Urinating, Angry Police and Tuna: Another Day at The Ralph

(Editor's note: Throughout the NFL season, we'll bring you some of the most wild stories from Ralph Wilson Stadium, as told through the eyes of one fan from Toronto. You can read previous installments of Dispatches from The Ralph here.)

"A man does not fully become a man until he watches two other adult males who, in all likelihood, have families and respectable jobs, try to figure-four leglock one another into submission for the right to shotgun a warm can of Miller Lite," - I believe Immanuel Kant, the great German philosopher, once said.

If this statement is indeed an accurate one, yours truly finally received his man card this past weekend after having watched two Dauber from Coach impersonators roll around in dirt and glass shards.

This past weekend at The Ralph was another doozy. The Dolphins were in town, and for some reason this is still viewed as a rivalry, although nobody knows why. These teams haven't been good since their early-90s glory days, and have spent many seasons simply trying to beat each other to last place. So I guess in a sense this still is a rivalry, but it's a sad one—like Superman and Lex Luthor, but they're 95 years old, and they're both in adult diapers, and attacking their nurses.

There's always something magical about football Sundays in Orchard Park, and sometimes you just have to know where to look for inspiration. It's in the rays of the morning sun shining like diamonds over the frosted tips of the Kentucky blue grass spread out o'er the open fields. Maybe it's the way the orange glow of the dawn gives way to a magnificently sheer blue sky, the kind that signals a warm afternoon sure to be filled with memorable moments. Or, perhaps, it's watching the guy with a Chuck Liddell haircut and track pant shorts on whip out his package and unload a power washer-level piss onto the middle of the road directly in front of four police officers, ending his day before 10:15 AM.

My day, on the other hand, started off on a fantastic note. No sooner had I finished watching Value Village Chuck Liddell get iced by the fuzz, I witnessed a drunk woman wing a football about 15 feet past her intended target, and right into the head of some poor schmuck trying to barbecue food for his nice family. Burgers and buns exploded like a piñata had just been hit with a cinder block. It was a very, very good E.J. Manuel impression.

Another fun time for me was having the pleasure/displeasure of peeing next to two ladies. I forgot to preface this with the fact that I was in the men's washroom, and the two ladies were standing next to me, dropping trou and letting 'er rip into the johns. I'm not fully convinced they even knew they were in the men's restroom because they both opined about the alarming lack of toilet paper in the stupid washroom. Part of me was like, "Oh man, this would make an awesome photo for the next article!" The sane and reasonable part of me was like, "If you take that picture of the two girls who have no pants on and are peeing into the men's stand-up terlet, you're going to either get arrested, stabbed or murdered."

In The Ralph washrooms, I'm usually accustomed to seeing people evacuate their bowels into the communal trough urinal, or watching someone get their head driven through a wall. But I have never seen two ladies come in and get down to business in front of a crowd. Frankly, I am still shocked! And a little disgusted, I might add.

After the game, the buses were taking much longer to leave than normal. Usually it takes a good 30 minutes, or four warm Bud Lights to get out of the stadium parking lot. After 45 minutes of not moving, I began to notice an increasing number of police on horseback, and frazzled parking lot security running around. I got off my bus and approached a police officer to inquire about the delay. As is known to happen at The Ralph, it appears that a disagreement had arisen over the ownership of several containers of alcohol.

The cop I approached was literally done with Bills games. He was leaning against a bus, splashing water in his eyes, like he had just finished clearing a G20 riot. I've attended 25 games at The Ralph over the years, so I recognize defeat when I see it. We then exchanged some less-than-cordial pleasantries of which I can only attribute to his Bills-induced PTSD.

Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Why are the buses not moving?

Cop: Many reasons. Fuck off.

Me: That's kind of rude.

Cop: Buddy, fuck off.

Me: I just want to know why we aren't moving?

Cop: [wipes nose on his shirt sleeve, and gestures to a tailgate full of angry dipshits] For Christ's fucking sake, that bus in front of you stole some beer from these idiots and took it on their bus.

Me: That's awesome.

Cop: No, it's not awesome. It's stupid.

Me: Do you ever just wish you stayed home on Sunday?

Cop: Are we done?

Me: Did anyone take a dump in the stands today? [A disgusting thing that occurred during Week 2.]

Cop: Dude, go back to your bus.

That was that. Anyway, here are some honourable mentions from Week 9 at The Ralph:

• The guy in the Thurman Thomas jersey walking around with several open cans of tuna—yes, tuna—and whipping handfuls of it at Dolphins fans.
• This guy:

These are the shoes he chooses to wear to a tailgate party? If any self-respecting Buffalonian had been sober enough to notice these shoes, 100 percent Don Draper here would have been crucified on a cross made of broken Pat LaFontaine hockey sticks. I want to pour five beers on these shoes. Get a grip, man!

• Guy on his phone who was leaning against a pillar to hold himself up. He began to waver back and forth like a speedometer before falling completely sideways. But he was so drunk that he didn't even move from his knees down before collapsing on the pavement. Impressive, and something that made up for what his bowel control apparently lacked. It was like a "Hotline Bling" meme, probably the best I've seen.

Sunday was another well-worn chapter in the annals of Bills fan antics. I'm increasingly at odds with my dignity on Monday mornings, often wondering aloud to anyone who will listen, "Why?! Why do I continue to subject myself to the chaos?"

I often compare myself to Bruce Willis in Armageddon. I know what I have to do, I know the risks, and my daughter Liv Tyler is going to learn to accept it. And, of course, I do it to bring you, dear reader, to the forefront of America's war on sobriety, decency, and common sense.

We will see you in December when the Texans bring their #squadgoals to Orchard Park. Until then, feel free to RKO the person standing next to you through a table.

All photos by Kirsten Schollig/Elite Sports Tours