Happy New Year:  2004 the Year of the Flamingo
St Patrick's Day is the FOIB New Year
My adventures in a small town called Savannah



St Patrick's Day:  Flamingos, a Wallaby, and a Leprechaun


NOTE:  Friends have begged me to go to this tournament every year since I have lived in Washington, DC.  I have heard it is one of the greatest parties ever.  I have also heard this about Saranac and will find out if that stands up to the Maggotfest/Ottawa challenge.  But on the weekend of March 12, 2004, I decided it was time to see for myself what everyone was talking about.  Considering it was my birthday weekend, I decided it was go time.  Many thanks to Kermit and the SVELTS (Scioto Valley Touring Side) for constantly telling me I need to go.  The trip is dedicated to them.

One last note:  The story is VERY long.  In reality it was only 60 hours of fun, but when you are innebriated, 60 hours can seem like 20 to life.  Feel free to skim (some parts won't be as funny to you as they were to me.)  In the end, I am not editing this from it's first draft.  There are also many photos from this trip.  They will load slowly probably....sorry.  Enjoy!

Thursday March 11, 2004

On stage at a Titty Bar was not how I imagined the night before my trip to Savannah to begin, but then again, it was my birthday weekend and I was their DJ.  The girls at the local strip joint coaxed me on stage to strut my stuff in front of the crowd.  Money came flowing in from staff and a few customers.  Grocery bags were tossed on the stage to collect the massive collection of $1 bills.  We would know later if I could afford my trip to Savannah, Georgia.  But for the time being, I was more worried about my pasteys not falling off and my G String positioning. 

After getting home around 2 AM I went to my room to count my dough.  The plan was to depart DC around 5 AM.   I sat and counted my nights profits.  I had received over $200 from the ladies for my DJing performance and once counted, the grocery bag included over $140 for my 3 minute dance routine.  My appreciation instantly went out to the ladies at the bar for the generocity.

My next step was finalizing my packing and getting to sleep.  I was in bed by 3 AM and a short 2 hours later the pounding from my roommate on my door marked the beginning of a journey that can only be matched by Alexander, Lewis and Clark, or maybe Beavis and Butthead.

I jump out of bed, strap on my Kilt, Sporrin, and Red Fresno Rugby polo (Don’t worry Barry, I will have the New PAC gear soon and will be sending you a small polo in return.  By the way, everyone in Savannah thinks Fresno are a bunch of drunk party animals.  Sorry.)

I get downstairs to find the driver, Karden and her friend, Wallaby, awaiting Super Boy and myself.  Both girls have been on this trip before.  Super Boy and myself are, for once in a long time, tour rookies.  Since Karden is going out with Super Boy, he gets the front seat.  We start to load the supplies.  Karden points out that my Kit bag, food cooler and Beer cooler won’t all fit into her car.  I get into an internal debate with myself whether I should leave my Kit bag or one of the coolers.  I opt for pulling one case of cold cans out of the beer cooler and combining the food in with the remaining case of beer.  I put the Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill (cheap wine) on top (I need something fruity…it is breakfast time.)  Food consists of 2 cans of Vienna Sausages, 2 Rice Crispy bars, 10 Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches, and 2 Ham Sandwiches.  I move to the car. 

Blast.  Should have used the other cooler and taken more beer out.  Cooler is too big to fit between Wallaby and myself in the back seat.  I decide to let it ride on my lap the entire trip.  I break out the Boone’s and we are on our way.

6:30 AM  The beginning
We get on the highway and Super Boy points out that we won’t be making lots of stops on this trip.  I only need one:  Battery purchase for my walkman.  Can’t hear anything they are discussing in the front seat and the Wallaby is about as talkative as a Myme.  She is in need of sleep (and why wouldn’t she…she only got 8 hours the night before.)

7:45 AM  McDonalds and Exxon.
I jump out and purchase ice and Batteries.  I join my party at McDonalds for a quick breakfast.  Karden has organized a team of Virginia Tech Women Alumni to play in Savannah.  We are joined by 3 of her teammates.  No one seems to like the fact that I am 3 beers and 1 bottle of Boone’s in and we haven’t even left Northern Virginia yet.

We move back to the car and I continue to drink.  Me very sleepy.  Two hours of sleep is hitting me hard.  But I decide if I sleep it will throw the entire trip into a chaotic paradox that no one can afford.  I decide the answer is another beer.  I wake up Wallaby and ask if she wants a beer.  She sneers and goes back to sleep.

9:15 AM  Tour Rules.
I wake up the Wallaby again.  I inform her of a little known tour rule that every border you cross you have to take off a piece of clothing.  She sneers and goes back to sleep.  I bring this point up in honor of Jethro from the Denver Highlanders who, on our 1996 trip from Denver to Albuquerque in the Winnebago, sat in the front seat Naked.  Bubby, who was driving, sneered and kept driving.  (NEW MEXICO) Something about Aussies and getting naked in vehicles doesn’t mix well.

10 AM  The First Border
Super Boy and I remove our shirts.  The Wallaby cringes.  I ask if she wants a beer and she refuses.  I sense some hostility.  I drink another beer.  I decide that now is a perfect time to start Drunk dialing people.  I call a handful of friends.  All say hello, realize I am hammered and say goodbye quite curtly.  I am back to discussing things with the Wallaby.  She is thrilled.

