Set to the backdrop of the (first) Avengers: Infinity War trailer…
Rajan, as Nick Fury: “There was an idea…”
John, as Tony Stark: “… to bring together a group of idiotic friends…”
Amit, as Vision: “… to see if we could become, something drunker…”
Tim, as Thor Odinson: “… so that when our wives needed us, we would be drinking excessively…”
Ari, as Natasha Romanoff: “… like they never could.”
(Yes, I made Ari the girl).
As soon as the schedule was released, and we saw that the Wizards would once again be hosting a home game on St. Patrick’s Day, and that said (fake) holiday would fall on a Saturday, the sequel to last year’s fuckery was green-lit (no pun intended).
There was no med school match ceremony to ruin Amit’s availability this time. Our friend Matt chose correctly, by dumping his wife and kids at home so he could spend the day drinking with us. Our friend Tim one-upped him by flying 2,000 miles — also dumping his wife and kid at home — to join us. Even our friend Ari found a way to pry himself away from his bassoon, and join us for a day of drinking (yes, while leaving his wife and kids at home).
After a long, long while, we were once again able to combine our powers of drinking and idiocy. And there was no way I wasn’t going to document this whole ordeal, running-diary style. As you might imagine: none of this is for the faint of heart.
9:00am — I’m up at an unpleasantly early hour on a Saturday morning (for me anyway), because my wife needs 6x the amount of time that the normal person needs to get ready, and she’s being as quiet as an angry bull in a china shop.
To repay her for waking me up at this hour, I walk into our bathroom (where she’s currently taking a shower), pee as loudly as possible, flush the toilet (while she’s still in the shower), smile when she yelps at the sudden burst of cold water, and then walk out of the bathroom while the song “Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta” plays in my head.
For anyone wondering: this is what marriage looks like (the “flushing while your spouse is in the shower” part… not the music video).
10:55am — Just when I thought I’d have a quiet, sports-distraction-free morning where I could get some work done (especially with the wife out of the house), I get the push notification on my phone from ESPN that the New York Jets swapped picks with the Indianapolis Colts, getting the #3 overall pick in the 2018 NFL Draft. Meanwhile, the Colts get the Jets first, two second (#37 and #49), and a 2nd in 2019. A first and THREE seconds — that’s enormous. I think there four wrinkles to this trade:
1) The Jets felt like they had to make a move up, because the top four quarterbacks were going to be taken among the top five picks, and with them having the 6th overall pick, they’d be the ones left out;
2) building on that, regardless of the public hedging done by Buffalo Bills General Manager Brandon Beane, the worst-kept secret in the NFL remains that Buffalo is going to try and move up and grab a quarterback among the top five picks — and now, it’ll either be by trading with the New York Giants at #2, or the Cleveland Browns at #4 (the latter is the MUCH more likely scenario);
3) It might now take the #Bills trading #12, #21, and either both second round picks, or a second this year + a second next year, to move up to #2;
4) The Jets seemingly want to walk out of the draft having taken either Sam Darnold from USC or Josh Allen from Wyoming, so assuming Darnold goes #1 to the Browns, the Jets would be happy with Allen, proving they’ve learned nothing from their previous “physically tantalizing, strong armed quarterback who’s three years away from contributing” experiment with Christian Hackenberg.
12:15pm — John chimes in with the first GroupMe message of the day: “Alone with the kids. Time to start drinking.” Ari responds immediately with: “Same right now. Making grilled cheese and quesadillas” (wait, grilled cheese AND quesadillas?). There was a time when our GroupMe discussions were mostly focused on sports and boobs. Now, this is the stuff we talk about. Meanwhile, I come home from grocery shopping to see three Amazon packages on my doorstep… containing taco seasoning, Cajun seasoning, and Stevia. Adult life sucks so much.
1:30pm — My wife texts me that she’s “kinda tipsy,” which means she probably had somewhere between 1 and 2 drinks. I remember the days, back when we were dating and leading up to our wedding, when she claimed her and her friends could drink me and my friends under the table. Before our wedding, one of her bridesmaids openly worried that my groomsmen — the guys in this running diary — wouldn’t be able to keep up with her, when it came to drinking. Fast forward to the night before our wedding, and said bridesmaid struggled to keep up with my friends, and she was so sick and hungover the next morning that she almost couldn’t make it to the wedding. Meanwhile, the guys were up and drinking again without pause.
Growing up in Alabama is a hell of a drug.
