So there I was, standing in the middle of One Nightclub, drinking like my life was a lyric in a Ke$ha song. For every shot of Jack Daniels, there was a shot of Jamesons, and for every shot of Jamesons there was a barely conscious check of Facebook. But this story really isn't about One itself, or the ill fated aftermath (Spoiler Alert: I threw up.) It's about how I ended up there, and that story begins on Blackout Wednesday.
Like the Blackout Wednesdays (for those of you new to the bit, this is the night before Thanksgiving, a celebrated drinking night) before, I celebrated the holiday at Paddy's. This year was different. The moment I walked in and saw the obvious fire code violation that was the crowd inside, I immediately thought to myself, "Why did I do this?" There was booze at home, a TV I could hear, and no line at the shithouse. It took me about 20 minutes to find where my friends had posted up. My friends were the saving grace of the evening. Their company was great, but it would have been virtually anywhere. As my car service picked me up I was haunted by by the thought "Have I gotten too old for Blackout Wednesday?"
Come to think of it, I haven't really seen much of the old gang in general. This was likely due to BS reasons like, "Having a family" or "Working Two Jobs" or "Being a Person." All that time that used to be spent raising hell at Paddy's has been replaced by sitting home and watching TV. Sidenote: after my TV broke a few months ago, there's been a TV treaty with the rest of the house. In post Red Sox Playoffs America, one Bills game watched in the living room equals 10 episodes of "Criminal Minds." I shouldn't have brokered out that deal while drunk.
Back on point, I was bound and determined to not let myself feel old at the age of 30. Maybe every night can't be a $150 Paddy's night that ends in a slurred karaoke rendition of "Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced," but that doesn't mean I can't go do things! Things! I love things! I'm going to go do more things!
So Thanksgiving night, when my cousin-in-law (the reigning governor of Rochester sports) and my uncle invited me to a preseason Knighthawks lacrosse game, I thought to myself, "Yes! This is a thing! I will do this! I will go out and be a person, and enjoy this thing!" I haven't been to a lacrosse game in nearly twenty years, and I've heard that the crowd for them is nuts, so why the hell not!
Cut to this past Saturday, there I am enjoying lacrosse and beer and social conversation like a real human being. That's when the Knighthawks promotional team ran "The Kiss Cam" on the jumbotron.
When telling this story to others in person, I turn this part into a game of "Guess What Happens Next" but in the interest of getting to the point, in a jam packed Blue Cross Arena, who should they fixate the camera on, despite astronomical odds? Yep, you guessed it...
Samantha and my replacement, who obliged, given the reason the camera was on them. Now I don't know if this was my direct replacement (certainly not my business) but in any event, he is a gentleman who holds a position that I once held. The Doug Marrone to my Chan Gailey if you will. If this had been written into a romantic comedy, likely starring Katharine Heigl, I would have called bullshit, but this was no movie.
I turned to my Uncle to see if that just happened or if I had just hallucinated it, and that's when he fessed up, "Yeah, I saw her when we came in. Thought we'd be able to dodge her, you want a beer?"
I wanted 12.
The worse part about a situation, (other than the fact that the odds are so against it happening that when it happens it seems like you're directly getting the finger from God or Santa Claus or Jeff Bridges from Tron,) is that there is no one to be mad or upset at. I don't own the Blue Cross Arena, though I'm told I may have drunkenly stammered on about the forthcoming, "Battle for the BCA" but to say things like that while sober is crazy person talk. That night I was left with few options. This was one of them...
When I got back home, my sister and her friends were getting ready to go out. Naturally, courtesy of "The Fran-icrat and Chronicle" everyone was made aware of the situation, so when I shouted out, "Where we going?!?!" and took a pull from my bottle of Kentucky Gentleman, there was a sense of discomfort in the room.
"We're going to One. Do you want to..."
"I'LL BE IN THE CAR!"
...and that's how it happened. The lesson here is, um. I'm sure it's something about having a better system for handling adversity. I don't tell this story to elicit sympathy (can't emphasize that enough), or to display any sense of pride in my actions. In fact, kids don't try that at home, but rather, it's a story that needs to be told. Jesus, this got heavy. Cue a funny picture!!!
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Hey, did you guys read my new Christmas article on Maglomaniac yet? No? Well what they hell are you waiting for? Also, check their store and new smart phone app. These guys are great to me, and you should be great to them in turn.
We'll talk before Christmas, so enjoy your shopping!!!
Minch
