Sean B. Fitzgerald It doesn’t go something like this, it goes exactly like this.

The Last Day at the Meadowlands

I never did the tail-gating thing. Personally, I like showing up ten minutes before the game starts, finding my seat, watching the game, then leaving when it ends.

But yesterday, I was offered the opportunity to tail-gate prior to the Jets-Bengals with my friend's family. I had to say yes. So much was at stake. Not only was there a "win and they're in" scenario for the Jets, it was the last game at the Meadowlands. The game had been flexed by NBC so the kick-off was scheduled for 8:30. I expected to head on down to the stadium around 6:00, get there by 6:30, and tail-gate for two hours.

I was wrong.

I got a text from my friend Sunday morning telling me to be at his house by 2:50. Apparently the gates open for tail-gaters at 3:30 and they wanted to set up as soon as possible as to get a good spot. So I'm looking at a full five hours of gating tail even before entering the stadium. Five hours in the cold, smelly air of the Meadowlands.

I knew it was going to be cold, just not THAT cold. But I did make the appropriate accommodations anyway. Four pairs of socks. Two pairs of sweatpants underneath my jeans. Two pairs of gloves. And many many layers of shirts, sweatshirts and jackets  under my #83 Santana Moss jersey (#83 is now Danny Woodhead, the Wes Welker of the Jets). I also had a thermos full of hot cocoa (such a badass). At this point, I was fairly confident I could survive even if I was encased in a glacier.

And then I got out of the car and icicles immediately formed on my nipples. It was as if the sun was just for show. It wouldn't have been as bad if the wind wasn't so ferocious either. Because there is nothing worse than an unrelenting stream of  freezing wind trying to weather your face off. With these conditions, and the forecast saying it was due to get worse, my courage hung by a thread.

What I didn't take into account was that I was tailgating with professionals. Literally, most of these guys are retired and basically do this for a living. So about 30 seconds after a get out of the car, there is an enormous tent set up and the grills have been lit. It was like watching a NASCAR pit crew change four tires. Very impressive.

But my faith had yet to be restored seeing as I had yet to find a remedy for my frozen ass. Until I stepped foot inside the tent and I was hit with a wave of heat. Someone had brought a gas space heater that used 80,000 BTU's (which I'm told is good) and in less than ten minutes the tent turned into a sauna. It was warmer than my house. There were times I had to step outside to cool off.

And did I mention that they had an HD television perched atop a table showing the Cowboy-Eagle game? I didn't? Well, they had an HD television perched atop a table showing the Cowboy-Eagle game. Suffice it so say, I spent most of the five hours in there. Especially since there was food being delivered to the tent from the grill periodically every half hour or so. And it was every type of food. I ate chicken, steak, sausage, a burger, lamb, a hot dog, and two bowls of jambalaya for Christ's sake! No food stone was left unturned and by game time I was a bloated excuse for a man, with the gas emitting from me the only thing to propel me forward towards the stadium.

We found our seats ten minutes before kick-off, trying to spend as much time near the heaters before braving four quarters of football.

Side note: There is nothing riskier than attempting to use the facilities in weather like that. After struggling through undoing your belt, unzipping, and being comforted that you still have a penis, you're so bundled up that you're unable to see it. So God knows where that piss is going. Hopefully, it lands safely on the urinal cakes but for all you know, it could be rolling down your leg (or someone else's). I took the risk twice throughout the day. Once in a Port-O-John and another inside the stadium. And both times I crossed my fingers and hoped I hit the target. Success.

For us Jets fans, the game went as planned. If we won, we were in (the playoffs, that is). And we did. Handily, 37-0. We did the whole "J-E-T-S Jets! Jets! Jets!" chant and watched Fireman Ed lose his freakin' mind on the JumboTron before every kick-off. We screamed and yelled after every big offensive play and screamed and yelled the entire time the Jets were on defense. We cheered every time Darrelle Revis shut down Ochocinco and booed Chad every time he ran off the field. It was great.

We closed out the Meadowlands appropriately. For a stadium that is easily forgettable, we made the last night memorable. I'm glad I was there.