It’s as real as the Curse of the Bambino or the Sports
Illustrated Cover Jinx. Every time I make the trip to Northern
California to faithfully cheer on our football team, I come away
feeling like someone sucker-punched me.
But this year was bound to be different. This year I
wasn’t going for the football.
I was going for the tailgating.
Who cares that we lost 21-14 to a Stanford team that was 0-4 in
the Pacific 10 Conference at the time? The only contest I cared
about this year was who could throw a better tailgate party.
Allow me to explain, sports fans. A sampling of one tailgate
party from UCLA fans and another from Stanford fans was analyzed
and used to determine which is better at tailgating.
The UCLA tailgate party was thrown by yours truly along with 20
or so friends. It involved chicken breasts (from Costco), Hebrew
National hot dogs (from Costco), Kirkland Signature ground beef
hamburgers (from Costco) and lukewarm Bud Light (also from
Costco).
For the 20 people present, there was one mini Weber
propane-fueled grill (from eBay) that could fit up to six chicken
breasts at a time, and one mini gas burner with a frying pan (from
my mom) that could heat eight hot dogs at once.
There was no silverware, no napkins, no tablecloths and no
glassware. The only manners evident at this tailgate were bad
ones.
One football was used for a game of full-contact three flies up,
during which one Lexus (driven by a Stanford alumnus) was hit once,
causing a medium-sized dent and pissing off one driver and
delighting 20 drunken undergrads.
Around the same time the Lexus took one for the team, I decided
to see what a Stanford tailgate party is like. So I took off my
UCLA jersey (from Ross) and sauntered over to an eight-foot table
covered with a red and white designer tablecloth.
I explained to the tailgaters, who dressed in cardinal cashmere
sweaters (Nordstrom), that my father had gone to Stanford (true
story) and I was considering following in his footsteps (not a true
story), and would they mind if I sampled their fare?
Not surprisingly, I was welcomed with open arms. Who’s the
sucker now?
This is what a Stanford tailgate party is like: the linen
tablecloth (Williams-Sonoma) was adorned with silver candlesticks
(Crate and Barrel), fine china (from China) and polished silverware
(Saks Fifth Avenue).
For a party of five people there was a huge bowl filled with
watermelon, cantaloupe and honeydew melon balls. Fresh-baked
rosemary focaccia bread was accompanied with a small tray of butter
balls.
A bottle of 1993 Abreu (Napa Valley) was served in crystal wine
goblets (Neiman Marcus).
Lunch was catered by a posh Palo Alto restaurant and consisted
of oysters on the half-shell (flown in from Alaska), crab cakes
(from San Francisco) topped with fresh goat cheese and caviar
(imported from Russia), steamed vegetables (Whole Foods) and prime
rib cooked to order (Omaha Steak Company).
“Pleases” and “Thank yous” abounded, and
the only football in sight was the one being used by Florida and
Georgia, the two teams playing on the 36-inch generator-powered
television, which was set up right next to “our”
delicious spread.
Cleanup consisted of the catering crew wiping the corners of
everyone’s mouth and putting everything away. I didn’t
even clear my plate!
So you be the judge. I think it’s quite evident who the
better tailgaters are when it comes down to Stanford v. UCLA.
It’s also quite obvious who is more likely to warrant a punch
in the nose.
I’ll leave you with this: When we were walking toward the
stadium, performing an 8-clap, a smug turtleneck-clad Stanford fan
substituted the words “eat my shorts” for our
“fight, fight, fight!”
What does that even mean?
UCLA may not feature both melon and butter balls, but at
least we have Dave and Mat Ball. E-mail Karon at
ekaron@media.ucla.edu.