Dispatches from the Ralph: Volume 2

(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 dispatches here.)

This week at The Ralph was an interesting one. The Giants were in town, which brought forth thousands of unwashed, uninteresting, and genuinely unlikeable masses from New York City and Jersey. There were the usual shenanigans, and yours truly had a run in with a less-than-charitable host, who had very controversial opinions of which there was room for me to disagree. But I'll get to that later.

As we all know, The Ralph is a rare gem and I'm lucky enough to bring the experience to you, the reader. But sometimes it's nice to get the opinions and stories from the grizzled, jaded vets of The Ralph—the guys and gals who have seen some things, man. This week I ran into a guy named Tim Macdonell who runs Elite Sports Tours out of Toronto. Every Bills home game for the last eight years, Tim brings over 250 people to his custom tailgate parties and has pretty much seen it all. I asked him what keeps bringing him back year after year.

"The Ralph has a special place in my heart. Every home game at The Ralph, us Canadians just north of the border get to experience what so many Americans get to be a part of on a regular basis," he said. "And often we get 'virgins' to The Ralph and even NFL football—many have yet to witness the atmosphere of a football game, let alone a legendary tailgate party."

Our conversation was briefly interrupted as a clearly intoxicated Snooki impersonator stumbled through Tim's tailgate setup and proceeded to make out with a random middle-aged stranger who was wearing an old Chip and Pepper shirt. The two free spirits high-fived and she stumbled away into the distance like a flower child wading through a field of Bud Light cans and garbage.

I asked Tim what he looked forward to at every tailgate and, not surprisingly, it was the fans.

"It's The Ralph. Anything can happen at a tailgate party in Orchard Park," said Tim, who looked off into the distance with a grin that could rival The Cheshire Cat. "Every week it's a goddamn episode of Hard Knocks on ESPN, starring fans that cross the lines of common sense for a moment of beer-soaked-and-possibly-concussed glory."

Drake's 'Back to Back' was pumping out of the speakers, and Tim's tailgate was getting pretty rowdy. But he had hundreds of wings to cook on the barbecue, so I asked him for his favourite story before I hit the bricks.

"The railing guy is an obvious one. I was there and saw it happen. But I think the funniest one is a guy at my tailgate who was so drunk he pissed himself before noon. I watched the stain on his pants expand as he literally stood there and pissed in his pants. There were porta-potties with no lines, like ten feet away. The same guy was handed a lit cigar from a friend and he bit into it thinking it was a hot dog. Shockingly, he wasn't allowed into the game and had to sit on the bus in his pissy-pee pants until the game was over. I'm not sure how he felt sitting in his own urine-soaked pants, but I'm pretty sure that's the moment where you re-evaluate your priorities in life."

Speaking of priorities and words of wisdom, I have some.

For those Canadians travelling south of the border, don't wear Blue Jays shirts or jerseys to Bills games. Hats are fine because they're blue and have the same colours as the Bills logo, and upon a quick glance look the same. But the jerseys standout and will draw harsh and extremely unwanted attention to yourself and others who aren't even wearing Jays gear, but just happen to be in the wrong place.

It's a weird vibe at The Ralph when you're an undercover Canuck. Everyone loves each other and is a Bills fan until they find out you're from Toronto. I think it may have to do with the fact that we exported Neil Young and Rush—two very awful things—or because we tried to steal the Bills away, which would have left a hole so deep in Western New York you wouldn't be able to fill it with all the snow that will inevitably bury Buffalo up to its yellow eyeballs in a month or two. You could be having a great conversation about how bad E.J. Manuel is with a complete stranger or beer vendor lady, but if you let slip an over-emphasized "aboat" or "eh, bud?", the tone of the chat goes downhill faster than a Bills' 5-0 start to a season. There were many, many Jays jerseys at The Ralph, and there were just as many unsuspecting Jays fans who were bombarded with incredible levels of verbal abuse. Doesn't matter if they had Bills hats on or a Bills shirt underneath.

"Donaldson? What team does he play for? Oh right, it's baseball not football, asshole! Also, go Yankees," was usually the general feel of the chirping from the well-oiled peanut gallery.

Coincidentally, it was a Donaldson jersey that almost caused me to bring ol' Thunder and Lightning out of retirement. (I promised my wife I would never fight again, not even if someone was calling her names.) As we were standing in the bleachers taking in the usual lunacy and drunk-spotting, a handsome Canadian man walked down the aisle with two Labatt Blue heavies, decked out in a lovely, royal blue, Jays jersey.

The oafish lout seated directly behind me logically responded to this clearly offensive sight the way any level-headed individual would do, by telling him to "Go back to Canada." He also added that "Canadians are assholes" and iced the cake with "They can all blow me." Lining up 33 million people to blow this guy would be something even I would pay to see, and I'm, like, super broke. Now keep in mind our section was comprised entirely of Canadians, except for the three gentlemen to our left who were seat hopping.

We let the slander and disparagement slide by, as at least it wasn't a "USA!" chant.

Shortly thereafter, security arrived to sort out some seating issues caused by the seat-hopping aficionados. And, of course, Spencer Pratt pipes up behind us presenting some groundbreaking theories of how the mix up may have occurred. "It's these idiot Canadians. Every week they ruin shit here. Guaranteed they're in the wrong section." As he finished saying that, the three seat-hopping lads got up and left so the correct fans could sit. I immediately turned around to inform our friend that his hypothesis regarding Canadian seat-thievery was erroneous, backed by unsubstantiated claims with several glaring and evident errors. He, being a gentleman and a willing participant in healthy, civil discourse, told me to blow him.

Alas, our loud disagreement had caught the attention of two Erie County sheriff's deputies who were on the way back up the aisle after breaking up a pretty sweet fight between some female patrons that had started a few rows down, before Junior from Problem Child started being an absolute Ndamukong Suh.

After letting me finish belittling this man's literacy abilities, the ECSD was immediately presented with the facts by several highly-entertained bystanders. The officers politely told the offending idiot to stop being an F-wad, and made it clear that if they had to return, our friend would end up on his ass in Bills Jail—which is a thing.

This surprising turn of events were met with a resounding amount of applause, and Eddie Haskell shut his trap, enjoying the rest of the game silently. We even had some nice Americans apologize for the behaviour of the human version of a broken, oscillating fan. To reiterate, all of this could have been avoided if Toronto buddy had just decided to go with a Jim Kelly jersey instead.

All in all, it was a pretty standard day at The Ralph. Some great fights, a few casualties of war, some verbal sparring with a less-than-agreeable Buffalonian, and some positive interaction with the local law enforcement, who do a great job, by the way. I also think that the inundation of boring Giants fans helped to temper things a little bit. Seriously. It was like someone let an ocean liner full of Khakis, sensible haircuts, and porridge off at the stadium. Giants fans feel like the living embodiment of a glass of warm milk wrapped up in an Eli Manning jersey.

Anyway, I didn't have to lay down the hammer of Thor, nobody got peed on (that I know of), and I got a pretty wicked sunburn out of the deal. But if I can just be real for a moment before I go: Ontario friends, stop wearing Jays shit to Bills games. For you, for me, for the country. Just go buy a goddamn Doug Flutie shirsey and call it a day.

Next up, October 18 versus the House Cats from Cincinnati.