True confessions of a Bulldog drinker

By Kenny Hammond

Kegs at the Yale tailgating scene are usually the domain of fraternities, athletic teams, and residential colleges. The little guy rarely has an opportunity to control his own beer-drinking destiny, as he must beg for a used six-ounce plastic cup from the women's rugby team or wait 30 minutes for another warm glass of Natty Light from SAE. Yet on Nov. 18, 2001, I took fate into my own hands. My roommates and I purchased a keg of our own for The Game. We arrived at the Bowl at 10 a.m., and by 2 p.m., the four of us had kicked the keg. As the third quarter approached, we made our way into the Bowl, conditioned to watch the Ivy League's finest battle it out.

We only survived for 10 minutes of The Game, but we still fulfilled the requirements of model Yale football fans. We loudly cheered the Bulldogs, and viciously derided Harvard players, even though we didn't see too much football.

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