I figured it was time to explain the 7 rules of touring with her (other than the border rule).  She actually listens at this point, sorta interested.

0..Speak only in the vernacular of pirates.
1. Eat and drink at every opportunity.
2. Sleep only when it is safe.
3. Make a strong impression on every woman you meet; good or bad matters not, just give her cause to remember you
4. Never pay cash when credit is accepted
5. Use your real name as little as possible
6. When low on funds, mooch off strangers and as a last resort, friends
7. Never argue with authorities (policeman, customs, etc...) instead create confusion to your advantage.
8. Anytime you find yourself at a loss for words or in a need of something to say, rely on that classic bluesman's phrase  "haw, haw, haw" (acceptable in toasting, conversation, etc...)

Super boy decides this is a good laugh and we start recalling past events that each rule were used, including one ackward moment a friend of ours was at a formal scotch drinking event and when called upon to make a toast, he said:  “Here’s to Honor:  Getting on her, and staying on her.”  Let’s just say the ladies in the crowd didn’t appreciate it.

10:15 AM  Gas stop/Pee Break
I do the match.  I have had 9 beers total at this point and the Boone’s.  Doing well.  Sleep is starting to seem not needed as liquid adrenaline is kicking in.  I am looking forward to removing my boxers (which I had put on under my kilt – so not to completely freak out the Wallaby) at the South Carolina Border.  Super Boy takes over driving.  Some talk about sending the Wallaby into the other car so she can “catch up with her other friends.”  I know it is really she is afraid of sitting next to a 330 pound prop without his shirt, pounding beers like he was in some type of mythical beer drinking marathon (I was!).  We continue and talk of South of the Border starts coming up.

11:45 AM  South of the Border.
Hunger is enveloping the caravan.  I quickly eat two PB&Js and down another two beers.  This isn’t even difficult anymore.  It is like the Miller Lite’s are actually oxygen and they are the only thing keeping my alive.  Wallaby shutters with every beer can taken out of the cooler and every empty that is replaced.  She is also starting to get ill from the smell of my spittoon which I empty at every break.  Australians are also not big fans of chewing tobacco spit.  (OZ)

We empty out of the cars at some cheesy tourist trap with lots of tourist crap to buy.  There are plenty of animals statutes (alligators, zebras, gorrillas, and most importantly, the Idiot Brother New Years animal:  The flamingo.  Yes 2004 is the year of the Flamingo.)  I try to get on the statue of the big pink bird.  It about collapses and Super Boy suggests otherwise.

The girls and Super Boy wander over to the big gorilla statue for some pictures.  I wander into a store.  I am in search of a Garden Gnome, but instead find the tour memorabilia of the trip:  the Pink Flamingo Yard thingys.  I also decide I will try to make friends with the Wallaby.  I purchase a pink boomarang.  She scoffs at it.  Drunktana is a bit offended.  One of the other ladies in the group, Jaime, says she wants to start getting her drink on.  I ask if we can trade the wallaby for her.  No one says anything.

We wander in and out of various stores.  I find a couple of cheap purchases (a journal to keep record of the trip, a horrible pen that doesn’t work, and the “Live Rattlesnake eggs”)  We are back on the road.  Jaime is in the back seat with me now.  I quickly offer a beer and she accepts.  We hit the interstate heading south.

1:30 PM  Back on the road
Yes we spent almost 2 hours at that tourist dive.  And I loved every minute of it.  They had rubber dog doo, woopie cushions, soap that dyes your body blue.  They had everything.  But the mecca was down the road another 3 or 4 hours and we needed to get moving.

3 PM  Gilligan
Jaime, who I have started calling Gilligan (because I couldn’t remember her name) and I have polished off another 4 beers each.  We both mention we have to pee.  Super Boy agrees to take the next exit and we are happy.  Until we see traffic backed up for miles.  Oh the humanity.

3:15 PM  NOT MOVING
We still haven’t moved and Karden’s insistance that I don’t pee in a bottle in her car only makes my bladder unhappier.  Gilligan is searching for a cup to pee into.  We both are wondering if we can make it.  I decide I will get out and pee near the median.  We are on the inside lanes…so most people will be blocked, not to mention I am wearing my kilt…so I can easily take a knee (one of the greatest concepts of rugby……)  As I jump out I say, “Watch, as soon as I get peeing, the traffic will clear and I will have to sprint miles to catch up.”  I get out, take a knee and literally as the flow starts I see cars pulling a head.  Women have the ability to cut off in mid stream.  Men have not acquired this skill during our evolution.  I continue to piss as car after car drives past.  The big rig behind me honks and says, “They ain’t waiting for you.”  I look, Jesse is driving as slow as he can, but is still probably 50 yards away.  I start running.  Traffic behind Jesse is honking and I finally jump in…smashing my face into the door as he finally comes to a stop.  I get in and I am relieved.  Gilligan looks like she is drowning in her own urine which has slowly started to fill her internal organs.  I suggest pulling over to the other side of the road and pulling off the highway so she can piss.  Super Boy agrees and we make our way onto the grass.  She hurries around to the other side of the car.  We open both front and back doors and she uses them as “stall walls” to block the vision of cars behind.  At this point Super Boy also decides he should piss and Karden says he can now join me in the back seat if he wants to have some beers.  We are about an hour north of Savannah.  After the completion of the piss and Chinese fire drill, we are all loaded back up.  Everyone has a beer, except Karden who is driving.

