Brandon and Ryan, hangin' at the tailgate

Success has its toll. Duckdom has its own version of "Bubba and Earl, sittin' at the 50." It's Brandon and Ryan, hangin' at the tailgate, missing the 3rd quarter.

Two former frat boys, Duck fans for three and a half years, drinking expensive beers with wedges of citrus in them.

"Dude, Ducks're awesome." (They exchange fist bumps and belches.)

"Dude, we're awesome. Did you see that hot chick in row 30 who kept staring at me? She wanted me, bad."

"Dude, she was staring at you because you dropped about nine f-bombs in front of her five-year-old daughter."

"No way, Man. She thought I was a total Edward. Besides, that was a bullshit call. No way it was pass interference."

"Dude, you're drunk. It wasn't pass interference-it was holding. 18 had two handfuls of 81's jersey."

"How come I didn't see that? Who's number 18?"

"Patrick Chung I think. And you didn't see it because you spilled wing sauce all over your pants trying to impress the woman in Row 30."

(Wipes absently at his stained cargo pants.)  "Maybe that was her niece or something."  (A giant roar from the crowd in the stadium.) "Do you think I should go back in and apologize?"

"Forget her man.  She was like 30 years old.  Are we out of lemons?"

"No, I've got some more in the gym bag. Think we'll make it back to the Natty?"

"I know, right?  Hand me your knife, man."  (Takes a stumbling stab at a lemon.)

"Dude, be careful.  That's my mom's knife."  (Inside the stadium, the Ducks go for two to take a 32-10 lead midway through the third quarter.  Brandon and Ryan wander in about five minutes later, weaving their way to their seats.)

"Go Ducks!" They shout in unison.  Brandon steals a glance at the woman in Row 30, who's busy applying sunscreen to her daughter's freckled nose.