Maggotfest 1997....the Disaster We had high hopes of repeating our 1996 championship in Missoula, MT. Although it wasn't exactly a championship, it was a trophy and we wanted another. This however, was not to be. I guess I should have guessed that lightning never strikes twice in the same place, and so it would be with my club, the Denver Highlanders. I was referring to the Missoula Maggots annual liver abuse weekend, Maggotfest.  In 1996, I brought 20 members of the Denver Highlanders RFC to Missoula to enjoy the company of over 30 teams from around the US Northwest and Canada. We had traveled in 3 groups and had fun the entire time we were there. This year, however, we decided to rent a winebago, as we did in the New Mexico Trip. Big Mistake.  Our travel party started at 8 people in the winne, while 6 more were going to drive up in a van, and 2 would fly in. Final turnout saw only 4 of us in the winne (which doubled the cost for each of us), 5 in the van, and Bad Boy Bubby flying into Helena, MT. We picked him up there, but he had missed one hell of a good time in Bozeman with the Bozeman Cutthroats RFC. We left Wednesday night around 10 PM in the winne. We packed 2 dogs and 4 men and one keg of beer. We were off. We started the journey at the grand opening of Beach Babes, the newest strip club in Denver and the only one with a swimming pool. We drove north about 200 miles and stopped. First day damages: $500 insurance deductible: LOST. I accidentally caught the back bumper on a guardrail about 2 hours into the trip. My brother's response, "well I guess we can trash it now, we don't have anything else to lose."  It was his credit card that was used for the deductible. We arrived in Bozeman on Wednesday after a 6 hour drive in a May Blizzard (only in Montana).  When we arrived, we had planned on a run around with the Bozeman Cutthroats, however the field was about 12 inches under the newly fallen snow. There was a short rap at the door of the Winnebago and that is when we met Shamu, idiot brother #4.  Shamu had played with some of our older players in Denver during the mid-80s. He was the official ambassador from the Cutthroats and showed us the team's pub where we drank several beers and followed Shamu back to his home to shower. Although we had beds and a shower in the winne, we chose to sleep on Shamu's couch and shower in his home. Shamu took us out on the town in Bozeman, which included an all the beer you can drink for $8 bar. I didn't want to leave, but when the police arrived to break up a fight between my brother and another individual, we felt it was time to depart. Before we left, Yippy and Monty (aka Jethro) decided it was time to urinate (next to a police officer), but we escaped jail time into a nearby cab. We rode the last bar, where we met several females, including one that Yippy convinced to keep him warm in the Winne. We took off the next morning, dropping Yippy's local off at her home and driving north to Helena, my hometown, and the location of Bad Boy Bubby's incoming flight. We picked Bubby up and stopped by my parents' home for sandwiches and beer. We took off around 2 PM and arrived in Missoula in time to enter the party bars and other events.  (This part of the story was recently retold to me...so I have added it for humor sake.) We were standing around in the Oxford with the rest of our mates, who had just arrived when a small tussle broke out between two backs. I walked up behind the men and put my arms around both of their necks, pulling them together. "Come on guys, we don't want to fight, we want to love each other...now come on, show me the love." The fight ended with the two backs forcibly hugging each other. This earned me the name "John Thomas, the Ambassador of Love." Bubby and I continued to drink and we ended up quite intoxicated. Example, Bubby eating his own candy necklace and cross checking some girl against the cash machine in the Oxford. We both staggered back to the Winnebago to sleep it off. Brother Jim, also drunk, found himself pissing into the kit bag of some chick. The girl was nice enough to let him sleep in her hotel room and he pays her back by wetting her clothes. She kicked him out and he soon found sanctuary with another female in our Winnebago. The games were miserable. We didn't have enough players, we didn't have enough time, we were hung over, but we decided we would have fun. We lost the Maggots by a point near the end of the game. The next game we lost as well. The game was scoreless at half time, but we pulled most of our guys out and allowed whores to fill in our spots. We lost to the Bozeman Cutthroats 20-0 in that game. We chose not to play our 3rd game on Sunday at all.  I know, we are wusses. The party on Saturday night was preceded with a trip to a strip bar on the way to the airport. While sitting at the stage, the dancer, noticing the big blue poobah hat I wore, asked if it was a "special day" for me. I responded, "yes." She asked then if it was my bachelor party, which I lied, "yes." What she did then amazed and shocked everyone in the bar. She put a match in her coochy and lit it on fire. She then had me light by cigar from our flaming tunafish can and blew it out with a gust of internal air. Quite amazing. We hit the party a bit late, but still had fun.  The party raged on, as it always does, and we found ourselves back in the Missoula Bars by midnight. We drank all night and Bubby and I found ourselves sitting at some diner, begging the waitress for service. We ate crackers and mustard to tide us over til the waitress could get to us. We ate 2 hours later at 4:30 AM.  The next day we drank some beer and watched some rugby. We took off around noon for Denver and posed for one last picture. The van boys had left earlier that morning. While we did not win everything, and it was not quite as fun as 1996, the Highlanders had a good time and we enjoyed ourselves tremendously.