2:10pm — First beer opened, as I watch the newest Avengers: Infinity War trailer for the 17th or 18th time since it dropped yesterday morning. I’m obviously not the only one obsessed with this trailer; on Marvel’s official YouTube channel, the trailer was viewed 14 MILLION times in the first 12 hours it was dropped. That’s insane. I’m so fucking hyped for this movie, it’s not even funny. I’ve already bought tickets for the Friday evening of its release weekend, to watch it in IMAX. I don’t even care if you think i’m a comic book nerd.
2:30pm — Our friend Tim, who flew in from Denver for this event, makes it to my house, and we quickly pound a couple of beers — and then put another beer in a travel mug, to take with us on the Metro — before trying to head out.
Of course, as we’re trying to leave the house, my wife decides to do her “just give me 30 seconds to take care of this one thing” routine, which usually encompasses another 15 to 20 minutes of wasted time. Our entire relationship mirrors the time Eric Cartman was trying to be early to the pumpkin patch, and his girlfriend Heidi didn’t share any of his urgency.
2:58pm — Tim and I meet up with Amit and Luke at “Shady Ho” metro, and early on during the trip down, the conversation forays into the unfortunate political situation we’re in, and how the President’s son looks like one of the titular characters from “Beavis and Butt-Head Do America”
3:07pm — Thankfully, the conversation quickly veers back to football, as we all talk about the Kirk Cousins’ free agency tour, and how the Denver Broncos tried to convince everyone that Case Keenum was the guy they wanted all along. Total BS. We then debated whether Kirk Cousins or RG3 became the most hated man in DC in his final days with the team; if you read some of the responses from Redskins fans to literally every single thing that Cousins posts on Twitter, you have a legitimate case that it could be the former.
3:31pm — Luke laments that we almost went the whole metro ride without hearing Amit and I converse with each other in an Indian accent. In our defense, we were imitating how Indian women can get totally wasted after drinking one Pina Colada cocktail that has just a splash of Malibu. Because Indian people fucking love Malibu.
4:14pm — As we meet up with out friend Matt, and first round of beers arrive at the Carving Room in Judiciary Square, Amit makes fun of girls who “ugly cry.” We then chortle over the number of girls we see walking around outside, wearing tank tops and short skirts because they want to “look cute” for St. Patrick’s Day… except it’s 39 degrees outside and literally snowing, and you can see they’re freezing their asses off, while their exposed skin starts turning purplish-red. Once again, I can’t reiterate enough how happy I am to be a male.
Also, Amit calls his wife to have a discussion about the location of a missing diaper pad. Again: adult life sucks so much .
4:36pm — John and Ari finally arrive, and Ari is already complaining about something; he hasn’t even been at the table for 60 seconds yet. John the regales us the Captain Morgan & Diet Coke cocktails he drank on their drive down (Ari was driving); if you know John, then you know that said cocktails are basically drinks filled with Captain Morgan, and include a shot of Diet Coke.
Ari comments that he got second-hand drunk of the fumes from John’s drinks, and then starts explaining to us the difference between Paparazzi Jews and Havarti Jews… or at least that’s how I heard it, but i’ve also had a few beers myself.
4:45pm — Matt starts telling some story during which I somewhat zone out, but he managed to recapture my attention when, in the middle of the story, he mentioned “I wanted to go take a shit.” Clearly, my attention is easily captured. John — essentially rhetorically — asks “Who’s the most in?” (which meant “Who’s had the most to drink so far?”), and was very excited that he was atop the leader board.
We then toast to our friend Neel, who couldn’t make it today, as he tended to (far more important) family matters.
5:30pm — As usual, our conversation then turns to planning our next trip to Vegas. We then reminisce over our last trip there, when we would stand on the balcony-ledge thing that overlooked the exit to the famous Hakkasan night club at the MGM Grand (where we stayed last time), and then begin to narrate about all the drunk guys and disheveled women walking out when the club closed:
“The very drunk female, who is clearly the only member of her all-female group and is acting rather hormonally due to all the alcohol she’s consumed, is clearly trying to mate with a male wearing an excessive amount of hair product… now watch as how another member of her all-female pack acts as a majestic cock block, imposing her gynocratic will between the ready-to-mate female and male, leaving all three to go home mate-less.”
6:11pm — We head over to Penn Commons for a couple more drinks before the game starts. Amit orders a round of Irish Car bombs for the group, and I see a butt ugly girl wearing a Duke University sweatshirt… par for the course. The bartender making our car bombs tells Amit that the shot glasses can’t be dropped inside the glass holding our beer because they won’t fit inside, defeating the “car bomb” execution.
