Goin' Deep 1.24.09

Trippin’ My Ball Off
By Mikey Hammerstone

Part 1 of 2

This past weekend, I was lucky enough to travel down to Phoenix for the Eagles/Cardinals NFC Championship Game. With the help of my brothers, we set off for a 72-hour trip, which included 28 hours worth of driving. As Friday night approached, Gary, Jimmy, and I could barely contain our excitement. We had packed the car with the essentials. Three bags of Eagles gear, the movie Invincible, Public Enemy’s Apocalypse 91 (for the sole purpose of blaring “By the Time I Get to Arizona”), a handle of Jim Beam, and three tickets to the game. Everything was set for what would turn out to be the best road trip of my life.

Friday 8:50 p.m.: The trip begins with the three of us so pumped with adrenaline that any one of us could have beaten down Rocky in the first round of a championship fight. It was finally here. As we pulled out of Boulder the three of us felt like kids in a candy store on the night before Christmas.

Friday 10:55 p.m.: After logging a couple of hours and not having had anything to eat since earlier in the day, we decide to stop at McDonald’s in Pueblo, Colo. Because there is no smoking allowed in the car, I jump out faster than a Nazi from his foxhole at the battle of Stalingrad. Just as I lit up, we realized that the store was going to close in five minutes. Puffing down my smoke in about four drags (ala Bugs Bunny… yes, I remember those days), we ran inside. As we sat down to enjoy our fine dining, two busses of high school girls pull up and enter the store about a minute before closing (now, I know where you’re minds are and get them the hell out of the gutter). The look on the manager’s face was priceless. We would have loved to have stuck around the see the fallout, but we had bigger plans on the road ahead of us.

Saturday 4:00 a.m. (ish): We need to gas up and stretch our legs. The original high of adrenaline has now crashed and I am in dire need of some Red Bull. I pull into a gas station in Santa Fe so that I can get my fix. I walk into the station only to find what might have been the largest Mexican I have ever encountered in my entire life. At first I really couldn’t grasp the actual girth of this gentleman. It wasn’t until I requested a pack of smokes and forced him to get his fat ass off of the stool that he had been sitting on when I realized that a mass of approximately 400 pounds could actually move. Afraid that I was going to be eaten, I paid for my smokes and ran out the door.

Saturday 6:00 a.m.: Time for another smoke and piss break. We pull into “The Indian Center” as the sun just begins to crack over the horizon. I took a picture of the place, but it didn’t come out that great. Next time I think I’ll try not to take pictures while holding my dick in one hand and a Parliament light in the other.

Saturday 8:15 a.m.: We’re making great time. Just outside of Flagstaff, Ariz. We stop for gas and see signs for the Meteor Crater (http://www.americansouthwest.net/arizona/meteor_crater/index.html). After realizing that these douchebags actually want to charge us $15 to see a giant hole in the ground, we decide that we’re going to pass on the small bit of Americana and get back on the road.

Saturday 10:45 a.m.: We made it to Phoenix. We pull into the hotel parking lot, check in, drop our shit off in the room and get back into the car to drive down to see the stadium (which is only about five miles away). The University of Phoenix Stadium is definitely a site to see. It’s a dome stadium that sits out in the middle of the desert and was designed after some sort of cactus or some shit (at least that’s what I heard). Half delirious from lack of sleep, and half giddy that we finally made it, we catch our 37th wind and decide to head to the Fox Sports bar for a bite to eat and a drink. With our bellies full and our heads spinning, we head back to the hotel and crash for about four hours.

Check back next week for the conclusion of our voyage in “Trippin’ my other ball off”