Having busted out first in my own tournament gave me time to take care of a list of other things that needed done. The bar needed more booze. The drinks needed more ice. The house needed more fans. And the Drunkalympics needed Cheez Balls. Three hours of fruitless searching left me with the realization that Cheez Balls must have gone off the market. I was left disappointed and with two bags of Cheez Poofs.
Throughout the night, I kept tabs on the tournament and smiled at every turn. From sbobet fixing the deck at the final table, to CJ, Heather and April taking over floor duties, to the entire Smith family making the final table, to Wes Nile Virus (The Big Pirate) and Dr. Pauly getting heads up, I couldn’t have been happier with the result. When they agreed to chop so that the Drunkalympics could start on time, I knew I had some real winners in the room. Dr. Pauly was the winner on the ultimate hand, but both players deserve great thanks for their sportsmanship.
And so we were left with what I thought would be the last bit of shenanigans of the night. The history of the Drunkalympics lies partly in an immature man’s need to find a reason to binge drink, but mostly in the unexplained competitiveness between me and G-Rob. Late nights in G-Vegas would often degenerate into G-Rob and I shooting hoops, throwing horseshoes, or playing Roshambo with the only stakes being shots of the most powerful stuff in the liquor cabinet.
As Bradoween has its roots in silly competition, G-Rob and I thought the Drunkalympics (previously known as the Dumb Olympics) would translate well.
If you were there, you saw what happened. If you weren’t, Pauly posted the rules I wrote up for each event. As expected, G-Rob chose to be Team Good, and as expected, rather than draft with his team in mind, he chose his first draft pick soley on the basis that it would save him from possibly having to compete in the eating contest. While the battle between Good and Evil was epic, I believe it was G-Rob’s selfish draft pick and the bad karma that came with it that resulted in Team Good’s ultimate defeat.
In setting the lines-ups, the first thing I did was take myself out of the running for the Roshambo contest. I knew G-Rob would be expecting me in that slot and I thought seeing a fresh face would take him off his game. Marty, in fact, did suprise G-Rob, but not enough to squelch his dominance in the game.
Further, I knew Al would be in Team Good’s slot for the water bottle basketball game. I didn’t want Big Mike there for fear Al might be bouyed by friendly competition. I needed Al against somebody that might be confusing and intimidating. Dr. Jeff came in strong, hit his first shot and retired Al handily.
My biggest mistake of the night was not putting Big Mike in the trash ball comp. I expected to see Lefty in the cheese eating contest. My addled mind thought Big Mike would have a much better chance than me. In the end, I shoud’ve taken the fall for my team. I feel bad for asking Mike, who had already been on the Soco for a while, to do something so vile. I owe him a drink for that.
With my dominance at Trash Ball and Caps and G-Rob’s uncanny ability to win even a Team Roshambo contest, it all came down to the final game of Flip Cup. In what was surely the most exciting event of the night, I chugged my beer fast (one of my specialties), but put my team in a hole by taking one flip more than Al to overturn my cup. The rest of my team performed marvelously. However, it was Daddy who emerged from the shadows to be the real hero, climbing out of the hole and winning the entire Drunkalympics for Team Evil.
Perhaps the oddest moment of the entire event was when I was standing at the keg, filling cups three at a time in preparation for the Flip Cup game. I heard someone say my name. I turned and there stood my newest neighbor, a young Baptist minister who lives across the street.
“I just wanted to come over and say hello and Happy Bradoween,” he said.
There I stood, three cups of beer dangling from my fingers and a house and yard full of degenerate gamblers, drunks, and otherwise illicit sinners. It took everything I could not to beg off the conversation. So, instead of saying, “I’m sorry, I have to go. Team Evil is about to defeat Team Good,” I said, “Well, thanks. Let us know if we get too loud.”
Later, I would thank that man’s God that he didn’t show up thirty minutes later.