Turn off your mind, relax and just float along with me.

Maybe it was the 50 grams of high grade edible pot or maybe it was the terribly (we’ll get to that ) overpriced beers but what started out was a simple idea, I’m to be a correspondent if you will and do a “boots on the ground” football game piece for the Saints and Rams game at the L.A. Coliseum. You know, write your experience take them deep into your minds eye?

Whose mind? Whose eyes mind? Simple I think and then not so simple. It turned into an all out war with God himself, oh and some stupid conduct Nazis. Who knew there was such a terrible plight on our society?

Hey wait just a minute, aren’t you that fraud, that phony, that said the Saints would be lucky to win 7 games and now they’ve won eight already?!

This guys a madman, a charlatan! Hey you define “A person falsely claiming to have a special knowledge or skill; a fraud.”  A FRAUD that was from a real dictionary, so there.

Some prognosticator you turned out to be. This guy doesn’t know dick (does that count as a joke?) about football or penises. Read no further, there is nothing to be garnered here but sarcasms and lies.

 ARTIST RENDERING

My son, soft simple bastard that he is, was dropped on his head several times when he was oh so young. Most of the times it was by accident, though there were those two times (they couldn’t prove anything in court, they tried). My son was assailed and brain-washed as a very young child by an awful, mean, rotten  person and was forced down a path no man should be forced while so young. He was so impressionable, why oh why would any grown person do this to a child? Just look! You can see his soft spot, we used to mark it with a magic marker so as to avoid any accidents.

The poor helpless child was lead down a path to becoming (shuddering uncontrollably as I write that) to becoming  a Rams fan! Egad! Anything but that! My son, a Rams fan. Hell on game day he wore a boner and a Sam Bradford Jersey!  I shit you not, a Sam Bradford jersey (shuddering again), a pair of oversized clown shoes, sunglasses and nothing else. I told you already (at least he doesn’t work at a bowling alley) he’s soft in the head. Why was that man so mean? Stupid Rams.

 

The idea seemed simple, fly this Oklahoma living Rams fan to L.A. to see a game against the hated New Orleans (I don’t feel there’s a need at this point loyal readers to explain that I am a stupid Saints fan, God my life sucks) Saints live at the coliseum with his old man. Call it an early Christmas gift. He arrives Saturday evening before the game insists on Del Taco, I have no idea why, we have some drinks, listen to some thrash metal maybe some Overrkill, play some poker, lose all my money to that swine Daniel and enjoy an evening with my boy! See told you, simple plan what could go wrong?

What says L.A. more than a breakfast burrito? I know this Cuban place not too faraway (Oh hell here he goes again with his over use of those silly parentheses). If you find yourself in sunny So Cal looking for a fine Cubano (I think “yeah right” has a recipe for one some place around here) I highly (you sure are) suggest Havana Sandwich Company in beautiful El Segundo California. Slow roasted pork, black beans and scrambled eggs with hot sauce on a tortilla is what I had. The boy had bacon on his and no hot sauce, he’s delicate.

Grabbed the tickets and off on a road trip straight to hell. Hey not fair, it’s 8 miles away and we have to drive through the ghetto so it is to a road trip. I think it was around Vermont and Manchester (look it up it’s really there, man) when the drugs kicked in.

“Look the coliseum!” When I heard those words I’m not sure what is happening, I feel as if I was flying just above the crowd. Only I’m not alone, I’m hand in hand with Jesus only he’s naked! There we are floating, hovering really, just above the crowd and Jesus is floating right beside me with his man stuff just dangling there right on the heads of all the Rams fans! It was beautiful, man! A real beautiful groove.

So we walked right up to where all the police were, pulled out our tickets and walked willingly into the enemy’s den. Only the enemy were pretty nice folks. No violent vibes to be found. You ever been to a Raider game? Now that vibe hums with menace. Just as it looked like nothing could go wrong they grabbed my boy out of line and said “Get rid of it or go away!” See being the soft slow mutant that he is he smokes cigarettes. NO!!!!!

