March 16, 2012 by Manny Wordsmith
My best friend Matt and I, at the start of the race, last year.
If you’re like me, you’re probably resting up and taking it easy. Tomorrow is a big day, and it’s important to be at your best.
St. Paddy’s Day isn’t a joke for me. It’s as serious of a holiday as Christmas or Thanksgiving. As a kid, on Christmas, I was excited to get presents. As an adult, the fun begins when I get to see my nieces and nephews open their gifts. For Thanksgiving, it’s all about family, foodgasms and football. Like those two holidays, St. Patty’s has its centerpieces, the things needed for perfection and excitement.
On this day, everyone is Irish and all the celebration involves is drinking and yelling. That’s all.
It’s not exclusively a young man’s game or an old man’s game. Anyone can participate if they have the drive, dedication and the child-like wonderment needed to survive. Many can start the day off, but few can finish.
I always approach the day with the intentions of being able to remember, understand and process the events I take part in. But unfortunately, I drink way too much, and my memory ends up presenting the events back to me at a grainy, 3x, fast forward VCR speed. I then find myself yelling, “Hey wait…who was that girl? No, no, no slow DOWN! Why was I drinking that? Newcastle? Wait, wait, another Irish Car Bomb? Who bought it for me…slow DOWN!”
My heart is in the right place; I just can’t quite get myself to well…slow down.
This is a picture of me, at an outdoor concert, after drinking for 12 hours.
I think I look well. My friend Elisabeth, not so much. But if the only drawback from drinking for this long period will be a girl licking my plastic cups, then I’m willing to do the necessary pacing to do a repeat of this picture, with a different lovely lady. And if I’m lucky, maybe it’ll be me doing the cup licking.
Get it? Too funny, too funny.
If I can just stick to beer, snack when needed and stay moving, I can do it. It’s the liquor that messes with my timetable, especially the Irish whiskey. Once the Jameson gets sloshing inside of me, nothing is balanced anymore and the only thing I can concentrate on is hollering. That’s all. Just over-the-top, blatant bellowing. I think I’m being funny, but my words aren’t even in punchlines or sentences, just broken syllables and vowels.
“Aaaaaaaaaaa! Oooooooooooooooo!! “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuu?”
I figure if I can stay away from John Jameson and his fancy green bottle, I’m golden. But my friends, who I love dearly, will probably, once again, break me with their childish peer pressure.
“I remember my first drink! Hahahaha…pussy.”
Good luck to you all! I hope the few that plan on seeing night, reach their goal. To those who plan on being sleep by 4 p.m., bottoms up!
Us, including Nikki, at the end of the race…7 hours later.
Last place champions, Team Blackout.