I had no intention of writing about this, but I guess no story can be that bad 8 years after the event, right? Maybe it can. I don’t know. I just know that this story in no way makes Aaron Rodger look bad, it really just makes me look ridiculous. Although, to be fair, this was college and it’s probably the only time something like this ever happened. So, if this is my worst (self told -- Im sure someone has something worse to say) story, then so be it!

It was the fall of 2004. Aaron Rodgers was coming off of what was a pretty good sophomore season in which he helped lead us to an 8-6 record that included a 3OT win over #3 USC (their only loss of the season) that had me and Richard Midgley sprinting onto the field so fast Ben Braun would have questioned how hard we were running during our games. It was that kind of hype that he carried into the fall that had various publications betting big on the bears, and betting bigger on him.

I had no such hype. Well, I had a little. The basketball team wasn’t picked to do much, but with no seniors on the team, Richard and I were picked to be good players at least, and team leaders as we built towards the next season when Leon Powe would return from injury. I was by no means the man, but this did all happen to come together at a time when my social confidence had grown, and I felt pretty good about myself.

Early in the fall, I used to walk up to Aaron as say things like: “So, how heavy is a Heisman?”

He’d fire back with: “How about the Naismith? Don’t act like you’re not the man.”

There was definitely a certain amount of mutual respect for each other’s craft. We would go back and forth like that all season, as the Bears had a great season and Aaron placed himself in a position to take the #1 spot in the NFL draft… Oh, err, umm… The #24 pick. But that was months after the day I’m going to get into.


24? Really? 24?



I don’t even remember what day it was, but I knew it was shortly after the football season ended. The football team threw an “invite.” When I was in school, invites were parties that were held in San Francisco and all the patrons had to commute there via charter bus. You would generally need a “bid” to gain entry to the bus, and then from there you’d be good to go for the night. These invite parties were normally thrown by sororities because they weren’t allow to get down on their grounds, but today was a football one, so the hype level was pretty high. I was able to secure a bid, even though most parties thrown by men in college don’t extend invites to other dudes.

Expecting a long bus ride to the city and knowing that I was going alone, I took enough shots to last me for the night right before I headed to the bus. The Fiji frat house was close to the bus area, so the pit stop there allowed me to get it in real quick before boarding. I got on and took my seat, and started to feel the effects. Right then, out of nowhere some dude walks up and says: “Why aren’t you drinking?”

“Umm I don’t have anything,” I replied. My body was feeling GREAT as it was anyway.

“Unacceptable.”

He tossed me a bottle of what I refer to as “Not Gatorade.” We proceeded to kill it on the way to the city.

Not Powerade, Summer 2011



It’s pretty safe to say that when I arrived at whatever the hell that place was called in San Francisco, I was pretty toasty. It’s more than safe to say, actually. I was cool, though, and I was feeling pretty good about the event because the football team had managed to get a VERY good ratio in the building. I was scanning the spot, inspecting said ratio, when I spotted Aaron. He was standing with a couple of girls who I would be delighted to introduce myself to anyway, so I popped right over.

It’s here that the details get a bit murky, but I do remember Aaron questioning my lack of alcoholic beverage. How dare he? I could handle more than anyone in the history of things, I thought to myself. Not to mention, I couldn’t look like a bitch in front of the two ladies. He was actually trying to help me with one of them, I think, so I consented to more liquor. He left for a few minutes.

Aaron returned with two Long Islands. I grabbed one and prepared to toast him, but he shook his head.

“They’re both for you.”

Shit. But there are girls here, Rod. Drink it like a champion.

I’m pretty sure, to his laughter, I downed both of the drinks in a matter of minutes. I think he took this as a sign to keep em coming, which he did. He was drinking a lot, too, but it just wasn’t hitting him the same. I just kept thinking that I shouldn’t have had those pre-game shots at the Fiji house. Damn the Fiji house. Damn Aaron. Damn the girls who I wasn’t even coherent enough to speak to anymore. Guess I should get back on the bus, I thought as I dragged myself out, watching Aaron continue to go hard inside and make moves.

It’s at this point that things get way murkier. I do know that I was on the bus early, but I hadn’t thought about how early it was. It might have been 11:30 pm (good cause Ben Braun always said nothing good happens after midnight), but the bus wasn’t slated to leave until 1:00am or so. I then realized that my sweater I was wearing was completely soaked in sweat. I guess I was dancing… A lot.

My next memory is being in the bathroom of the bus, but I didn’t even have to throw up. I don’t even know what I was doing in there. Damn Aaron.

My next memory is someone pounding on the bathroom door super hard. The door then flies open and I look up and the guy who opened it says: “Wow, you need this more than me.” Damn Aaron.

My next memory is the door being opened again. This time I’m angry and I shout: “Can someone just leave me alone?!”

“Get the F off the bus, we’re back in Berkeley!”

“Huh?”

I stand up, and exit the bathroom to see an empty bus, same as when I boarded it. I step off and am freezing, because I have no shirt on and I don’t know where it when. I stumble home, muttering “Fuck Aaron. Coddamit. Shit.”

I don’t think even he knows the extent of the story. I bet he just thinks he drank with the homies. But for me, as I stumbled home shirtless down Channing Circle, the taste of long islands on my breath, I couldn’t say it enough. Fuck Aaron.

But I love you, bro.