Fearless Reader, I apologize for the delay in posting but as they say, c'est la vie.
I think there's something to be said for what happens when drunk people gamble, there really isn't one word that properly defines the combination of pride, confidence, idiocy, courage, glory, and indignation. To the eyes of a sober man, a drunk man's quarrel with another drunk man when one is clearly right is almost amusing but as I'm sure you've found out, there is no way to reason with a drunk man. I'm not leaving out the females but that is a whole other bag of worms I don't care to open right now, I'm merely sayin drunk men because the story you are about to read is about drunk men.
Being 18 and unable to legally drink really only means that you can't purchase alcohol, because there is always and likely always will be underagers who consume alcohol bought for them by an adult. I've never been to a bar, but I've been to my share of high school, college and university parties and there is always one thing that you find consistent. Drunk people.
And only slightly less often do you see those same people gambling.
Fearless Reader I hope I can confide this in you; I have been drunk before, but even in that altered state I make sure I remember to keep my tongue in check and my money in my wallet.
Last night I arrived at a large party a friend of mine was having in his large backyard, just outside of Ayr, ON. Immediatly upon arriving I notice that he is engaged in a game of beer pong with a friend of his, whose acquintance I had made on a couple occasions, against two of my best friends, with three other friends of mine standing around the table cheering loudly. I walk up to them and handshakes are exchanged with greetings and claps on the back.
I take up a spot surrounding the table and watch as the game comes to an end. Each man with ten dollars on the game is focussed and with the stakes high the tempers come out to play.
Chirp's and insults fly across the table more than the ping pong balls and eventually both sides are sure that they've won.
So being the diplomat that a sober man must be when he is surrounded by drunks, I suggested a third game, for all the chips and the right to be champions. Dreams of cup's and trophy's, showers of confetti and roaring fans, dazzled by the eyes of the four and them and they eagerly fished out their money and handed it to me.
While I watched and umpired the game that followed, the intensity of the game when I arrived was paled to what I was now witnessing. My two friends beat the two hosts fair and square and I gave them the money and even celebrated their victory with them. High fives were exchanged and then the losers began to get upset. The host that was my friend had no problem with being beaten and was a man about it. We won't hear from him again for the rest of the story though. The other host though, he had a huge problem with losing, maybe it was that or the insults but either way he got very upset. Not long after we were sitting down in lawnchairs by the tent my friends would sleep in later.
They nursed beers and I sipped on a diet pepsi and life was good. Laughter and stories were shared and smiled creased the face of every man in the circle. That was when the evening started to take a turn for the worse. Because that was when SB stumbled up to our circle and found momentary courage in a bottle of Coors. SB is short for, sniveling-bitch, Fearless Reader I apologize for that but it's so hard to have a cowards name in my story (shout-out to Nasir Jones, keep doin it boy, one love).
SB approaches my friend who had done most of the chirping, his partner had just recently turned in for the night. One on one they began to rehash the insults and comments that were made earlier in the night. That was, until I heard SB threaten my friend with a bloodied nose. Now I'm not a terribly large fellow but I'm wiry enough and like all boys I've seen my share of good fights and bad. Not to mention, I'll be damned if you're going to threaten one of my friends and I'm going to sit there and let it happen. I colourfully tell SB to leave if he knows what's good for him. He asks me if I'm serious and looks at me for a long time, I tell him I am serious. I wait for that to sink in and neatly hand my can of pepsi to my friend and see him reaching out to either point at me or grab me. Either way he never got the chance, I snagged the hand at the wrist and elbow and pulled it behind his back and applied pressure. I again ask him to leave, I told him that I was only protecting my friend and wasn't the aggressor, and that I felt he wasn't being fair to my good buddy.
He leaves. We continue our small party and another small group joins us and we make friends with them.
I pull out my cell phone and see that it's approaching 2 and I tell the boys I should be gettin home because I was getting cold and tired. That was when things really went down the shitter. A large group of guys, I counted nine but it was dark so I could be wrong, surrounded our group. This was a scenario that all of us were familiar with and while be laughed and joked, our eyes told quite another story.
Suddenly one of the new guys pipes up and asks if we had been chirping SB. I answer that yes we had but it was earlier in the night and it was over an overexaggerated beer pong game and it was nothing for anyone to get excited about. Well these guys were itching for a fight and outnumbered more than two-to-one I was not about to feign strength in a position of weakness because I didn't want my drunk friends broken noses on my conscience. I also didn't want my own broken. So after at least a hundred assurances that all was well, they left.
We all breathed out a sigh or relief. I wish I could tell you we kicked their ass and found SB and gave him what was coming to him. But being sober I realized what I would likely not have if I was drunk, that there are times when you should fight and their are times when you should let it go. This was the latter.
As much as it goes against what I believe in as a man, I didn't feel the joy of crushing SB's nose and jaw beneath my fist. I'm still in awe of what happened, it was a new experience for me, I've never seen such a spineless whelp of an excuse for a man cry for help from every other guy at the party to intimidate four guys.
I want to end on two points.
One, drunken gambling is not a great idea, for quite a few reasons.
Two, maybe I'm old fashioned but I think I man should fight his own battles. Of the nine that surrounded us, he was not amoung them and of the nine, none of them threw a punch. Maybe it was because I threatened to burn down their pissant town. Whatever the reason is, I felt I only acted in defense of a friend I didn't think could defend himself and in the process played the part of the bigger man by not knocking him out right there.

'til next time

C. Mudge

P.S. Fearless Reader I am sorry for the length of the story I just told, if I ever make it to the big-time I will undoubtably be judged for having diarrhea of the keyboard.