The sun has set on the Great Plains of Auburn. Fires dance on the brick pillars like a beacon that calls in all who wish to drown their sorrows. The round patio tables, especially the ones on the balcony, are hosts to some of the most important conversations of the week.
“Dude, why the FUCK did we have to trade Travis d’Arnaud?!”
All at once, the table of six gown men, all wearing their regimented uniform consisting of Nike golf Polos and khaki shorts, begin to hoot and holler and bicker like young children arguing about who gets to play video games next. Screams linger behind me as I walk from the bar back to my table, toting two expertly crafted vodka Sprites that are definitely not flat.
Upon my return I am greeted by my friends, Jay, Jimmy, Alec, Andrew, and Win, all sitting silently on their phones. As I sit down, with the fires dancing behind my head like a devilish crown, I hatch a foolproof plan. I love stirring the pot. It is my true calling and I know exactly what to say to get this night started. After calmly taking a sip of my concoction I look upon my victims with a shit-eating grin.
“Drew Brees is washed up and never should have played his final seasons. Tom Brady is the greatest quarterback ever and the Saints organization is a joke.”
As soon as I let this statement run out into the world all hell broke loose.
Jimmy, Alec, and Win are all die-hard Saints fans and Jay is a die-hard Buccaneers fan. The chaos that ensues divides the table into a proverbial “War of Words” and no one is holding back.
“Tom Brady kisses his kids on the lips!” is immediately screamed out by Jimmy. “Drew Brees beats his children and posts it on social media!” Jay hurls back. Andrew, not knowing anything about the National Football League, backs Jay by launching a M.O.A.B at the Saints fans. “New Orleans is a breeding ground for felons and swamp people!”
Slurs are being thrown left, right, front, and center. I casually interject with fake stats that only dump gasoline on the raging fire of the Saints crowd. Like a car crash happening in a small town, we draw in all types of spectators. Lions fans, Tigers fans, Bears fans, oh my! What began as a simple plan to liven up the night has spread through Skybar like a virus. A drunken melee of words that have the power to ruin friendships are being tossed around like an active grenade.
I recline into my chair, admiring the pandemonium I helped spur, and know my mission was a success. The night has taken a turn for the best and the boys are looking lively again. With the fires still raging behind me, I begin to plot my next act of chaos. The night is too young to know where it will take place but Lord knows, it will be incredibly entertaining.