- For fans focused on fun,
the pregame might be even more important
than the real game.
In the United States, upwards of 50 million fans
partake in tailgating every year.
With 15 to 30% of tailgaters,
never even making it into the game.
But while the appeal of the tailgate is obvious,
the roots are more opaque than the final dregs
of a jungle juice bucket.
Here's how French guillotines, the first Civil War battle,
and the Bills Mafia helped make tailgating
one of our proudest American traditions.
1861, the Battle of Bull Run.
In Virginia, the first major land battle
of the American Civil War occurs
as Union troops advance on a Confederate encampment.
Hundreds of Union supporters set
up a spectator section mere yards from the battlefield,
armed with picnic baskets and wagons loaded with booze.
They place bets and chant 'go blue!'
And tailgating was born. Or maybe not.
While the Battle of Bull Run is recognized
by the American Tailgaters Association
as the first tailgate,
some scholars believe the tradition dates back
to Ancient Greece and Rome, with raucous parties
celebrating the incoming harvest season.
It's like pre-gaming for winter.
Others believe a closer analog happened
in 18th century France, during the Reign of Terror.
When families would show up en masse
before public political executions to
enjoy some light al fresco bites,
face painting, and general off with their heads family fun.
But tailgating really catches on
with the advent of football.
1869, Rutgers University plays Princeton University
in what is generally regarded
as the first official football game.
And fans on the sideline consume hearty comfort food
like chili and pork, out of chuckwagons,
mobile kitchens used in wagon trains.
In the early 1900s, wealthy Yale alumni show
up early to New Haven for football games,
and set up picnics outside the stadium,
or more likely, pay someone else to do it
while they supervise.
In 1919, the Green Bay Packers are founded
in an early iteration of the NFL.
And according to fan lore, supporters of the small town team
began showing up at the game with their truck beds lined
with a smorgasbord of potatoes, custard, ham,
and of course, a ton of booze.
This might actually be when and where
the term tailgating is officially coined.
Anyway, in 1920, Prohibition sucks the fun
out of every booze-related activity, tailgating included.
But in 1933, the 21st Amendment is ratified,
and getting lit is legal again.
Party!
Also in 1933, the University of Florida Gators
and the Georgia University Bulldogs play a game
in a neutral site in Jacksonville, Florida.
The tailgating-centric bacchanal around
the Gator Bowl is coined the
greatest outdoor cocktail party in the world.
And throughout the latter half of the 20th century,
tailgating before football games
becomes a pigskin tradition on par with painting your chest
and embarrassing your family and friends.
And the parking lot parties extended to
basically every other sporting event, and concerts too.
But Parrot Heads aside,
football tailgates still reign supreme.
At the University of Washington in Seattle
they do sailgating.
Fans down pregame brewskies in Husky Harbor
with stunning views of the Cascade and Olympic Mountains,
while trying not to fall off the boat.
The Kansas City Chiefs fans outside Arrowhead Stadium
are considered by many to be
the preeminent tailgate royalty of the NFL.
Legions of RVs and buses pour into the stadium,
decked out with mobile BBQ stations
to cook racks of ribs and other assorted meats
in slow-smoked KC BBQ tradition.
At Texas A&M, 25,000 Aggie fans participate
in the Midnight Yell.
The night before the games, fans pack into Kyle Field
to sing the Aggie War Hymn, as loud as humanly possible,
hence the yelling.
But arguably, no one takes the pregame more seriously
than Penn State fans.
Every Wednesday before home games,
more than 150 state supporters set up Nittanyville,
a tent city outside of Beaver Stadium,
where they, I mean I guess they just drink a lot.
And no one, and I mean no one, party's harder
on game day than the self-proclaimed Bills Mafia.
Buffalo is cold.
Their team, historically, is not so hot.
And their Sunday parking lot is equal parts
frat-tastic carnival, amateur wrestling match,
and well, superfan Pinto Ron
is a pretty good indicator of the vibes.
As it turns out, some of the league's
most depressed fan bases,
make for the most adventurous tailgaters.
So is this what Ivy League revelers had
in mind while they were politely picnicking
outside the Yale game a century ago?
I mean, probably not.
But still, we salute you tailgating,
for making sure that win, lose,
or even losing four Superbowl's in a row,
fans can still have a game day experience
worth Monday morning's inevitable hangover.
But just in case, it does help to stock up on sick days.
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