It's nothing

I hadn't been to the home game in some time. My schedule hasn't aligned. But when I received the text this last week, I knew I wanted to go, even if I would have to wait until the last minute to RSVP.

The coast clear, I rang Mike. He was sitting in a bar with Fuck You Phil. They had been there for some time, playing shuffle board and drinking. The game would start in two hours.

"Man, you guys are going to be ripe for the picking!"

"Well, I've only had a couple drinks. Phil's been going at it harder than me. I had dental surgery yesterday and am on Oxycotin too, so I'm going slow.

"I would hope so!"

"I have to be careful. The last time I mixed Oxy with booze, I punched a guy in the face."

I readied myself for a wild ride, played a little on PA (won 150 BBs in 30 hands), slammed down a cup of joe, crammed a sandwich into my maw and hit the road.

I was seated ext to our host, which caused me some concern, and, repeating what he told me over the phone, asked him if I would be in danger of being slugged in the face.

Santa chimed in: "I remember that night. You got beat up pretty good, blood all over the place."

"Mike: "That was just because of the coumadin."

I won three or four hands in four and a half hours and came home down 15 BBs.