With 18 hours to go before the Detroit Red Wings change the course of a franchise that needs some new direction, there’s only one thing to do.
No seriously, start drinking. It’s the only way you’ll get through a night with whoever you decide to hang out with without completely pissing them off. Dinner with the wife/husband? I guarantee they’ll call you out for staring wistfully at that 20 ounce margarita on the menu. First date? They’ll send you packing because it’s really “weird” how often you mention the number 9.
So do yourself a favor. Crack open a can of something good. Pop the cork on the nicest bottle of wine you’ve got. Pour yourself a tall one and let the nerves melt away. Me? 21st Amendment Hell or High Watermelon Wheat. It’s a gorgeous summer day here in San Francisco, so why not drink something light and refreshing, but still manly enough to feel like I could pick up the Brinks truck that the Wings should be backing up to Parise and Suter’s front doors.
And if the night goes well, maybe I’ll find myself in a perfectly tailored suit (who knows why, but hey, does it really matter?), knocking back a Woodford Old Fashioned and puffing on a Lucky Strike.
Here’s the key: I’ll have enough social lubricant coursing through my veins to completely forget about my concerns on the eve of one of the most important days in Red Wings hockey history. That is until I see my buddy Zach, who then introduces me to his friend Ryan.
Garcon, bring me another.
Tomorrow’s gunna be a fucking crazy one. Don’t worry though: we got this.
*Disclaimer: If you’re going to drink away your worries, don’t fucking drive. Also, drink some water and some Gatorade before bed. Gotta be up in time for the TPL Live Free Agent Chat.