Some stadiums allow alcohol. BSU stadium doesn’t. They charge 3 bucks for a bottle of water, so I can only imagine what they would charge to spice it up with some Jack, Jim, or BV. A few posters have mentioned they prefer the stadium to be alcohol-free (as in Not Available, not as in BAA’s treat), especially since it is readily available in Tailgate City. Oh well, to each his/her own. Need I add that a pretzel requires a 2nd mortgage? Not that I’m complaining. My motto, as written in my signature line, is: change what you don’t like. So I decided to change it, for one season (2009), anyway.
After a bilateral mastectomy and chemo, a gal gets thirsty, and exceedingly flat chested. I bought a 38 Double D underwire bra in Tantalizing Teal because it didn’t come in Blaze Orange or Bronco Blue. When my husband saw my purchase he said “What are you gonna do with that?” The Osterizer and I blended up some Cuervo Gold margaritas with lots of crushed ice. I gave the bra a test drive at home, with an OMG and then a thumbs up from my husband (who wisely stays home and listens to the radio).
At the first game I learned Lesson 1 in chemistry. Ice is cold, it melts, and liquid seeks the lowest level, even when enclosed in a quart ziplock. FYI: A double D holds a full quart of margarita in each cup. From the parking lot to the security gate, I could feel gravity working on my Jose’s. Being 5’11”, rather large knockers did not look out of place, and since I’m 59, having them starting to seriously sag was not unusual either, so security was no problema (that’s Jose talking). By the time my friends (two very modest and discreet ladies) and I reached the second level, there was potential for tragedy. The baggies were blitzing my bellybutton. I rushed into the restroom and relieved the Teal Tankards of their cargo. The underwire bra offense was no match for the ziplock’s defense, and the slippage was serious. Too close for comfort, and that goes for crushed ice next to the chestwall, as well. My wardrobe malfunction required intense intervention if we were going to be ready for next week’s game. We got empty coke cups from a vendor and sipped our drinks, keeping an eye out for burly men in chartreuse neon vests.
The second game went better. Yes, Broncos won the first game, but I was frostbit. This time I used a “Brick by Brick” t-shirt as the foundation, then the bra with the booze, and then another t-shirt as a shooter. It was orange and drooped “Reload” in blue. I also filled some snacksize ziplocks with trailmix and put those next to the underwire, filling up the gap betwixt body and bra (yes, Gap. You don’t want to know. Contribute to Susan G. Komen so friends and family don’t have to find out why there is a gap.) By putting in the bulky trailmix first, the margarita boobs stayed low, but they stayed put, jiggling obscenely against their nuts & raisin bulkhead.
As fall drew colder, Bailey’s Irish Crème in the mini bottles supplanted the ‘ritas. Baileys needs to start marketing mini-bota-bag Baileys, cause those little plastic bottles are painful. Delicious and they don’t slump, but painful. And please, no hugs.
That whole season was a blast for these three oldladybroncos because not only was our team winning, but every “It’s Another Bronco….First Down!” and subsequent touchdown deserved a toast. “To Life, To Doug Martin! Go Broncos!”
Now I am not advocating breaking the rules and regs of Bronco stadium. What I did was Wrong, don’t get me wrong. As a social experiment, it was a success, even though no old geezers hustled me, and the studly young security guards saw no reason to frisk me (darn it, but fortunately). We had fun, and forbidden fruit truly is ever so much better. But when we heard how much the fine was for getting caught with devil drink in the stadium, we’ve been dry every season since…well sorta kinda. (and if BSU security is reading this, our seats are in the visitor’s section.)