The most epic weekend of my life
I’m feeling a little Sophia Petrillo this morning, forgive me.
Picture it. The last weekend of July, 2011. Washington DC. The neighborhood ball field.
Oh yeah. This is how I spent my weekend. Let’s ignore the fact that the article is fail, in that the Niners didn’t manage to take the tournament, even though they did win the first game of the match up. Damn you, double elimination.
So. Saturday was pretty much just a normal softball Sunday for us. I stayed sober to do the driving, we won one, we lost one, there was food and good times. The most notable part of Saturday was our current team knocking out our previous team from the tournament. We live for this every year. Sweet, sweet vindication. But Sunday was where the party was really at.
We arrived at the field at 8 AM to get ready for our 9 AM game. This by itself was bad. We’re NOT a morning team. Saturday we lost our 9 AM game (thankfully, because had we won WE would have been the 8 AM game), but won our 3 PM game (although it took 3 extra innings). So the morning starts and people start trickling in. We’re expecting a few people to not be there, and some folks that weren’t there on Saturday to be able to be there on Sunday. Well, 10 minutes to game time and two of them haven’t shown and a third has texted the coach with the simple message “can’t make it”. The two MIA folks weren’t really a surprise, they were seriously flaky. But the third? The third person just so happened to be our clean up hitter, one of the biggest lefties in the league AND our stalwart third baseman. We’ll call him Big T (it’s true). So needless to say, there was a lot of dissension in the ranks at that point.
So finally someone gives him a call to find out what the hell his problem is. When she gets off the phone and tells us, we immediately realize he has a valid excuse. He’s in jail. Oh shit. Now, the irony of this is that the team I play for is called Chico’s Bail Bonds. He was on his way to the game in his uniform shirt when he was picked up. We didn’t know this at the time, we were worried he got slammed in the drunk tank on the way home last night, but we couldn’t figure out why they were letting him use the phone. He said he was going to try to get someone to come get him, and he’d be there when he could.
So we go on to play, and lose, putting us out of the tournament completely. Whatever, continuing to play means we’d get hotter, sweatier, and it would interfere with our drinking. We’re totally fine with it because now we can hang out and take advantage of what tournament weekend is all about, partying. We call the police station after the game and Big T is still there. So we send the envoy to bust him out, Coach and K, both in their Chico’s Bail Bonds shirts. Hey, its about time this team lived up to its name. Before she leaves, K takes coffee orders because she’s going to stop at Starbucks on the way back. R places an order for something huge and caffeinated, he doesn’t actually care what, and then K and Coach go to pick up our jailbird.
They’re gone for a while. Keep in mind, at this point it is 10:30 AM and the drinking has already begun. Including me. (Now, if you know me at all, you know I don’t drink. I’ll very rarely have a drink when we’re out and about, but I don’t do very much drinking at home. What can I say, I’m a lightweight and I’m cool with that.) At this point, they’ve been gone about an hour and R is thinking he’s never getting his lovely caffeinated beverage so he gives up and breaks open a beer. Coach has returned by now, although not with Big T and K (she had to drive his car back) and has let us know that no, he was not locked up in the drunk tank, he was arrested because he was driving with a suspended license. He didn’t know this, but they suspended his license for not returning his plates when he moved out of state. I shit you not. They arrested him for that. Bullshit and shenanigans.
So we’re running low on beer and ice, so Coach and Figment go off to get some. They come back, and in jest Figment has brought R a can of Four Loko (henceforth referred to as 4L). I shit you not. And this is where the crazy begins. Now, I’m a little tipsy at this point, but not enough to be drinking 4L. (I doubt I’ll ever be that trashed.) But the guys take it as a personal challenge. They crack that bad boy open and share it among them, all making this face of OMGWTF as they drink it. There are many hilarious comments with terms such as “anti-freeze” and “smurf piss” tossed around and it’s still not even 11:30 yet.
So finally K comes back with Big T and R’s coffee. Now, this isn’t just a neighborhood softball tournament. We have a guy who puts on an announcer’s persona and calls all the games as they happen just like baseball on the radio. He’s brilliant. He’s heard about our Big T ending up in jail on the way in that morning, and as he walks up, the Clash’s “I Fought the Law” comes on over the speakers. It is epic. But the dumbest part? They took the man’s shoe laces. As if he were on suicide watch for a suspended license. Yes, it’s a pain but hardly worth killing yourself over. Anywho, it’s over and done with (except for the requisite court appearance) so we move on with the party.
I’m half in the bag now after three drinks (told you, lightweight) and it’s getting on towards lunch time so we decide to order pizza while K and I go on a girly drink run. Really, the only alcohol I can safely tolerate is Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Om nom nom. I pick up a six pack, and this is where it gets ridiculous. We pick up two more 4Ls as a running gag AND because we know they’ll drink it. On the way out, I get a phone call asking to pick up more Four Loko because they apparently ALL want to be ridiculous. So we head back, the pizza has already come, and all the pepperoni is gone. There is much yelling of ASSHOLE and RAT BASTARD until R orders more pizza. (K had ordered pepperoni but they ate it all before we got back. I didn’t give a crap because I wanted the cheese anyway.)
We pull out the 4L (wtf are we frat boys? possibly) and it’s passed around with more funny things being said about how absolutely disgusting it is. The ladies stay far far away from the 4L because we have more sense but they guys are all about it. Now it’s about 12:30 and we’re all tore up from the floor up. All of us. The entire team. It’s fantastic. We’re sitting right by the scorer’s table under our tent just getting absolutely trashed. I’ve never been that drunk in my entire life and it is definitely the best time I have ever had.
At one point, Figment completely disappears. I thought he had gotten up to go talk to our friend L, but when I asked L hadn’t seen him in like 2 hours. So L goes up to the scorer’s table and has them make the announcement “if anyone’s seen Figment, please let his wife know”. At which point I was informed that he was seen about 15 minutes previously in front of the Wachovia up the street. Not too long after he comes back, bag of 4L in tow.
By the time we get to championship game time, we’re all so drunk that we are incapable of paying any sort of intense attention to what’s going on. We get vaguely told off (absolutely in a joking sort of way) for not paying attention to the score. (Hey, when I ask you what the score is, don’t tell me it’s 9-4, that doesn’t help. Tell me who’s winning.) There’s more food and great conversations and laughs and a MASSIVE amount of heckling (nothing personal Kenny!). It was the perfect way to end our softball season.
Around 3 or so I finally quit drinking because ONE of us has to sober up enough to get us both home. My metabolism for booze is much better than Figment’s, so that’s always going to be me. I get drunk really easily, but I sober up just as easily. It’s a gift, and a curse. We sit around until about 8 just hanging out with everybody until it’s time to go home. There were a great many hugs and goodbyes and tears (mostly on my part). It’s been a great 4 years, and I’m really going to miss it, but this is definitely going down as the most epic weekend of my entire life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.