Crapping the Thanksgiving Sofa

I flew home for Thanksgiving (outside Boston) during my Senior year. 1995. I am sitting in O'Hare waiting for my flight when I see one of the most attractive girls from my town (she went to the local public high school) at my gate. She was attending UCLA and connecting through O'Hare. We were on the same flight, which was delayed of course due to high winds. I had known her for a few years and we had engaged in some decent conversations but nothing special. But now I'm wearing my Notre Dame Monogram jacket and I'm sporting a fresh cut from Vito's Hair Care Coral. I have a little more to offer and a lot more confidence. We chatted for a while and boarded the flight. The saint near me switched seats so we can continue talking. He even gave me a nod as if to say, "Pay it Forward."

As we get off the flight and head to baggage I'm trying to figure out where this is is going. She then says that we should hang out some time. I respond, jokingly, "How about tomorrow?" to which she replies, "Sounds good. Why don't you come over around 8?" Her uncle was visiting, went to ND and loved talking shop.

My dad picked me up at baggage and caught the tail end of my conversation, saw the girl and expressed his approval. He was a no B.S. straightshooter and the phrase he used to descibe UCLA girl might offend our current standards of decorum.

My mom was disappointed that I had a date for Thanksgiving but my dad had my back.

I spent Thanksgiving gorging myself. It was a house mostly full of dudes and I was home for the first time in months. I eat non-stop throughout the day. The problem is that everything is going in and nothing is going out. By the time I'm ready for the date, I'm a bloated balloon.

I head over, hang out with the girl's family and brother who I knew from high school. He's a protective older brother and Marine but he knows me and the ND thing plays well. I'm working the room. The dad is a huge ND fan and we're hitting it off. This is a 400 level date and I'm acing it.

The girl and I decided to go downstairs to her basement and watch a movie. One of my favorites. We're about 5 minutes into Glory when my stomach starts making beastly noises. I'm giving birth to a demon inside my belly and praying that I can stay the course for another couple of hours. No can do. After 15 minutes in the noises are so audible that I'm trying to blame it on the gunfire in the movie.

I'm sweating and just as I'm about to exit for the bathroom she puts her head on my shoulder. So now I can't be rude. I then feel like I'm getting a rhythm because I'm coughing everytime a huge rumble erupts. The problem is that the gas pains are getting progressively worse and I'm still working up a sweat.

At this point, I'm trying to play the long game and hoping I can have a successful date and play for tomorrow. We raced out to a 21-point lead and now playing prevent. Soft corners. Bend but don't break. She'll be back for Christmas. I have no thoughts of scoring with her unless she wants to be the victim of Fat Elvis crushing her and shitting all over the bed.

My Waterloo occurs when I mistime one of my coughs - and cough too hard. Huge rumble + Delayed hard cough = Shart that rivals Old Faitful. Crap is now out of my body. I don't know if it's hot air or crap running down my leg. Now I have to escape. So I excuse myself and head to the bathroom, where I find that I have literally crapped my pants. I think quickly and tear off my underwear. I roll it up and toss it in the garbage. Now I'm Commando. And I've been in the bathroom for about 7 minutes. The game is getting out of my hands. We have no momentum. Now I just need to hand it to the Fullback, focus on Denzel and hang on for dear life.

I head back to the couch. I sit down and miraculously she cozies up again. But the problem is that I now have another untamed beast in my pants. I'm 22 and going to ND in the 90s. There wasn't much action going on back then. My guy is at full mass. Even my Teutonic focus on Morgan Freeman can't diminsh the swelling, which is fine because I'm on the couch.

Until we heard the opening of the door to the basement. Dad is coming down with Uncle. I forget his name - Uncle Jimmy? He is a huge fan of ND and wants to talk about the disappointing 9-2 season. It happens too fast. My options are to sit down and be rude or get up to shake his hand. I go with the latter and hope to shuffle myself around and reposition my shirt but as I get up, it's an impossible task. I am standing fully erect in front of 2 guys who want to talk about what's wrong with the ND team, who had just capped off a 9-2 season. That was deemed an "off season."

I'm trying to carry on a conversation about how Holtz might have lost his edge when I see Dad's eyes look past me to the white sofa where, right where I was sitting, is a small but completely visible brown circle. Dad has checked out out of talk about our bowl game prospects. He is staring past me at the brown circle on the sofa. Daughter now also sees it and seems to recoil. I have literally shat the couch.

We carry on politely. We finished the movie but my prevent defense has failed me. The head set is off. Broderick and his troops are dead. As are my chances.

I say good night to everybody. I'm Mike Riley after another loss, shaking hands with the opposing coach. So close but so far away. I politely hug UCLA girl and walk out with one less article of clothing whence I came.

It made for a good story with my brother for years to come as we imagined the carnage that I left behind. Did they ever replace the cushion? What was the reaction when Mom or whoever was taked with cleaning out the bathroom to their chagrin find a shredded pair of Fruit of the Looms with caked shit on them.

I saw UCLA girl years later while visiting one of my hometown bars. She was dating someone and living in LA. It was actually a pleasant conversation until a friend of mine yelled out "He's going to shit the bed again." That dampened the mood.

Happy Thanksgiving.