Friday, May 16, 2008

With Andre, We Can't Lose!

The history of my alcoholic tendencies has progressed like the evolution of Man. It started with dirty Natty Ice at fraternity parties (my Australopithecus phase), became somewhat more upright with my “Yuengling or Sam” phase, straightened its back a little more with my “British beers or ciders only” epoch, and has most recently reached its most evolved state of development yet: Champagne.

Well, okay, not really. I’m not sure if I’d consider frequent consumption of five-dollar bottles of Andre as “evolved,” but it sure is pretty awesome. The great thing about champagne is that it gets you a happy sort of drunk, like the bubbles in Willy Wonka’s Fizzy Lifting drink (minus nearly careening into a ceiling fan with Grampa Joe). Whilst on champagne, I am a sophisticated gentleman of leisure, enjoying the company of others while contributing pearls of wisdom to intellectual conversations. Actually, I do the Axl Rose dance a lot and high-five people for no reason.

However, I am the first person in the history of my company softball league to drink champagne on the bench in between innings. Buoyed by two pregame bottles of Andre, I turned into a veritable Brooks Robinson at third base last season, laying out for ground balls with little regard for my body. Granted, I miss most of those ground balls, and then proceed to spend the rest of the inning giggling and with grass in my beard.

“Blah Blah Blah, what the hell does this have to do with Boston Sports?” you may be asking. Calm down spaz, I’m getting to that. Game One of the Hawks series happened to coincide with my move-out date, so after a long day of moving shit, I decided to celebrate with my friend Andre, who loves me unconditionally. Andre and I laughed, cried, and watched the Celtics rape the Hawks’ will to live. I thought little of it.

Since then however, the C’s have often “struggled” or “frequently shit all over themselves” in the playoffs, much to my chagrin. Being a superstitious soul, I’ve tried everything to spur the Karmic Gods in the C’s favor – lucky pregame meals, lucky jerseys, watching the games in same chair, untying my left shoe for the games, and calling LeBron James a “cocksucker” every time he touches the ball. None of it has worked, or helped break the C’s from their funk. I felt at a loss. Midway through the second quarter of Wednesday’s Game Five game however, a realization struck me - what if Andre was the karmic factor? It worked a few weeks back, so why not try it now? Also, it’s awesome, and I’ll get drunk! I immediately poured a bottle of Andre Extra Dry into my favorite mug, and waited for the results.

As if a switch turned on, the C’s started playing better. They stopped letting Anderson Varejao get offensive rebounds. Lebron (that cocksucker) suddenly went cold. KG ignored that 20-footer he always attempts, and started instead taking high-percentage shots. Rajon Rondo actually stayed on the court and started playing out of his mind (if Sam Cassell sets foot on the court tonight, I’m going to put my head through my new coffee table). The corpse of Ray Allen even came back to life occasionally and made the occasional shot. Most importantly, the C’s started kicking ass, and I started getting drunk. Everyone wins!

Tonight brings Game Six, in Cleveland. Sure, the C’s haven’t won a playoff game on the road so far, but tonight’s gonna be different. For tonight, the C’s will have a sixth man on the court, and this sixth man will lead them to victory. His name? Andre. And he’s bringing the Axl Rose dance with him.

1 comment:

futuremrsrickankiel said...


Ps. Daniel Gibson out for the duration of the postseason. Sweet.