3:45 PM  Beer stop
We are out of beer at this point and decide to stop and get beer.  I also realize I should purchase some baby powder (in case of chaffing) and realize I haven’t purchased any of the mandatory porn.  I ask the 19 year old clerk which “value pack” of porn is the best and he reccommends one that his “boss told him was very good.”  We jump back into the car with a fresh 18 Miller Lites in tow and porn in our hands.  I freak when I see one pictoral of a girl having sex with a clown.  My fear of clowns and midgets was then discussed for the next 40 miles.

4 PM  Savannah
The town doesn’t seem to hell bent for fun.  But then again, I have no idea which part of Savannah we are in at this point.  We take a right and there she is.  The hotel.  We arrive and Gilligan jumps out again and creates her “stall walls” again and pops a squat.  I suggest she just go inside, but she doesn’t accept my advice.  Karden goes inside to arrange her room.  I figure it would be a good time to find out where we are staying.  Four buddies from our club have decided they too would be coming to Savannah.  They have a hotel and I needed to call them.

I call and get ahold of Sketchy.  I ask him where he is at and he replies:  Washington, DC.  A conversation takes place with a bunch of, “You better be kidding me” and a lot of “No really, we decided not to go and canceled the hotel reservations.”  I approach Super Boy who isn’t happy about our predictament.  It has been understood that this weekend Super Boy and I would not be “Hanging out with his girlfriend or her team.”  We inform Karden of the dilemna to which she replies:  They still have rooms available here.  That would have been a good idea, however, Super Boy decided his money would be better spent if we tried to hook up with our club’s Old Boys who were also in town.  We make the necessary calls and head upstairs to unpack their stuff and drink some beers til we get a call back.

530 PM  Beer Run
After meeting several of the Virginia Tech Alumni, three young ladies and myself head out for beer.  Since I can never remember names, I always choose to rename girls I meet instead of putting the effort out to remember their real names, or even their real nicknames.  I quickly name the girls Giggles, Yippy (after my old hooker in Denver for no other reason than I went on a beer run with him on tour once) and Goose (after mother goose).  Turns out Goose is actually a pilot in the Navy and has her own name:  Jack (her last name is Daniels) and I decide to convert back to that name.  I can remember that.

We end up purchasing lots’o’beer (myself getting a bottle of Sambuca, a case of Natural Light, and a six pack of Michelob).  I move into Karden’s room where everyone is lounging around.  They seem like they are more interested in napping, so I decide it would be best if I left the room.  I figured we are already unwanted house guests so I would walk away.  On the way to the “other girl’s rooms” who invited me to have a beer with them while we were purchasing the beer, I see some of the old boys who agree to give me floor space in exchange for propping duties.  I had hoped to play with the Bozeman Cutthroats (from Montana) who were out on tour, but a bed is a bed.  They told me to meet them at Harry Carreys or Mary Ferries or Barry Mannilowarrys on River Street.  I choose not to get directions.  I will find it.  I mean how big can River Street be?

7 PM  Hanging with the girls
I join Karden’s team and we chit chat a bit.  We drink more beer (I have to be approaching 30 at this point) and start in on the Sambuca.  The girls are a good bunch of rugby idiots in their own right.  They welcome me into the room and we all share stories and drink beers.   I have an enchanted conversation with one lovely lady - "Teenage dirtbag" (in Red stripe jersey).  Then again, I thought I had several enchanting conversations with a few dozen beers earlier that day.  A few of the girls seem to be a bit apprehensive that there are guys on tour with them, but I assure them we won’t be around much longer.  The girls go out to dinner and I decide to stay and finish a few more beers before heading to River Street.  About an hour later, Super Boy returns, ¾ shit faced and says that Karden and him got into an argument about something or other and that he was mad at her and that we should leave and not come back.  Knowing Karden (one of the sweetest girls I have ever met), I realize that there probably has been a misunderstanding between Jesse’s Stupor and her speaking perfect English.  I agree we should go and we finish a few more beers and more Sambuca, place the remaining beer in her room and head out to find a cab.

About this time three of the VT girls that chose not to eat appear.  L Train, Teenage Dirty bag, and Trang all show up.  They are talking to some boys (obviously rugby guys - who have just showed up with a keg of beer.)  In true Super Boy diplomacy he turns to the girls and says, “Why the hell are you guys hanging out with a bunch of muscle head douche bags like them.”  I let out a small shreak.  I am the one that has been drinking for 14 hours and he is the one offending everyone he can find.

As we wait for the cab to arrive (with our VT trio) a big chartered bus arrives.  It is the Gorge.  Rocky Gorge is a team in our union (on the outskirts of the Washington Beltway).  They are well known for doing rugby socially and have started to improve their game play as well.  While I have not had many experiences with the Gorge, one in particular has painted me as an enemy of the Gorge.

