Yesterday, Day One of SportStock, delivered delicious, delightful debauchery, and many SportStockers.
But now morning breaks on Day Two of SportStock. This unprecedented event has transmogrified into a bigger, more groundbreaking, and closer-to-animalistic pilgrimage than the wondrous Woodstock in 1970.
SportStock rages on to another day of abstract moon-grabbing activities, visions, and delusions of grandeur and pleasures of the flesh indulgences with oh-so-callous side stories.
On Hog Highway 71-year-old John Riggins lies passed out on the FedUp field asphalt along with Joe Jacoby, Russ Grimm, Dan Synder, Joe Gibbs, and hundreds of other NFL football groupies. The men snore like sloppy cows.
De-liquified bottles of Jack Black Daniels litter the entire parking lot as far as the eye can see. Hog meat carcasses lie bare, smelling foul like stale refrigerator food, fully gnawed on by hundreds of thousands who gathered yesterday to party their minds off and rinse their spirits. Aromatically wrong trash decorates the parking lot.
Day Two of SportStock blossoms like a tulip. The sun pushes above the horizon. From the stage on Music Street U2 cranks “Beautiful Day.”
In his Crimson Tide uniform rocking #44 – the same one he’ll wear in the game tonight — Forrest Gump continues jogging around the stadium for no reason.
Rocky wakes up in his Fruit of the Looms, chugs down six raw eggs, and joins Gump, like a movement soulmate, sporting his high-black Converse All-Stars.
His unattractive bulldog Buttkiss does his morning Buttkiss right there on the pavement. Fortunately, millions remain passed out from yesterday’s festivities and don’t see this foul act of animalhood.
Two new tents sprout like crocuses in the early Spring in New Jersey. One, the Ricky Williams Tampa Bay Buccaneers’ pirate ship, sits on Pot Place where the former Heisman Trophy winner will be inhaling weed the entire day with Cheech and Chong straight through tonight’s game.
On Wine Way, Drew Bledsoe’s wine tent goes up like a sail on a pontoon boat. Ever beyond bitter that Belichick never let him even try to get his starting QB job back with the Patriots 20 some years earlier, Drew’s already deep into his fifth glass.
It is a beautiful day, the dawn of a new era in NFL history. Just hours from now in FedUp Field, the upstart Washington Synders will wreck Tom Brady and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and then continue on their path to the franchise’s fourth Super Bowl Lombardi Trophy.
Floating like a contemplative bird high above the SportStock scene, a psychedelic air balloon appears. Three men stand onboard bickering: Robert Kraft, Bill Belch, and Antonio Brown.
“Why did you let Brady go, you schmuck?” Kraft asks Belch.
“We’re moving on to SportStock,” deadpans Belch.
“I ain’t playin’ tonight,” says AB. “My helmet doesn’t fit.”
It’s too bad AB has decided to be AB. He was having a good season with the Bucs, for 45 catches, four of which were touchdowns. After he refuses to play in this monumental playoff game because of helmet discomfort, the Bucs will cut him just like the Raiders and Pats sliced him off the team in the past two years.
“Don’t need football,” he says. “Got my air balloon license.”
He lands the balloon next to Stephen A.’s tent, which has an unusual setup. The ESPN sports analyst has to remain in his soundproof room so no one can hear him shouting because he always shouts.
Kraft and Belch sneak into the soundproof room where Tom Brady has agreed to meet them.
“Get outta here, Stephen A.,” says Brady. “This is a private meeting.”
It remains unclear throughout the day what happens in that meeting.
Two-star defensive linemen for the Washington Snyders go up to the window.
Chase Young bangs on the window and yells “I want you, Tom. I want Tom Brady.” Montez Sweat raises his arms high and shows TB his sweaty armpits. “Sweat gonna make you sweat, pretty boy Johnny Fox.”
Feeling jilted, Stephen A. steps out and flicks on the 188-inch flatscreen he demanded be delivered to his tent. A mood falls off a cliff.
He sees Sammy Sportface doing the “Five Good Minutes” segment with Tony Kornheiser and Michael Wilbon on the Pardon the Interruption sports talk show. Usually heading into Wild Card Weekend, Stephen A. gets asked to be a guest on that national show.
“So Sportface, SportStock has turned into a bigger gathering than Woodstock,” said Kornheiser. “Why do you think that is?”
“Washingtonians love Dan Synder and want to celebrate the man and give him his due for all the great football teams he’s built for our city,” said Sportface. “I think he’s been unfairly criticized and deserves credit for his team finishing 7 and 9 this season. To kick off the world’s most wickedly wonderful Wild Card Weekend, it’s high time we celebrate our owner and throw a party like none other in the history of the world including those that were off the reservation during the reign of the Roman empire.”
“I heard Roger Goddess asked you to organize the Super Bowl tailgate party,” said Kornheiser. “What are you planning for that?”
“Need some time to think about it, map out the grand vision. But I do know the Fez will play at the tailgate and during the half-time show. That will crescendo of the Super Bowl SportStock.”
“Who are the Fez?” Kornheiser asked.
“I’ll answer your question this way, Tony. As Day 2 of SportStock gets juiced up, I think millions of people out there are feeling comfortably numb after all they did to lubricate and satiate and ruin themselves on Day 1. The Fez have a peculiar way of making everybody who hears them feel comfortably numb. So it all fits in a vague and very imprecise way.”
Then Sportface tells the Pardon the Interruption producers to roll the tape, and the TV segment fades to black with the full recording of The Fez jamming to “Comfortably Numb” – a song originally done by Pink Floyd some 50 odd years ago:
To be continued…