and talent to play collegiate football, it's our duty to drink until we forget that and thus in turn yell obnoxious things at those lucky enough to actually play regarding how much better we could do given the chance. If only the overweight, 40 year old in striped overalls standing behind me could have really "ran the ball twice as fast as that for a touch down, you pansy ass," we might have pulled ahead much faster. Maybe next time, Farmer Joe, in the meantime, keep pressuring your 8 year old son next to you who looks like he'd rather be watching Glee right now in his "Let's Get Our Gleek On" T-shirt.

I think it was the 4th quarter when there was a change in the game that I'm not going to pretend didn't help us out quite a bit. Jade went down. Too much too fast, she was back at the hotel. Of course I was sad to see her go, but it was an opportunity to pull ahead and I needed to jump on it. This was my time. Taylor's breakout moment.

This is when shit got real, better late than never. I said good bye to Chris as he went back to Fremont, tucked my parents into bed, and set out for the Rail all by my lonesome. A brave act, I know. Downtown Lincoln after the game felt like Mardi Gras. Screaming people, beads everywhere, homeless men making out with sorority girls, it was insane. When I walked into the Rail I thought, oh no hot mess. I quickly found reliable teammates in B Love, Leslie and Kiley to help get shit done and we got right after it.  Hot Carls, Rumples, Goldys. Go, go, go. Must overcome this drinking deficit before it's too late. Love played defense blocking any distractions that might come our way and interfere with our drinking.  More shots, RBVs and Rum and Diets, always keeping our eye on the prize.

Within no time, it was bar time. I was starting to see black at the end of the tunnel, I  knew I was almost there. Beer garden, dancing, more shots, becoming an overly friendly version of myself. Hugs, jumping, poking people, slipping into the state of thinking I'm the most charming person in the world. It was actually happening. I believe it was about the time B Love and I cut the line to the boys bathroom and giggled uncontrollably as we fiercely held the door shut tight from the angry gentlemen outside when I realized I had done it. The greatest drinking come back ever. And what a feeling of accomplishment it was. This was one for the books.

When asked if this was my "breakout game," Taylor would only respond, "Sure, if that's what they're saying. Think whatever you want."

And while everyone talks about the stadium being the third largest city in Nebraska on a game day, what they always seem to forget is that the Brass Rail actually becomes the nation's dirtiest, most awesome hot mess of a bar on game days. You tell me which is more impressive. 

Forever yours,
 
Nebraska's one and only Tay Tay