Just for the record, the Lush is downright obsessed with the Olympics. So the only traveling I did last week was (in spirit) to Torino; I didn't make it to a bar, because I was glued to my television set.
Well there were other reasons, too. The Lush was deathly ill all last week with no real desire to leave the couch and the lugers, skaters, skiers and curlers that came with it. That, and the snow. With one to two feet predicted to fall Saturday night, there was no way I was braving Boston bars.
There was one more reason the Lush decided to dial it down a notch this weekend: I was home for a family party on Friday night, and in a discussion about this very column, my mother asked me if I think I have a problem with alcohol - and she was at least 10 or 15 percent serious.
Quick notes on the family party, because I will be kicked out of the family if I don't mention it. These events always make quite clear to me where I inherited my penchant for alcohol-inspired heart-to-hearts. It was my godparents' 25th anniversary party, so I got to hear excellent stories about Uncle Jack's girlfriends before Aunt Barb and see some awesome early-'80s photo albums (lookin' good in those visors, Uncle Jack).
Now to Saturday. Dialing it down a notch it my book basically just means staying in with booze instead of going elsewhere to find it. Thus, the Olympics Drinking Game was spawned.
How does one play such an inspired and amazing game you ask? Get 15 friends, two 30s and a jug of Kappy's finest Chianti, and you're well on your way. The original inspiration came from my roommates' decision to spice up the figure skating events. With the doubles set to start that very night, we figured it was fate: double the skaters, double the fun.
There are some basic rules. Any time an athlete stumbles or falls, everyone drinks. Everyone also drinks for any time an American broadcaster butchers the Italian language, an aging former Olympian is dragged out of obscurity for a random TV interview, or the Sale and Pelletier judging scandal of four years ago is mentioned.
So much for a laid-back night. You might be surprised by how many ridiculous comments those commentators actually make, and, thusly, how much drinking we were actually doing. The Lush stuck to beer, so she held it together for a while, but sadly, half of our guests fell prey to Ellen, who told them they couldn't have any beer until the jug of wine was gone, so they lit into that Chianti with earnest. Needless to say, with the state of NBC's Olympic coverage and the amount of cheap red wine consumed, things got downright silly.
I have to confess - and this is clearly schadenfreude at work - Bob Costas saying, "No medals tonight, only tears" as the camera zoomed in on a crying athlete literally sent me to the ground in laughter tears of my own. I blame it on the commentary, but maybe I am just not all that nice a person.
The Lush was feeling quite patriotic, given to obnoxious fits of chanting, "USA, all the way!" and singing one butchered rendition of the Canadian national anthem to spite those in the room who were mocking our neighbors up north where the Lush happens to have family.
Things only got more ridiculous as rules were added and each event began to acquire its own unique set. The luge, for example, requires that each viewer make seal bark noises every time a racer started, because, to the drunk Lush's eye, lugers bear a striking resemblance to seals as they propel themselves along the ice with their hands. Anyone failing to go "AR-AR-AR-AR!" drinks. On a related note, luger is a funny word, because it sounds like loser.
The skating rules got just malicious as the night progressed. Someone decided that any drinker wearing the colors worn by skaters on the ice at that time had to drink throughout the whole skating routine. This was aimed largely at our colorblind friend Nick whose "party shirt" was pink plaid with inclusions of just about every color under the sun.
Skating also spawned some of the more ridiculous conversation points of the night. Most notable were that it would be more aptly named "ice coitus" and that the best pair on the ice were so in-sync "because they have sex." We all took serious offense to the fact that three of the female skaters wore pants, although I am not really sure why.
The night becomes a bit of a blur later on, but I do know that there was heated debate over the relative hotness of Scandinavians and that Finns were given an overwhelming thumbs-down as compared to Norwegians and Swedes.
You may be wondering how the Lush can call such an evening "taking it easy." Clearly, my own impulses are not to blame for my drunken state that night, but rather, we can place the blame squarely on NBC's poor Torino coverage.
The good news is that the poor coverage makes the drinking game that much better by providing more ridiculous statements than one could possibly handle drinking for. Better still, there is a week and a half left to celebrate that awful coverage. The Lush has heard that the dorms get CBC, which provides virtually 24-hour coverage and she has to confess the she is highly jealous, although without the awful commentary, it probably just is not the same.
Drinking games are banned on the Tufts campus. That said, there's no harm in tipping a few back while patriotically supporting your country's athletes in Torino, is there? Definitely not. And considering the USA is currently ranked fourth in the medal count, I'd say they could use some more support.