Ari then tries to make a terrible Johnnie Cochran-inspired “if the glass don’t fit, you must…” joke, and everyone groans before he could think of something that rhymed.
6:24pm — Ari congratulates himself for not being “a greedy Jew” (his words), while Luke takes the early lead for tonight’s “gay pride” award, as he tries to take a selfie comprised of seven dudes… but then John made some comment about fellating Matt for another car bomb, and now the room is spinning because of all the gayness, while John takes a commanding lead in the “gay pride” race.
6:30pm — After our second round of Irish Car Bombs (with no males being pleasured by other males), John steals the notebook and makes the first of many (absolutely ridiculous) entries. Just so we’re clear, the following is transcribed verbatim:
“Ari’s eyes suck. The Rock is 1/2 Samoan and 1/2 black. Amish shit that makes them go crazy. The chosen white people are the chosen complainers. Dead haven’t risen yet. Why is he not here yet? Ari’s son does the SOUP JOKE.”
There’s just way too much to unpack here, so i’ll let you enjoy the commentary as is.
6:42pm — Amit chimes in (on the notebook), and thankfully has very legible handwriting (which is MUCH more than I can say for John): “JOHN IS THE TICKETMASTER.” I’ll explain this one, since it’s really nothing more than a terrible Ghostbusters-inspired joke that also makes everyone cringe.
6:51pm — I get to my seat in Section 113, Row N (while everyone else goes in search of more beer). While Tomas Satoransky is clearly feeling it tonight (he’s draining shots in warmups), i’m starting to feel it too (“it” being “the alcohol”). I then notice a dopey-looking fat white kid wearing a throwback Wes Unseld jersey (with no shirt underneath itm so his flabby arms are hanging out of the jersey), khaki jeans, and a cammo hat. MUCH more on him a bit later.
Among the pre-game music selection is the super-popular “Stir Fry” by Migos. You want a hot take? I think the song is terribly overrated. While Take Off has a pretty nice verse, 85% of the song’s value comes from the beat produced by Pharrell Williams. If anyone else produced that song, it would be just another track on Migos (needlessly bloated) “Culture II” album.
7:06pm — Indiana’s Victor Oladipo, a home town guy who went to Dematha High School, gets a little pop from the crowd as he’s introduced; also, why was Corey Joseph the last guy introduced for the Pacers, when that distinction is usually reserved for the team’s best player?
The game tips off very shortly thereafter, and the Wizards miss their opening shot. Al Jefferson, who started in place of the injured Myles Turner, scores the first two buckets of the game (bullying Marcin Gortat down low for the first bucket), and then Oladipo blows by Gortat — who started the game by playing like a human turnstyle — to give Indiana a quick 6-2 lead.
7:21pm — In his attempt to get the Wizards to rally, John loudly yells “BUTTS!” (in fairness, it was in reference to the Wizards girls’ collective posteriors, but still).
Right on queue, clearly inspired by John’s drunken Tourette’s syndrome, the Wizards go on a 13-4 run, with Satoransky contributing seven of the Wizards’ 13 points, and Otto Porter draining a sweet heavily-contested 21-foot step-back shot. The Wizards are now up 15-10, taking a lead that — spoiler warning — they won’t relinquish for the rest of the game.
7:32pm — Trevor Booker is on the Pacers now … when did that happen?!?
Also, Lance Stephenson checked in, and I immediately begin serenading him with “YOU SUCK, LANCE!” chants at those opportune moments when the noise level in the crowd dies down just enough to where he’ll hear such a shout.
Speaking of suck: Ian Mahinmi starts doing Ian Mahinmi things, including fumbling away an easy offensive rebound attempt, which leads to Darren Collison ending the first quarter by hucking up a garbage three-point attempt as time expired at the end of the first quarter, and it going in. You could literally put $16 million into a big cash pile, take an enormous shit all over it, and then burn the feces and the cash, and that would be a better use of $16 million than giving it to Ian Mahinmi as a salary. At 6’11, I wouldn’t even want him changing the light fixtures in my house.
Anyway the Wizards are up 25-20 at the end of the first quarter. As part of the Wizards’ partnership with McDonalds, everyone gets a free McD’s french fries (when they order something else there, too). Commence the death by sodium.
7:46pm — John begins heckling the Pacers randomly (and rather incoherently). There is an elderly couple right in front of John, who covers their ears every time John shouts something. These type of fans are the worst. This isn’t church or a library. They barely said anything to each other all game long, and in a very pivotal game in the Eastern Conference standings, they were about as animated as geriatric sloths. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU COME TO THIS GAME FOR? Did you think they were going to show an episode of Matlock on the jumbotron? Did someone tell you that you’d get free cups of apple sauce and prune juice with every ticket you bought? Wouldn’t it have been better if you have stayed home and knitted or played shuffleboard instead?
