Black History Month: The Super Bowl Party

I call these posts Black History Month because I’m Black, and these stories are my history

It was 1999, and the Atlanta Falcons made it to the Super Bowl. Back then I wasn't a huge Falcons fan, but since my team the Tampa Bay Bucs didn't make it, I was rooting for the home team. We decided to have a Super Bowl party at my place, which is where most of my crew hung out all the time anyway. It was supposed to be just the regulars, but everybody at work told everybody else and before I knew it, there were tons of people in my little garage apartment. I didn't really care, since this was during one of my non anti social periods. Besides, more people meant more liquor, more tweeds, and more girls.

My homegirl Terri hooked up the food, and I had a few bottles of that hard liquor. We didn't mess around with beer or wine back then. And my homeboy Lorenzo had us covered on the tweeds. By kickoff, I was already nursing a nice little buzz thanks to some strong drinks and some even stronger blunts. I remember the room cheering when the Falcons had the ball, but that's about all I remember about that Super Bowl. The rest of the night came in flashes. In random order...

1. My landlord came over and smoked with us.
2. Somebody broke my toilet.
3. Random people were going in and out of my bedroom.
4. I only had one couch and some folding chairs, so people were huddled on the floor looking comatose.
5. At halftime, we started watching Friday,
6. I woke up with some Famous Amos chocolate chip and pecan cookies half chewed in my mouth.
7. Somebody ate the chili that my mom made for me.

I knew all this was happening but I was too knocked out to do anything about it. The real story happened after the game, which the Falcons lost 34-19. About midnight, the game was long over, but stragglers were still at my crib playing spades and drinking the remnants of the liquor. I was semi conscious on the couch. I smelled something burning. Now, it could have been anything: something on the stove or someone playing with matches, but my paranoid mind just knew it was something else. I managed to get up and stagger to the kitchen. Nothing there. I wandered around the apartment and couldn't find the source of the burning smell. Finally, I decided to open a window to get some fresh air. That's when it hit me. Smoke started pouring in the apartment. I ran outside to see what was going on and found it. A big plastic trash can outside was on fire.

I tried to turn on the water hose, but yeah, it didn't work. I ran in through the back door and turned on the faucet and filled up some cups with water, but that barely made a dent. I must have looked crazy with two little cups trying to put out a burning trash can. Nobody was helping me either. They were either oblivious, or too drunk to realize what was happening. Finally, I went in the refrigerator and grabbed a big pitcher of kool-aid - a mix of lemonade and grape - and threw it on the burning trash can. That put most of the flames out. Finally somebody else got up to help me, but by then it was over. I never found how the fire started, but if I had to guess, I'd say someone threw a lit blunt, or cigarette in the trash can. At any rate, it was time for them to go. I didn't know who was to blame, so I kicked all them jokers out. That was the last Super Bowl party I ever hosted.