I’ve been meaning to post several times, but keep getting distracted. They tell me that the syphilis can cause that from time to time. Instead of short, concise posts about each individual event, I’ve opted to go with one long rambling, stream-of-consciousness post. Think of me as William Faulkner, except with syphilis.*

Let’s begin with Thanksgiving Eve.

Kyle and Brett have a tradition that involves finishing a fifth of Wild Turkey by themselves on Thanksgiving Eve. I was lucky enough to be invited to join in this year. The girlfriend had some serious misgivings about this, since I was to meet her extended family for the first time the next day. I assured her I would behave and not do anything too stupid. The sad part is, I think I tricked myself into believing that as well.

Kyle accompanied the girlfriend and I to eat sushi before our night began. We probably shouldn’t have started drinking at dinner, since we had a whole night of Wild Turkey ahead of us. But we did anyway. We’re not smart men. Following that, we probably shouldn’t have stopped to pick up beer to drink at their house until Brett got home. In case anyone is keeping track, I had finished 2 bottles of Sapporo and 3 Mickey’s Hand Grenades before we ever opened the Turkey. I wasn’t keeping track of Kyle’s drinks, but rest assured, he and I were keeping pace.

When Brett got home, he also partook of at least one Hand Grenade before the turkey was opened. By this time, the girlfriend had also reentered the picture to keep an eye on me. Trust me, this was a prudent move on her part. We decided to play the Shaft drinking game with the Turkey. The original Shaft, not the new crapfestola. Every time Shaft says “cat,” “brother,” or hits someone, you have to take a drink. Any time he throws someone through a window, you have to finish half of what is in your glass. Needless to say, we didn’t make it more than 15 minutes into the movie before the brilliance set in. Brett began juggling, then we started throwing things at each other, then we ate Kyle’s apples, then I went and hid in a closet. I’m not sure why. Remarkably, I felt fine the next day, and was a smashing success with the girlfriend’s family.

Thanksgiving Day itself was spent with family and then napping, so we’ll skip over that.

Friday I made the journey back to Clemson for the Clemson – Carolina game. My buddy Heimlich has been kind enough to let me stay at his house within walking distance of downtown Clemson for the last few games, which rocks…until you have to walk back from downtown Clemson at the end of the night. The most interesting part of the night? Seeing a guy I knew from classes together at Clemson, who knew my name and insisted on buying me a beer, and I never could remember his name…maybe because of all the beer?

Saturday morning started off well enough. Carol and I went to the store for tailgating supplies while Heimlich and The Jew slept in. Here’s the difference between mine and Carol’s shopping list:

Mine:
· Beer
· Ice (which I managed to forget)
· Trash bags

Carol:
· More beer (she rocks)
· Water
· Cokes
· Plastic Cups
· Trash bags
· Chips
· Salsa
· Cheese dip
· Cookies
· Pretzels
· Fried chicken
· Pimento Cheese
· Bread
· Crackers
· Cheese cubes
· Candy
· Containers to put everything in on the table to make it attractive

We went, parked the car in the tailgating spot and went to get Heimlich and The Jew (aka JM, I may use these two names interchangeably). I promptly opened my first beer at 7:30 AM. My orange pants were on, my drinking hat tilted at a rakish angle, I was ready for Gameday. Alas, it was not meant to be a day of glory. Clemson, to put it bluntly, was outcoached by the dread pirate Steve Spurrier (and I don’t mean the Johnny Depp type of pirate, either, if you catch my meaning). To be honest, I had a bad feeling about the game going in. We had won 9 out of the last 10 years, and I knew 2 things: USC was due a win, and Spurrier is a hell of a ball coach. We won’t go into my opinion of Clemson’s coaching staff, or Will Proctor, who, at the beginning of the season, I professed my undying love for. You let me down, Will…I feel like you’re just not the man I fell in love with anymore…

This is not to say the day was a total waste. In honor of Thanksgiving, I bought a sleeve of Wild Turkey mini-bottles (which we snuck into the game). In honor of the fact the he rocks, Epat bought Crown Royal min-bottles, which we also snuck into the game. There was also beer to be drunk, Boone’s to be cannonballed, and many other misadventures yet to come. We stayed up until 1:30 AM drinking and raising hell, which made for a long day of recovery on Sunday. Now that football season is all but over (I’m not excited about our bowl prospects) I believe I’ll give my liver a rest, and wait until noon on Saturday to start drinking like any normal person.

* Kidding about the syphilis. Also, I hate William Faulkner.