8:02pm — The Wizards are up 57-45 at halftime. Satoransky and Bradley Beal have been two of the three best players on the floor tonight (along with Oladipo), but Markieff Morris had a couple of big plays towards the end of the second quarter, which helped pad the lead.
Also, John writes a comment about Ari, which i’m not going to post because I don’t want the ACLU on my case. However, said comment written by John includes the word “Vaginga” … I wanted to make sure I mentioned that, because that’s how he spelled (presumably) “Vagina.”
From there, the two of them steal the notebook, and write the following:
[John]: WRONG. So wrong on all Irish shit. My handwriting is terrible.
[Ari]: John said “Winnie the Pooh Vagina things.” WTF is going on during this halftime ???!!! DEVASTATION.
[John]: Halftime is a scary pink parade. Enough said.
[Ari]: The Michael & Sons blimp is coming dangerously close to us. I’m predicting another 9/11.
[John]: John will fuck that blimp up. (Note: yes, John referred to himself in the third person). Matt farted on Luke’s jacket.
[Ari]: John apparently still writes in cursive but its so illegible that its not even funny. Rajan’s brown ass is nowhere to be found during this halftime. Tim is being fancy by drinking a Devil’s Back Bone IPA, while Matt is drinking Shock Top from a can. It’s just terrible optics.
[John]: Reading is overrated! That is not gay. Baby shower is the biggest cock block ever.
(Explanation: there was a baby shower for Amit’s wife in the late morning/early afternoon, which caused us to get a later-than-preferred start on the day).
[Ari]: The Wizards girls just changed outfits. WTF happened to them?? They look like they’ve been cursed by a Wizard. At least the crew changed for the second half; the first half crew was…
8:22pm — As the second half is about tip off, I return back to my seat, with the ritualistic Dunkin’ Donuts coffee in hand (that’s where my brown ass was at halftime). Upon my return, John notes: “WES KHAKI PANTS TERRIBLE.” Remember the fat kid in the Wes Unseld jersey? He’s been making a certifiable ass of himself all game long, gyrating like a moron during every TV timeout where they pan the jumbotron camera on fans in the stands. Even the (almost-as-chubby) girl he’s with tonight wants nothing to do with him.
Also, John writes something that looks like “Dangerous Children,” but his handwriting is so illegible that I can’t decipher what he was actually trying to say… so i’m sticking with “Dangerous Children.”
8:26pm — Morris quietly has a game-high 13 points right now, and Gortat quietly has double-figures scoring as well (along with Satoransky). Luke chimes in: “we should all have threesomes before we die, possibly in Vegas in 2021?” We’ve been discussing going to Vegas in 2021, which is the year we all turn 40. As far as Luke’s plan, we would need the best antibiotics known to man if we were to make such a plan happen in Vegas.
Meanwhile, Tim loudly slurs “I’M DOING OK!!” while poking me in the head.
8:36pm — Our section, filled with the typical morose DMV citizens who come to watch Wizards games at the arena and don’t say or do a damn thing all game long, finally comes alive… because it’s time for the t-shirt parachute drop. Of course.
As Al Jefferson misses a shot and throws a very demonstrative hissy fit after the miss, Tim excitedly re-discovers Luke is sitting two seats away from him. As Tim just said: he’s doing ok.
8:44pm — Tim is underwhelmed by the scenery here, admonishing people in the stands by saying: “You thighmaster people!“. I’m pretty sure that’s the Devil’s Back Bone talking now.
Meanwhile, Oladipo throws a cross-court pass that ends up in the third row of the stands, as things start to officially unravel for the Pacers, who have been extremely flat from midway though the first quarter of this game.
8:48pm — With the bench unit on the floor, the Wizards 19-point third quarter lead gets cut to nine. John is still very optimistic, though, as he said (according to the best of my ability to read his handwriting): “Kelly Oubre is a beast. Scaly but not for Sammy.”
Tim is increasingly displeased with the people around him, which now includes the Wizards mascot, as he says: “G-Wiz, fuck that guy.”
8:56pm — As Jodie Meeks makes his first bucket of the game and extends the Wizards lead back up to 16 points, Ari sees Meeks and asks “who is this bald-headed baby man?”