The Nazis said no tobacco, no spark igniters, gasoline bombs or lighters are allowed in between these hallowed (have you seen these hallowed halls? dangerously close to complete collapse, the concrete looks like a fifty year old nut sack) walls. They took his 8 dollar pack of Marlboro red’s in the box and crushed them and threw them away right before his very eyes. Then the very bad man took his lighter and slid it ever so smoothly right into his own pants pocket for safe transportation to his home for use at a later time.

When we finally did get inside there was a woman, 60ish leaning up against a post smoking a cigarette. Thank god she was wearing a Saints jersey and thank god for the security guards leaning up against the same damn post and not giving a damn if she smoked or shit and thank god some more that she only smoked.

 Oh the horror of it all! The crowd is listing this way and that, forward and aft, second largest crowd of the season. Only opening day had more people. Behold the power of the “WHO DAT” nation right there in your home, right there in your face. It’s gotten so scary and weird there’s only one thing that can bring this choo choo back on the tracks and that is a God Damn cold american beer in a can. You ever seen or held one of those 24 ounce cans of beer full?

 Shoot, a feller could take down a jumbo jet with one of those monkeys. I said yes to the fine purveyor of the malted goodness and he says that will be 14 dollars. Wait, what did he say? Fourteen dirty word dollars for a beer? One beer? Fourteen dollars? Of course I bought it and 3 more just like it before this freak show ended.

You like water? Are you thirsty? Couldn’t find a drinking fountain anywhere. You could wait in line at the bathroom sink and shlurp.

What follows is an eyewitness account to what can only be described as the scariest place on earth, the men’s room, dear God no! Anything but that.

 Why do venue builders think it’s OK to not provide ample space for us strange rangers to pee without feeling like an outcast? Look I simply can’t pee at the sausage trough. Can’t do it, even with the threat of being condemned to hell for all eternity. I would still get stage fright. Can’t do it. Can’t stand there while 50 dudes pull out their little fireman and blow hot whizz all down the metal wee wee mouth. I have to stand in line waiting for one of the three stalls they have given us.

And what about the poor guy who has his three year old daughter with him? The guy in front of me said to his daughter “cover your eyes.” Man, the nightmares that followed must have been horrific! All those nasty smelly pee tubes, yucky. Hey ladies do you have to pee in troughs?

 The Saints picked the day I watched live in a stadium next to my son with my second 14 dollar beer in one hand and my hundred dollar ticket in the other to do what I have been afraid of all season, play mediocre and they did just that. Couldn’t run the ball, God could not throw the ball. I was certain that Drew would rise up and slay those evil, cursed, vile Rams but three defensive holdings – two on third down – and a fourth down conversion. Add in 4 field goals and it was as I predicted all along, a crushing defeat,

 Liar! You said they were going to win! Even went as far as placing a wager on them didn’t you? Yes, yes damn you! Yes I did all those horrible things and more.

I would like to thank the fine folks at the Taco Bell (who eats that crap anyway) for allowing my drunken enraged bladder to use their restroom facility. I think they sensed a huge wash of used beer was an imminent threat. I stumbled back to the car, crawled into the backseat and I shed a tear or two then rode quietly along to the 5 Guys near L.A.X. They do make a tasty double meat burger.

It ended as harshly as it began. We lost, lost to the once lowly but I fear no longer lowly Rams. Damn it I should have had one of them Lard Lad Donuts.

To be fair this is one simple man’s account of an actual day. I was not given much instruction (yeah right said read an article, I did not) so just wing it I was told. Boots on the ground, what does it mean? Describe what you see, show them the light in your eyes, walk a mile in my shorts. So I said self, what did you do?  I did not try any food at the stadium. See right there I lied again. We most certainly did enjoy a bag of tasty, salty, yummy Hampton Farms peanuts in the shell. If you don’t know, learn, just like KMFDM if you don’t know….It was a breakfast burrito and a double cheeseburger, hey that’s just like in the story.

I would like to take a moment to apologize to any person who owns a Sam Bradford shirt, any lovers of fish tacos and people who don’t like to wear pants. It was all just a terrible dream.

P.S. to my son, sorry about all the unnecessary beatings and I’m still looking forward to more.

This is D.J. Taj saying “Good Night Now!”