More Will Be Revealed

• On a whim, Dave and Gene decided to drive 90 miles to Richmond, Va., on a Sunday morning, hoping to scalp tickets to the NCAA Tournament, in which both North Carolina and Georgetown (Dave's alma mater) were playing.
• On a double whim, they called me just before they hopped on the highway to see if I wanted to go. DID I! We crammed the three of us into Dave's Toyota Paseo and off we went, with fistfuls of cash for scalping.
• There was no scalping to be done -- not a damn ticket to be found outside the Richmond Coliseum. What we did find, fortunately, was some sort of city-sponsored St. Patrick's Day party in tents next to the coliseum. Said tents had beer for sale, and TVs broadcasting the games inside the impenetrable coliseum walls, and video games for diversion. And so we sat down and drank and watched and played, for hours.
• It wasn't what we had planned, but it was an adventure, and it was something we shared.
• Carolina lost to Texas Tech -- that infamous game where the guy ripped the basket down.
• We got ripped ourselves. We departed for D.C. at some point -- no clue, but it was still light out. I recall Gene leapfrogging right over Dave's car -- no shit. That guy's got some moves, whether it's leapfrog, dancing or shoe golf (there's another story -- playing shoe golf through the streets of D.C.).
• We stopped at a Food Lion for provisions...er, beer. Southpaw Light -- never drank it before this day, nor since. For all I know, this could have been the only grocery store in the world that sells it, and it was just sold on this day to us.
• A small bouncy ball -- a superball, if you will -- was purchased, and it provided many minutes of entertainment in the parking lot. We threw it and bounced it hundreds of yards and chased it down among parked cars and moving vehicles looking for parking. We bounced it as hard as we could off the ground...and the fun ended when the ball landed on the grocery store roof.
• Driving north on I-95, consuming cans of Southpaw Light...here's the scene: Dave driving, with a mystery cut on his forehead, perhaps from a tossed can; Gene just about passed out in the back, and me in shotgun, doing god know's what.
• At some point, we stopped to help a stranded motorist with a flat tire, and she looked at us like we were the Mongolian hordes come to sack her village. I'm sure we were a sight, but we had good intentions.
• Back in D.C., we headed straight to one of the city's finest Irish establishments, the Four Provinces of Ireland in Cleveland Park, better known as the 4 P's. We met various friends there, including Jocelyn, whose birthday it was.
• On the way from our parking spot to the bar, I was so full from all the beer. I, um, relieved myself of some of the gastrointestinal pressure by pulling my own trigger. Figure it out. Only time I ever did it, and I've boasted about it in drinking-type situations, but really, it's no badge to be worn. I made myself puke so I could drink more, on top of the hours of drinking I'd already done. I'm so proud writing these words and deeds down for posterity...and this is what I mean about documenting this day. It comes across as sordid and irresponsible and juvenile, and perhaps there's some truth in those adjectives, but it was also a day of adventure, randomness and friendship. I was just a few short weeks away from leaving D.C. to seek a life out West with Michelle, and this was one of the final chances to share an adventure with friends with whom I shared lots of good and tough times from 1992-96.
• And then there's that part of the story -- in the 4 P's, I made one (if not several) maudlin toasts that left me weepy. What can I tell you -- I can get sappy when I drink, depending on who I'm with. And I was with two guys I consider brothers, and with Jocelyn, who had been one of my closest friends for 10 years, and Nikki, Debra and others who meant so much to me. So sue me -- I cried. I'm OK with that.
• I still made it to work the next day...don't remember how.

I fondly recall March 17, 1996, in the same way, generally, that I look at my D.C. days overall: what a fucking blast, and what an irresponsible, unhealthy schmoe I was in so many ways. I was never heavier than I was then, I was never more financially derelict than I was then, I was never more careless with my drinking than I was then. And still -- god, I loved those days! Time has softened the sharp edges and made it feel more like the harmless fun of a 25-year-old with few responsibilities and fewer aspirations. As I think about it, I have more than my fair share of binge-type stories -- experiences that would come across in a similar way ("you did what?") and are really nothing to brag about. November 10, 2001 (Semper fi!). Key West on spring break. Dave Glenn's bachelor party (1998, Myrtle Beach). Going away party from Chapel Hill (July 1992). Lulu's (too many nights to think about). Preakness. These stories reside on the right side of the narrow difference between entertaining yarn and cautionary tale. It's easier to look at it this way when your shit is finally pulled together.

So, to everyone involved in the epic adventure of St. Patrick's Day 1996...but in particular, to Gene and Dave: thanks for the fun and the memories, and thanks for sticking it out with me so we can still reminisce about our crazy youth. We're all growed up now...just about (I'd still like to be in Boise!).

// posted by Bill @ 10:16 PM