I am 30 years old now, and have reached the point in my life where drinking alcohol has begun to fuck with my sleeping patterns. If I drink a six-pack and a glass of bourbon on a Friday night, as I am wont to do, I’ll sometimes wake up at 2AM, unable to fall back asleep.
This pisses me off greatly.
God, the greatest hater of them all, is forcing me to choose between boozing and a good night’s rest, and that is wrong. Shit, if I don’t drink BEFORE I go to sleep, then I have trouble getting to sleep because my brain won’t shut the fuck up. It’s a problem with no solution, which is why I’m planning on becoming hooked on barbiturates very, very soon. Can you snort Ambien? I’ll be finding out shortly.
Anyway, as you well know, the NFL is not only the greatest sporting spectacle in the universe (and when you’re competing against the likes of soccer, baseball, and the NBA, this is not a terribly difficult goal to reach), it’s also the greatest excuse to drink and drug ever. I’m the sort of person who will find any excuse to celebrate something. It’s Friday? Time to celebrate! Just got my paycheck? Time to celebrate! Company over? Bust out the Zinfandel! Lanced a boil? Time to fucking get down. And so it will be with the coming 2007 NFL season. I’ll drink to kick off the season. I’ll drink when the Vikings win, all three times. I’ll drink Sunday nights AND Monday nights. I’ll drink if TO tries to commit suicide again. If there’s even the slightest opening to engage in shallow and self-destructive behavior, I’ll be on it. Promise.
After all, Roger Goodell has made it all but impossible for NFL players to enjoy themselves. But he can’t control US, man. There’s no suspending you if you get fucked up and piss on a street lamp. So I say, full speed ahead. Get out there and embarrass yourself. Do it for Pacman. Do it for Chris Henry. Do it because you’re life is boring and there’s no other way to numb the pain. Without further ado, here are your drinking and drugging options for the 2007 NFL season. Yes, they’re exactly the same as last year’s. But, I tell you, this shit never gets boring.
I live in DC, so sometimes drinking light beer is helpful if you need to drive home. But, let’s face it: drinking light beer is like eating light potato chips. You’re going to overindulge to the point where you may as well have had the real thing anyway. And so I say: fuck you, light beer. If I’m going to get busted doing 80mph on Canal Road coming back from Maj’s apartment with one eye shut, I may as well go all the way with it. This season, it’s real beer or nothing.
Last fall, I was in NYC at a block party that had free beer. And not only was it free beer, it was GOOD beer. Ommegang or some shit like that. It was so good, I just dunked my face in it and began sucking it through my oral and sinus cavities simultaneously. The burn let me know it was working. Anyway, during the party, we looked over onto Seventh Avenue and saw a man rollerblading down the middle of the street in full hockey gear, holding up all lanes of traffic. Upon further review, it was Tim Robbins. So, if you ever wanted proof that Tim Robbins is a complete douchebag, there it is.
Anyway, stock up on the beer this year. It’s the only way you’ll tolerate the Patriots going 16-0. Guhhhhhhhh.
I like buying wine at Trader Joe’s. The assholes there really overestimate themselves. “This hearty Cabernet contains hints of oak and pear, and makes a great pairing with a spicy stew or blackened catfish.” Dude, I buy wine at your fucking store because it’s $6 a bottle. And tell your cashiers to stop being so friendly. It creeps me out. I like wine after a fantasy team winning. That’s what arrogant prick NFL GM’s like Bill Polian drink after a victory, so I like taking the fantasy all the way.
I’m pretty sure no man has ever entered a bar on a Sunday and ordered a glass of bubbly for himself. And, since Brady Quinn is otherwise occupied, it won’t be happening again this year.
It’s a Rum and Coke year this year. My team will be god awful. So, instead of drinking to wallow in that fact, I’m going to drink to overcome that fact. That’s right. Instead of drinking to artificially feel happier, I’m going to drink to artificially feel more confident. It’s a subtle move only seasoned alkies can pull off. By the way, the more lime juice you add to a rum and Coke, the more rum you can add. You won’t find drinking analysis like this anywhere else, bitch.
Some people are scotch people. Some are bourbon people. I don’t really get this. Both are brown. And delicious. And make me happy. I, of course, am a beer whore. But I’d like to formally expand my whoring to all brown spirits. Single malt or blend? Who fucking cares? I’m drunk and horny.
Jameson whiskey ages well. And, unlike other Jamesons, it never needs a vaginoplasty.
You know, I never buy bourbon out of plastic bottles, but I think I’m being too snobby. This year, I’mma try that Uncle Dale’s Tennessee Mating Fluid. It should go well with the Cleveland offense.
Tequila, Gin, and Mezcal
I don’t touch these. There’s no quicker way to black out. Might come in handy for Chiefs fans.
Port is fucking cheap! You can get it for like $5 a bottle. And that is NICE. Here’s the problem with spirits like Cognac and port. You drink them like liquor, but they aren’t as high in proof. So really, it’s not very efficient drinking. These are drinks for connoisseurs who prize the flavor of spirits over just getting drunk. These people are assholes. Anyway, they make fine holiday drinks for watching games with the family. It’s a good way to hide your blind lust for pure drunkenness.
Last year, I watched the Chiefs-Colts playoff game high. HUGE improvement. The beauty of watching a game high is that you don’t really care about what happens, which in turn makes for far more enjoyable viewing.
For those who are really, really into not caring.
There’s your 2007 preview. Remember: the preseason starts in a matter of weeks. Better get that liver in shape.