That truly is a remarkable achievement.
Even at the height of my alcoholism - earlier this year - I would have been hardpressed to get past 6 or 7 without turning the general seating bowl of the Saddledome into a huge vomit receptacle; if it ever got that far, of course - my antics prior to said orgy of regurgitation likely would have had me thrown out on my ass long before I got a chance to upchuck. Or at the very least, beaten to a bloody pulp by one of the juice monkeys who always seem to take drunken antics personally and use them as an excuse to lay a beatdown. This would have resulted in a hospital visit whereby some poor physician would have been forced to attempt to stitch me up while I did a merry-go-round puke session in the examining room.
So, my hat off to you, good sir, for doing what many of us consider the impossible, and for pulling it off without permanently marring the upholstery of the fine Saddledome seats, getting sh*tkicked, or thrown out of the game for being a bigger ass than Mick McGeough could ever dream of.
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