The towel on the head was a dead giveaway. The weather was more comfortable than anybody has a right to ask for on a November Sunday. It was indeed a few notches past "ideal" once you parked your ass on Mt. Davis and looked into the sun to watch a football game. But for a grown man weighing less than 300 lbs. with an inability to not speak for two seconds to already be sweating profusely before he even reached his seat, there can only be one culprit: cocaine.
Poor, poor Autumn Wind. He gave me the aisle seat this time. As soon as dude sat down next to him and started bumping his gums, and my br0 indulged him a bit, I knew he was fucked. Shortly thereafter he knew it too. This guy did not stop talking the entire game. He was with a spouse/lady friend (my buddy should have been charging her for babysitting) to give an impression of normalcy. But this guy was a piece of work. He was on one. And as you may expect from somebody who missed the "at least occasionally, shut the fuck up" clause in the social contract, he was not exactly dropping jewels. Most of his ranting centered on his opinion that the Raiders need to run the ball more. The 2014 Raiders are one of the worst running teams of all-time. They have been historically bad at that particular component of football on a weekly basis.
After he got around to "anything can happen on any play!" I figured he had worn himself out. I mean, where do you go from that sage nugget? Anything CAN happen on any play. It's really football, if not life, in a nutshell. I think he impressed himself with that irrefutable observation, because he actually paused and leaned back in his seat, as if to ponder the various "anythings." Some, he has experienced. Others will remain a mystery.
Then he started babbling again. The second the Raiders went down by 24 in the third quarter, we got the fuck out of there.