3B
Wednesday, October 4, 2017 // The Statement 

Soundtracking: Tailgate season

I 

woke up Saturday morning not to the sound 
of birds chirping outside my window, not 
to the smell of pancakes and eggs wafting 

into my bedroom from the kitchen, but instead to 
the muffled sound of a shotgun race and ’07 Yeezy 
playing down the street.

“Good Morning” — Kanye West
Game Day: an autumn event at Michigan in which 

we can all come together and choose to forget every 
lesson we learned from Will Smith’s “Concussion” 
(2015). A day when students get to the 
Big House 30 minutes early, a stark 
contrast to being 20 minutes late to 
lecture. A day where fans can set aside 
their differences and fight with out-of-
towners about the physical aptitude of 
college students.

When I was woken up by the 

mastermind behind the line “You left 
your fridge open, somebody just took a 
sandwich,” I wasn’t annoyed with the 
frat house’s PA systems on full volume 
at nine in the morning. I was overjoyed.

Even though I was never really into 

football growing up, my cousin made 
me play catch with him a lot. He used 
to throw me perfect spirals, hurting 
either my hands or my stomach as I 
let the hard leather smack my body. 
Because of this constant barrage of 
football growing up, it’s probably the one 
sport I can both understand and enjoy. 
But before the game, the tails have to be 
gated, or whatever that means.

I threw off my sheets, realizing it 

was already 9 and the game started at 
noon and ran to the bathroom, with 
my toothbrush in one hand and paste in the other. 
Playing music from my phone, I was more than ready 
to get sunburned and vibe to early 2000s throwbacks 
at some frat on Central Campus. But first, I couldn’t 
head out completely sober. I wasn’t a madman.

Looking in my fridge, all I had was gin and some 

Diet Coke from the week before. Welp. Life works in 
mysterious ways sometimes. The shot went down 
the hatch with the Diet Coke chase close behind. 
My gut wrenched. Was that a rum and Coke chaser?

“Mistakes” — Lake Street Dive
“Look at what mistake I’m making now …”
With that mess behind me, I threw on every 

yellow piece of clothing I owned. Yellow corduroy 
shorts I bought pre-cut from Value World? Check. 
Yellow checkered shirt that looks as if it belongs 
in the rejects pile from the “Saved By The Bell” 
costume room? Check. Yellow socks that cut off 
circulation to my feet from shrinking in the wash? 
Definitely check.

Walking gingerly to the kitchen because I could 

feel my toes already going numb, I toasted a bagel 
and chowed down as I headed toward the door. 
As I laced up my sneakers, which are falling apart 
at the seams just as I will be around the middle 
of November, I remembered to grab a bucket hat 
and sunglasses. The sun is your worst enemy on 

Saturdays.

I stopped and looked at my outfit in the full-

body mirror. What I saw looking back at me was 
the equivalent of a highlighter from the ’90s, and I 
could not have felt classier. I left the house.

“Dapper” — Domo Genesis feat. Anderson .Paak
The bump and rhythm of Domo guided me down 

the street. I couldn’t help but dance and bop on my 
way to meet some friends. Who cares what you look 
like? Sometimes you’ve just gotta dance. Everyone 

was probably too drunk to care or judge by that 
point.

Tailgates are like the radio edits of frat parties. 

There’s less making out, less puking and more 
bouncy houses. But the main elements stay the 
same. Brothers spray beer everywhere, much to the 
dismay of almost everyone around them. Elevated 
surfaces and Solo Cups are strewn about on front 
lawns. The sight was familiar.

As I looked ahead, I saw the biggest smiles on a 

lawn packed full of guys and girls ready to seize the 
day — and drink away their papers due Monday.

“Sea of Love” — Phil Phillips
While the blue tarp in front of the frat started to 

collapse, exposing the sea of fans to the world, the cars 
driving by got a glimpse into the microcosm that is a 
tailgate. You have different types of tailgaters like you 
have different species of fish.

As the Naked Brothers Band said, there’s “so many 

fish in the sea.”

At any given party, you’ll most likely see brothers, 

PGP sorority members, parents reliving the glory days, 
slapping wine bags and chugging beers while the rest 
egg them on.

Walking past the many frats while on my 

gameday adventure, the music guided me. Every 
house plays the same music, but when you keep 

walking by, a playlist forms. As I walked, I heard 
Soulja Boy followed by Fountains of Wayne and Lil 
Boat with a few EDM tracks sprinkled in here and 
there. Ann Arbor truly is a mixtape on Saturdays, 
and we’re all here to dance along.

“Land of 1000 Dances” — Wilson Pickett
If I’m gonna move my feet, I’d rather be dancing 

than going for a run.

Your body needs to move when a beat comes in. 

You tap your foot. Your heart matches a tempo. The 

only time I don’t feel in control 
of my motions is when I want to 
dance.

I saw the same thing at the 

tailgates that day. Everyone was 
screaming lyrics and jumping 
and sweating every bit of alcohol 
out of their bodies. It’s the dudes 
who 
weren’t 
dancing 
who 

made me nervous. How were 
they going to get sober without 
working off the buzz?

That’s their secret. They’re 

fixin’ to die at this point.

“Fixin’ To Die Blues” — 

Bukka White

“I’m lookin’ funny in my eyes 

and I believe I’m fixin’ to die ...”

Two-liters of orange pop in 

their left hands. Half-gallons 
of Kamchatka in their right 
hands. I had never seen people 
who symbolize and personify 
the “Carrot or Stick” until that 
moment. I couldn’t look away, 
but I needed reprieve, like when 
you peek out from behind your 

hands at a horror movie. It hurt to watch. It made 
me feel like how I did that morning right after the 
infamous gin-and-rum incident. If the music is 
what drives the entire tailgate, why put your body 
in danger like that? There’s a line and I still don’t 
think some have found it yet.

I found my friends, joined a crowd, and headed 

down State toward the Big House. As we collectively 
took a left down Division, I saw a man drumming 
on a plastic bucket. As fans passed by, I saw their 
heads bob and feet move with a little more pep and 
rhythm than usual.

We were back in the midst of sound and we 

walked to the beat.

“Dancing in the Street” — David Bowie and Mick 

Jagger

Passing pizza stands and guys selling water out of 

coolers and that preacher yelling at football fans about 
the deadly dangers of homosexuality, we marched on to 
the stadium. While most of us were probably starving 
since we did not properly carb up for a morning, we 
soldiered on, pulling ourselves up by our mud-soaked 
bootstraps.

I looked out over the student section at Michigan 

Stadium. One whole year at UMich already gone, I 
knew where I was. I knew where we all were.

“Where You Belong” — Jay Prince

BY MATT HARMON, DAILY STAFF REPORTER

ILLUSTRATION BY HANNAH MYERS