In 1997 I was hammered at the Atlantic Cup (in Beautiful Dewey Beach).  We were all partying at a beach house when the Gorge elephant walked into the house.  My old club, Western Suburbs and the Gorge were good friends.  We were all standing around the party when one guy lifts my kilt and grabs my ass.  I turn around and deck him.  Turns out it was their hooker, all 5 foot none of him and 83 pounds.  OUT COLD.  The Gorge at that point started drawing up a declaration of war.  I felt sorta bad, but I knew that my mates (who I had played with for two years) would support me until a proper apology could be issued.  I was wrong.  The captain of our team came up and in not so many words told me they agreed with the Gorge and that if a fight broke out, they would remain neutral.  I was on my own.  There were a handful of Burbs guys that said they wouldn’t let anything happen and thankfully nothing did.  But the sword had been drawn and the next day during the championship game, I quit the Burbs and joined my current team, PAC Rugby.  Now I have partied with the Gorge on many occassions since and all in all we have had a good relation, but I always wonder if those war plans still exist and if my name is on some executive order for assasination.

So here arrive the Gorge.  Super Boy, who is not a Gorge fan for no reason at all, starts yelling obscenities at their bus.  He starts telling each of them he hates them.  Many of the guys have played on the regional union all star team with Super Boy and all approach him wanting to party.  He insults them as well and goes upstairs to get a couple beers while we wait.  The Gorge then breaks out the fireworks, which Super Boy happily accepts and starts shooting Roman Candles off at cars and their bus.  I assume they are going to get angry at this point, but quite the opposite.  They then start lighting off bottle rockets at their own bus as well.  Our Taxi arrives.

10 PM – 2:30 AM  River Street (it can’t be that big!)
Three Gorge guys join Super Boy, myself and the VT Trio.   Super Boy and I have both cut holes in the back of our Flamingos as well as cut the beaks off (making one hell of a beer cup).  We have our flamingos with us and we are on our way to a wild night with pink birds in tow.  The Gorge boys start putting out the “vibe” and their best game, but I sense the girls are not interested.  We arrive and the Gorge guys jump out.  Super Boy, the girls and myself meander down the road looking for bars.  At this point we realize that Super Boy has left his flamingo in the taxi.  He doesn’t seem to care.

I soon realize that River street is less about bars and more about beer gardens.  Every store front has been converted to a 10 foot entrance with hot girls in tight wet shirts selling $3 beers.  I find a bathroom and the girls wander off.  I see Super Boy telling a few more ruggers that they are worthless and decide I too will sneak away.  I wander into this bar that is almost completely empty.  I belly up to the bar and see a rugger who is wearing a Seoul Survivors jersey.  I received an email years before complimenting me on PropTalk from a member of that team and let him know I have heard of his club (based in Korea) and that I appreciated his teammates kind words.  He then buys me a beer and shot.  My Flamingo, which I have named Henrietta, is now full and there are several people approaching checking out my bird.  After several shots and beers and beads from the manager I decide to head downstairs and check out the rest of this wild “river street” which to this point has included two or three bars and about a dozen beer gardens.  I am a bit disappointed.

I stumble across this side street (and I do mean stumble….River Street has this wonderful cobble street road….or as I like to call it, Break my big fat ankles path).  I find a bunch of Virginia Tech guys standing around outside of a bar.  I start talking to them and then I decide to become the unofficial rugby recruiter for PAC Rugby.  I start telling the guys that we can pay up to $10,000 a season and a new car.  I am obviously making this shit up as I go along, but the guys think it is funny.  After several beers….I decide to hook one promising player up with this attractive girl is standing next to me.  She seems to be staring at my bird so I approach and find out she is from Belarus.  I break out the Soviet National Anthem (which our Touring side – the USSR – United Socialist Sluts of Rugby sing each year in Ottawa.)  She is quite impressed so I chose that time to introduce her to the recruit.  He stumbled through the ackward moment and she didn’t seem interested.  So I thought it wise to sweeten the pot by explaining he was a virgin.  He then felt very ackward, as his entire team started picking up on this and yelling “Have sex with our virgin.”  I try to console him by explaining that being a virgin is a challenge. He doesn't seem to get it.   I decide my work here was done and stumbled down the street a bit further. 

I then see the bar where my old boys are supposed to be hanging out.  I stumble in and do a fly by.  I see no one.  I then hear Irish music.  I stumble in to find a full room enjoying the irish ramblings of some folk singer (who was quite good).  Decked out in a rugby polo, kilt, and carrying a pink flamingo I catch the attention of just about everyone in the bar.  These girls ask if I will sit with them.  They ask the usual “what’s under your kilt,” to which I use my standard, “Your lipstick if I am lucky.”  They ask if I would like to eat some of their Cheese Sticks.  I jump in.  I realize it is almost midnight and I have not had anything to eat besides 3 PB&Js along with McDonalds for Breakfast.  The girls start chatting with me when all of a sudden I hear it.  I guess I had gotten the attention of the Irish singer, because the famed words are being sung.