8:58pm — The Pacers call timeout, and they start playing Zombie Nation in the arena, which gets the crowed hyped up. God forbid anything the Wizards actually do on the court elicits a reaction from the crowd.
As i’m catching up on notes, Tim insists that I make note of his philanthropic efforts for the evening. When I ask him what those philanthropic effort were, and/or what group his philanthropic efforts benefited, he couldn’t articulate an answer to either. But he was VERY proud of these efforts.
He then informs us that the Pacers uniform looks like urine.
9:07pm — The Wizards are (still) up by 15 points, with just a few minutes left in the fourth quarter. As disinterested as the Pacers have looked in this game, even the Wizards can’t blow this lead.
Seemingly comfortable with his team’s performance, there’s an elderly gentleman about three rows ahead of us, taking zoomed-in photos of the Wizards girls, presumably to fill up his spank bank for later. The best part of this? His wife was right next to him. I can’t tell you how much I want to grow up and become this guy.
9:12pm — If there was such a thing as “greatest tag team partners comprised of drunk people,” John and Tim would be Hawk and Animal from the Legion of Doom.
9:19pm — The Wizards close out the win by a 109-102 score that wasn’t as close as the final score would indicate. It was another “everybody eats” effort, with five guys scoring in double-digits, five guys with at least five rebounds, four guys with at least four assists, and Bradley Beal leading the team with 19 points despite barely being seen for much of the second half.
Entering Saturday morning, the Wizards were right in the middle of a four-team slamboree in the Eastern Conference, with exactly 1.5 games separating the Indiana Pacers, Cleveland Cavaliers, Wizards, and Philadelphia 76ers for the third through sixth spots in the East. With the win, the Wizards move into a tie for fourth place with the Pacers, but more importantly, get the season-series tiebreaker (the have now beat them in two of their three games).
As John and I have discussed ad nauseum: assuming the Wizards hold on to make the playoffs (KNOCKING ON WOOD PROFUSELY), the best case outcome for Wizards fans would be Washington playing Indiana in the first round of the Eastern Conference playoffs, ideally in the 4-5 matchup (and the Cleveland Cavaliers drawing the precocious Philadelphia 76ers in round one, with Philadelphia running LeBron James and Cleveland ragged early in the playoffs).
As far as the Wizards, it doesn’t matter if Washington or Indiana is the fourth or fifth seed, because I doubt it would take the Wizards more than six games to dispatch of Indiana regardless of who has home court advantage. I don’t fear them one bit in a seven-game series. And if the Wizards & Pacers are the 4-5 matchup, that means the winner would take on the Toronto Raptors — who are on cruise control for the #1 seed in the East — in the second round of the playoffs. As we’ve also discussed: until Toronto does anything in the playoffs to prove otherwise, they are to the NBA playoffs what UVA is to the NCAA Tournament: choke artists.
Frankly, if the Wizards get the Pacers in Round 1 and the Raptors in Round 2, it would be an upset (for us) if Washington DIDN’T advance to the Eastern Conference Finals. I fear Toronto about 0.00001% more than I fear Indiana.
9:46pm — We arrive at for our ritualistic post-game burgers at Shake Shack. Frankly, I didn’t take a lot of notes here, as there weren’t a lot of highlights (although I did manage to shark a table away from two eager fellow Indian people who were trying to usurp said table away from me/us… so I felt pretty good about that).
And that, my friends, is where the documented portion of the evening’s events comes to an end.
All in all, how did this affair compare to last year’s St. Patrick’s Day fuckery?
It’s very rare when the sequel is better than — or even as good as — the original. Our wives deciding to host a baby shower the same morning on the day of our planned all-day drinkingfest was a total c-ckblock; it definitely killed at least two hours of solid drinking time. We didn’t randomly end up taking a Miller Lite vs. Bud Light taste test. Luke didn’t fall asleep in a cab. I didn’t fall asleep in the stadium. There was no post-game concert, so John couldn’t talk about BVD again. John didn’t attempt to write rap lyrics in my notebook (… wait, that’s a good thing). And Neel wasn’t there to troll us all evening long about… well, basically, anything he could think of.
But the fact that we had (almost) every member of our core group of friends — a feat that hasn’t been duplicated since our last Vegas trip — perhaps overrides all of that. If we’re the drunkenly idiotic version of the Avengers, then the scourge of “days filled with kids activities and our wives complaining about never spending time together anymore” is our proverbial Thanos.
Still, we’ll do our damndest to make sure the third chapter of this series — when we (hopefully) do this again next year — doesn’t suck (like the unwatchably bad third films in the Godfather, Rush Hour, or The Hangover series).