…a Fenwick Island Beach House.
You might remember this.
Yeah, that was almost exactly one year ago. The Phillies were in the playoffs and my drunk ass wiped the hell out at High Stakes in Fenwick Island. Well, history does, in fact, repeat itself. Okay, maybe not the High Stakes part, but the passing out in Fenwick Island part? Unfortunately, yes. Also, I have a smooth beard going right now, so there’s that.
I was joined by the same group of fellas this year, sans Cousin Josh, who had to cancel at the last minute. So, the six of us went on a three-day bender. And rather than spell it all out for you, I’ll let the pictures do the talking. (And trust me when I tell you the picture above isn’t nearly the worst of them.)
Things started innocently enough the first night, with a couple spirited games of Baseball, which is somewhat similar to Beirut. Unfortunately, too many stolen base attempts leads to this…
Oh, Cousin Matt, if only you drank some of the beer.
The following day we dragged our asses outside to simultaneously play Cornhole while throwing both a baseball and football around.
Cousin Matt and The White Shadow preparing to run shit at Cornhole. Also, Cornhole! Bwah-ha-ha-ha!
I played with my brother as my partner, while Sneaky Pete and JF teamed up.
Me, watching my opponent, the uber-tall JF, fuck up. Again.
Between games, we sat on a dock by the bay, just singing Michael Bolton covers and drinking beer. On two occasions, the football found its way into the bay. Sneaky Pete did the dirty work the first time around and emerged with the ball. The second time my brother did the deed. Unfortunately, nobody ate shit and took a swim in the water; rather, they remained dry by standing on some rocks. Dicks.
[UPDATE: Between games, we all got to singing this, simply because someone said, “Step aside.”]
Me and my brother, between games of Cornhole. Why am I angry? Well, because we lost at Cornhole, dipshit!
Later that day, before Game 1 of the Phillies/Giants series, we decided to go to the beach and play some Ultimate Frisbee.
Sneaky Pete and Cousin Matt, pre-old man exhaustion following 10 minutes of Ultimate Frisbee.
In all fairness, we had been drinking. And we’re old. So, to be winded while sprinting back and forth on a cold beach seemed somewhat legit. And following our exhausting albeit short game, Sneaky Pete managed to catch a picture of me, my brother, Cousin Matt and The White Shadow in what would obviously be the cover of first record…
Photo shoot: Old, Drunk White Guys’ self-titled debut record cover.
We went to High Stakes that evening and watched the Phillies lose. Granted, we also saw a guy that could have been a distant relative of Tommy Wiseau, spoke to two old, drunk guys with mustaches who did nothing but point out the obvious (“So, you guys are drinkin’?”), and laughed at the 60-year-old man playing guitar to a drum machine while the rest of us moaned in horror.
The next day we visited our favorite beach crab house, The Crab Bag, which not only has a shit-ton of all-you-can-eat steamed blue crabs deals, football and beer, but this monstrosity. We make an annual pilgrimage to this joint, and like years past, only two ingredients were really necessary. This…
After three hours of gorging ourselves, we headed over to a nearby park for a three-on-three version of wiffle ball, only two things happened before we actually got to play. First, in trying to catch a football thrown on a low, line drive by Sneaky Pete, I inadvertently jammed my middle and ring fingers on my right hand, and even now I’m still typing like a goddamn cripple. In fact, I actually put my fingers in a make-shift splint for the next two days. But enough of the sour; here’s the sweet. Approaching the baseball diamond, we were met by five 12-year-old boys. From the distance, one of them spotted my Steelers t-shirt and, it being Maryland, he yelled, “Your shirt sucks!” Well, seeing as how the Steelers had just beaten the Browns and the Ravens just lost to New England, I shouted, “At least they won today!” And without missing a beat, I may have heard the single funniest thing ever said back to me in the history of the world:
“Not against my Ravens, fuckface!”
Sweet Jesus! A 12-year-old boy called me “fuckface,” and although I was initially dumbfounded, I quickly realized how much that little shithead ruled. And even though I’ll admit that it somehow made me feel old, I couldn’t have been prouder of that little punk.
Following wiffle ball, we returned to the house for Game 2 of the Phillies/Giants series. Cousin Matt was insisten upon us watching the game at a bar, so after a good bit of convincing, we all got our shit together and headed out to one of the many Green Turtle locations in Maryland. After a few hours of baseball, pool and Golden Tee, Sneaky Pete, The White Shadow and I made a friend…
One thing I’ll say about the Dos Equis guy is that he doesn’t speak unless spoken to.
Hell, he was so hysterically funny that I couldn’t help but get a shot with him myself…
The most interesting man in the world? Clearly the guy on the right.
So, let’s recap. After a full day of booze, crabs and wiffle ball, not to mention three hours in a bar, not to mention drinking heavily the two nights before, I got home from the bar and passed the fuck out. Which, then, brings us back to the very first image in this entry. Apparently, my “pals” thought it would be fun to take pictures of me posed with various items. And even though I was out cold and had no idea it was happening, they were right. Enjoy.
Me, with sunglasses and a wiffle ball bat.
Me, with sunglasses and a football.
Me, with a football and what’s either a tissue or a pig’s bladder.
Me, with a wiffle ball bat. Again.
Me, with an empty bag of cheese popcorn.
Me, with a pretzel on my head.
Thanks, fellas. And thank you, Fenwick Island. Until next October, have at it, you vultures!
* Special thanks to the fellas for taking and collecting so many great images from a fine weekend. At least, I’m assuming it was a fine weekend. I have no idea what’s going on.