“A Scotsman clad in Kilt, left the bar one evening fair.   And one could tell by how he walked that he drunk more than his share.  He fumbled around until he could no longer keep his feet, and stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street.”

At this point I rise and grab one of the young ladies and move directly in front of the stage.  A loud cheer from the patrons erupted as I got there.  I started to dance and sing with the entertainer.

“About that time, two young and lovely girls just happened by, one says to the other with a twinkle in her eye, see yon sleeping Scotsman so fair and handsome built, I wander if it’s true what they don’t wear beneath the kilt.”

At this point the bar is in a frenzy.  My wild dancing (which I had perfected only 24 hours earlier on the stage of the strip joint) is being modeled to this Guinness Drinking crowd.

“They snuck upon that sleeping Scotsman quiet as could be, lifted up his kilt about an inch so they could see, and there behold for them to view beneath his Scottish Skirt, was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth.”

Now the girls I had brought out were now dancing WITH me.  I had mellowed my dance moves, hoping to quiet the crowd so they could hear the final two stanzas.

“They marveled for a moment and one said we must be gone.  Let’s leave a present for our friend before we move along.  As a gift they left a blue silk ribbon tied into a bow, Around the bonny star that the kilt did lift and show ”

For the record I have never understood the final sentence of that verse.  I guess they saw my package, but the words used have never been clear for me.

“The Scotsman woke to nature's call, and he stumbled toward the trees.  Behind a bush he lifts his kilt and gawks at what he sees.  And in a startled voice he cries,  to what’s before his eyes?  ‘lad I don’t know where ya been, but I see you won first prize!’"

With that the bar erupted in applause and I thanked the performer and returned to my seat.  My dance/singing/spectacle had gained me favor with most of the ladies at my table and discussions of returning with one to her home, while interesting, weren’t practical due to her living in some distant land.  I would have to find my old boys to find a place to sleep.  I decided it was time to depart my new friends and find the guys.  I walked out and gave a couple of the guys a call.  Directly to voice mail.  Not good.

Leaving the bar I ran into a couple of girls who seemed apprehensive to walk through a large group of men who were harrassing girls to show their breasts.  I saw their dilemna and turned to them and said, “for the remainder of you turkey leg (she was gnawing away on a turkey leg), I will guide you through the group of men and to my favorite bar (the only other bar I knew of).”  She happily ablidged and handed me the meat stick.  I started by beating the crowd with the leg until I opened a path and we walked through without a care in the world.  The girls thanked me and I started ravishing the turkey part.  

I returned to the bar I was at previously and it was much fuller now.  Not packed by any stretch of the imagination, but quaint.  My new friends joined me and I went to get us all beers.  When I returned they had met a few guys and I started getting Super Boyesque.  “Why do you want to hang out with those losers?”  And stumbled off.  Bars must close soon right?  I filled my bird again and continued to drink from her beak.  Several people approached and asked about my bird (I had started calling it a duck by this point) and ended up meeting several girls who posed with myself and the bird (the only recollection I have of this are the several photos confirming the act occurred.)  I do recall a Russian approaching me and asking me about the Flamingo.  Turns out he was there with a South African and they were Tennis players.  Seems there was some big Tennis tournament in the area.  Memory gets a bit sketchy at this point.

I return to the front door and see the guy that was talking to my turkey leg friends.  He walks up and asks why I called him a loser.  I apologize.  We drink some beers and another guy approaches.  He is a big guy with a Leprechaun.  I told you my memory gets sketchy.  So I look at the guy and say, “you look like a leprechaun.”  He says in a leprechaun type voice, “I am a leprechaun.”  I pose for a picture with him.  He bounces off to steal some gold or beer or whatever they do and I continue to chat with some guys and girls.  I speak with a guy from State College, PA about rugby.  I tell him he should join the Happy Valley Barbarians, who in all rights are a great group of guys.  I tell him I will contact my point man with his number (which explains this strange number for this guy named Hoover in my phone) and for my nice charitable work finding him a team, he has his girlfriend flash me.  Nice.  She then wanders off and I see her out of the corner of my eye.  She is sitting on a giant planter outside the bar on the deck.  I then realize, she is actually squating on the plant taking a piss.  I grab my trusty camera and take a quick photo, to which her boyfriend laughs.  

The bar is closing at this point and I am a bit nervous because I don’t know where I am staying.  There are some old boys in Karden’s hotel that promised me floor space, but I have no idea what room.  DOH.  Might have been good to get that info earlier.  I wander around asking random rugby looking guys if they have room in their rooms.  No one seems too interested in saving me.  I decide I will just try to get back to the hotel.  I start walking up this hill (again all cobble rocks) and I notice this girl nearly breaking her leg with each step.  High heels on cobble is funny.  I decide to approach and tell her to jump on (Piggy back style) and I carry her to safety.  The girl thanks me, but again, my plea for space on their floor goes unanswered.

I get to the stop of the hill via some stares and notice crowds of people jumping in cabs.  I stand there confused about where my hotel is even at when I am approached by a guy.  He tells me he will give me $1 to chase his friend down like I am gonna beat him senseless.  I do.  He runs.  I stop (out of breath…this doesn’t look good for tomorrow’s game).  He pays me $1 (after I threaten him…trying to welsh on a $1 agreement…..not good).

So I stand there, looking for a cab.  No cab will stop for me.  No cab wants to pick up a single rider.  They are all more interested in groups.  It is cold, I am tired, and I am drunk.  I see a bush and decide to lie in the bushes.  Before I fall into that nice slumber of a drunk man in a kilt laying in bushes after a 20 hour drinking marathon (which everyone of us know what that is like), I call my hooker, ROM, and let him know to give me a wake up call in the morning.  I leave a message.

4:30 AM  Horse dicks
I awake to a nudging from a foot into my stomach.  “Wake up.  You can’t sleep here.  You have to go back to your hotel.”  I say “I got no where else to go.”  (not really, but I figured it would be a good place to put an “Officer and Gentlemen” quote.)  I tell him I can’t get a cab.  I then look up and the Police officer has dismounted his horse (which is standing almost directly above me.  I am staring at the horse underside….and the sudden fear that this horse might start to piss on me makes me scramble deeper into the bushes.  (Which explains a series of scratches I have on my arms.) 

The police officer helps me figure out where I am staying and calls me a cab.  The cab drives me to the hotel and I get out: $8.  Not bad.  I stumble up to Karden’s room and ask her if I can get her keys to sleep in her car.  My snoring will be abysmal and I should be alone.  She asks where Super Boy is and I tell her I have no idea, but he probably is off with some of the Old Boys I failed to find.  She hands me over her keys and I go to my cooler to grab a beer and notice 20 beers are missing from my cooler.  I make my way back to the car and crawl in and fall asleep.

7 AM  Wake up call
I hear a knock.  I turn.  It is Karden.  Surely this is a dream.  So I roll back over.  Karden knocks again.  I wake up.  I give her her keys and she moves me up to her room.  I crawl into a bed that has been vacated by her teammates that are getting ready for their 9 AM match.  I seem to remember the Old Boys were playing at 10 AM.  I sleep for a while, get roused up again and moved to the car once more for the trip to the field.  We get to field and wander around.  I watch most of the girl’s game (sloppy, but not bad considering none have played together in 2-5 years.) 

I then kit up and decide I am not playing for the Old Boys (since they left me on the street), but decide to go over to their field anyways.  I get there and am quickly put in dress gear to start.  I reluctantly take the field, but like the look of the team.  The team is comprised of some of the best over 35 year olds in the country, all former PAC Rugby players.  Three or four still play active with our Super League team.  We get on the field, playing against some of the oldest rugby players I have ever seen.  After a few scrums, mauls and rucks, I am a bit winded, but surprisingly doing well considering my past 30 hours.  I then see my opportunity.  I make a break for the corner as one of my forwards is tied up.  He dishes me the ball and I run the final 8 metres and dive for a try.  I have now scored my first try with PAC.  I have scored for several clubs in the past (okay 4, but never my current team.)  While the 7 year streak was broken with the old boys, it still had the PAC name on the jersey and I accepted it happily.  At halftime they replaced me and I stood around eager to start drinking again.  At this time I finally ran into Super Boy.  He approached with Sean Strauss, former PAC front rower and Idiot Brother himself.  I ask what happened to Super Boy and Strauss starts:  So I am walking down the street and I see this big lug sitting with a homeless guy pan handling for money.  I say, “I know that bum.”  We then took him back to our hotel.  At that point I say, “Oh with all my beer Super Boy?”  He lowers his head and says, “yeah.”  I tell him he owes me a case and the matter is settled as he agrees.

The game ended with us prevailing 24-10.  I walked over to the beer tent and purchased the $30 bottomless beer stein and hoped that I would be able to drink at least 15 of these to make it worth while.  I quickly filled up and found a few friends.  I finally ran into the Bozeman Cutthroats and chatted a bit about days past when I played against them (and whored with some of them) during my days as a Helena All Blues.  I also ran into several old buddies from my old club Western Suburbs.  Years have passed since the Rocky Gorge incident and I have partied with these boys many times since.  We sat around drinking beers and I weaved my nightly tale for them. 

12 Noon  Game on
With an ungodly 4 hours between our matches, I decided to wander around with Strauss and check out rugby, rugby chicks, and just talk rugby in general.  Three hours later we make our way back to our field and no one is surprised to see me drinking again.  I have made several trips to the kegs and have no intention of playing.  The team doesn’t object and we go on to a big win.  We stand around after the game and drink more beers discussing the previous nights events and the plan for that night.

I see the VT Trio and ask them to come over (so I can say…don’t forget me here).  They never come.  When PAC all decides to leave I walk over to the beer truck and fill up.  I don’t see any of the girls or Super Boy.  I make a call and find out, they did indeed leave me.  Super Boy figured I would want to hang out with the old boys and didn’t think about asking me if I needed a ride home.  Miksler and Wallaby agreed to come get me and I figure I have a few minutes before I need to go wait at the front of the park.  I fill up again with beer and start chatting with some ladies from one of the teams.  Next thing you know I have a crowd of about 8 girls standing around listening intently on my previous night events.  As I wander off to find my ride, I hear someone in the background say, “Who was that guy?”

6 pm to 5 AM  The Black spot in my brain
Wallaby and Miksler show up to give me a ride and I jump in.  We stop and pick up some beer and I see the mother load.  Candy Necklaces.  I buy a few packages, also convincing some Toledo Rugby guys to buy some as well.  We get back to the hotel and I start drinking again.  Super Boy and I stay at the hotel for a while as the women’s team leaves again for dinner.  I tell Jesse we must find the Old boys tonight so we don’t have to bother the girls any longer.  He agrees.  The girls return and instantly they are trying to find rides downtown.  SB and I call a cab as the girls get ready.  Gilligan, Karden, Super Boy and I all pound beers until it is time to catch our cab and we jump in.  We head downtown and randomly split up (as Super Boy and Karden seem to have a disagreement.)  I decide it is best if I just am not around anyone.  I am quite drunk already, but not like the night before.  Friday’s drunk was a sustained good drunk.  Never falling into bad drunk and never dipping into that abyss of sobriety.  A continued 20 hours of good drunk.  Valhalla.  This day however, I am already slipping into slur and stumble land and find myself back at my favorite bar (don’t know the name, but I like to call it “the one on the corner near the cobblestone hill).

I  quickly get a few beers from my friends who are glad to see the Flamingo is back and fill up with beers.  I then turn and start talking to some Blackthorn guys.  We share some interesting stories about their teammate and our old Teammate and Idiot brother Brian Donnelly.  After some good laughs I make my way out on the deck to find the Leprechaun again.  I was quite saddened earlier to find that the photo of the mystical guy from the night before somehow disappeared.  But my proof would be found again when he wandered up to me on the deck.  I posed again and we shared a beer and some chat.  I then stumbled over to some girls that wanted to bite my candy necklace.  One girl asked for one and I gave her one without thinking.  When her teammate asked I told her she would have to flash me.  She agreed and as I was getting my camera ready she lifted her shirt.  When I asked she do it again, since I hadn’t seen it, she refused.  I then refused to give her a necklace.  A minor scuffle broke out and I was rescued by a big guy in a crown.  I figured it was Burger King.  I thanked him for his protection and ran into the VT girls and Super Boy. 

For some reason, the entire trip I had thought this was Karden’s first trip she ever planned.  My compliments, (“Karden, you have set up a great trip considering this was your first one”) kept pissing her off.  “Montana, this is not my first trip I have planned.”  Well after the 30th time I said it, along with some other drunk ramblings, she didn’t seem happy.  I decided it was best I leave.  This entire trip I had not wanted to be a burden and it seemed that I was causing way to much stress for her.  So I left. 

I walked across the break my ankle path to Harry Careys or whatever it is called.  There was a line around the block to enter.  So I asked someone if they knew if there were any more bars down the street.  The crowd looked at me like I had a third arm coming out of my forehead.  “Most of the bars are down that street.  There are dozens of bars down there.” 

I then realized I hadn’t quite got past the first two bars in the 8 hours I had been down in this area and decided it was time to see the real “River Street.”  So I walked and walked looking for the right bar.  I saw this bar that had these nurses that were selling these syringes full of this green stuff and decided I needed one.  I stumbled in, made my purchase and stood in line for the bathroom.  After my break I mosied up to the bar and ordered a sambuca.  The bartender poured me a generous shot and charged me $3.  At that price, I would have to have another.  So I quickly downed it and ordered a double.  I sat and sipped on my beer and sipped on the sambuca checking out (I think I was checking out girls) when a player approached me.  I know him, but I have no idea right now who he is.  I remember sitting there drinking with a rugby player acquaintance for a long time, discussing rugby and girls.  He then persuaded me to leave the Sambuca heaven and find some chicks.  We stumbled out on the street.  It was a good idea because I was now getting a bit stumblier than usual.  The ½ fifth of Buca I drank before coming out, followed by the 5 shots I have had since arriving were now starting to impair my coordination (and anyone that knows me knows my coordination is nothing to be proud of to begin with). 

This is where it all gets a bit fuzzy.

We ran into some rugby players that were singing rugby songs.  Then I ran into Miksler and Flea.  Flea seemed attracted to the guy I was with so I introduced them.  I then stumbled off and found a bar.  I paid the door guy $4 to sneak me in ahead of the rest of the line and got inside to find it was a Karoke bar.  I stumbled up to the DJ and told him I wanted to sing a song.  About this time the VT Trio screamed my name.  Teenage dirt bag (who I had a secret crush on since the first night I saw her) came over and sat on my lap and we listened to the songs.  She got up and walked back to her friends and a couple of prop looking gents she was sitting with and I got up to sing my song.  “Oops I did it again” has never been sung so badly.  My voice, already hitting the raspy “I have been on tour for 48 hours screaming and drinking” level, is not good for singing anyways.  The crowd seemed to lose interest after screwing up the song too many times.  I knew at that point I was drunk.  I usually can sing that, albeit badly, with no problem.  When I forget the words to the song, I know I am bad.  NOTE:  I know it is a Brittany Spears song and I am not a fan of hers, other than maybe someday seeing her naked.

So I sit back down finish my beer about the time they call last call.  The previous night last call wouldn’t come.  This night, I was hammered and couldn’t figure out where my night went.  I stumble out promising to catch a ride with the VT Trio.  I decided I could not wait any longer for them (they were flirting with boys) so I stumbled down the street by myself and ran into Super Boy.  We walk over to a street vendor to get something to eat and find the Turkey Legs are for sale for $6.  I have now decided the greatest food in the world are Turkey Legs.  I will forever attend Renissance fairs and state carnivals just to find the magic food of Kings.

Now the night gets very dark.  I don’t remember much.  We got a cab.  We got out of the cab.  I start walking towards the hotel.  Super Boy says, “Montana, it is over here.”  I keep walking in the drunk zombie like trance of a man that has drank his weight in beer.  I keep marching.  I find myself alone.  My mind goes to Top Gun.  Maverick and Goose have left Cougar after the run in with the MIG in the beginning of the show.  I have Merlin sitting behind me telling me we have to get back to the ship.  I am frozen.  I am alone.  I have no idea where I am.  I can’t even remember who I am.  I come out of my trance and become very angry.  I decide to walk out on the street and try to figure out what street I am on.  No idea.  I hate this town I scream.  Now I am reminded of a story Uncle Dair (another Idiot Brother) told me about a drunk night in Aspen.  He stumbled around the streets all night.  He got so angry he decided to take a shit in the middle of main street.  So I walk out into the middle of the street and take a deuce.

I feel quite better about myself.  Until I notice I got a bit of pee on my kilt.  I disrobed and headed upstairs to Karden's room to get my stuff.  I stumble up to Karden’s room and find the door is open a crack.  I stumble in and hear her say, “Montana, get out.  You can’t sleep here.”  I tell her I am not going to and grab my kit bag (where the rest of my clothes are.)  I stumble into the back stairwell and dig for my rugby shorts.  They are no where to be found.  I put on a pair of Tighty Whitey underwear and wrap my sporin back on myself.  It is about 5 AM at this point so I decide I can easily go sit in the Lobby and wait for breakfast to start.  When the PAC guys see me sitting there they will awaken me to get me ready for the championship game.

I fall asleep sitting in the lobby.

6:30 AM  second wake up call
Poke Poke poke:  Montana…wake up

I wake up and see one of the Gorge guys standing in front of me.  “You have to get up.”  I get up and stumble through a fairly crowded lobby.  I am in my underwear and am still wearing my sporrin.  Gorge guy says, ‘Montana, they called our room telling us to wake you up.  They were about to call the police.”  I thank him and stumble (still drunk) into Karden’s room and pass out on the floor against her objections.  I sleep.  I wake up in the morning and hear several comments about me.

“He walks in last night naked and I tell him he can’t sleep here.  He falls over trying to get his rugby bag and almost lands on Jaime.  Then he stumbles out.  He comes back this morning and passes out on the floor.  He starts snoring and it literally sounds like 4 people snoring all at once.  No one gets any sleep.  He has been such a pain in the ass all weekend.”

I have become what I didn’t want to become.  While I thought Jesse’s two fights with her would out do my actions, I end up being the dickhead.  I walk out of the room, get my stuff, down a few beers, get in her car with SB and Wallaby and we drive to the pitch for their game.  The car is silent.

We get to the field and Super Boy says he is going to play with Charles River.  I am going to get beer.  I get to the beer line and some of the Gorge come over and chat with me about my night in the lobby.  They tell me I will feel better if I have a “Petey” eye.  Petey is the dog from the Little Rascals.  He had the circle around his eye.  I agree and we laugh more about drunken debauchery of this great tournament.  I stumble over to PAC Old boys who won without me and tell them about my night in the lobby.  They make me Zulu and we all drink beers for a while.  I wander over to where Charles River is playing and watch a bit of his game.  I then stumble over to the VT girls and applaud their game for a bit.  I then go back to the old boys.  The only guys I wasn’t a burden to, and drink some more.  When they all decide to leave, I fill up some more beer and walk over to where Jesse was playing.

I have a renewed vigor (beer does that once in a while for you).  And I walk up to a women’s team warming up.  The Gorge guys are back and are trying to convince the girls to get Petey eyes for themselves.  Some are putting black “petey eyes” on their belly buttons, some on there thumbs or random parts.  No one has the EYE though.  They are all quite impressed with my flamingo and I decide to stay and cheer for them.  I see Super Boy has walked over to the VT girls who are almost done with there match.  I talk to a cute Hooker with her sleeves taped up (Tough girl) for a while.  My horse voice can be heard all over “Come on Katie kick their asses.”  I promise their team (Bowling Green) I will be at NashBash in two weeks and stumble off to VT.  I congratulate the girls and we leave.

The ride home was mostly uneventful except a few farts I let slip out and deny any knowledge of.  In the end, I had a great time.  As for the Virginia Tech Girls?  They all seemed to have a nice time with each other.  They also seemed like a good bunch of girls.  However; from now on, the Odyssey should be a solo one or at least not part of a women's rugby reunion tour.   I have learned my lesson.  I mean really, wasn’t Oddessius more successful when his crew were all killed during the adventures after Troy?  Yes he was.  He lived.  They died.

Savannah was great and I definitely will be back sometime.