The Sweet Smell of Success

So the Philadelphia Phillies won the World Series last night, ending a 25-year "curse" where no sports franchise in the city has won a championship. And, just like other upstanding cities like Boston, the city celebrated by rioting.

I was living in Boston at the time, and remember the riots of 2003. The city rioted twice that year: once for the Patriots winning Superbowl XXXVIII, and once for the Red Sox falling just short of the World Series, losing to the Yankees in 7 games in the ALCS. Of course, in 2004, after the Red Sox stunned the Yanks in 7 games to take the pennant, rioting caused one girl to lose her life.

I'll never understand the mentality of someone who feels the need to cause violence and havoc out of joy, but I think I know at least one factor that prompts them: alcohol. Homer Simpson said it best: "To alcohol! The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems."

I don't know about you, but when I drink, I don't get violent—I get tired. Drinking beer makes me happy and sleepy, and possibly a little dopey.

My roommate freshman year at BU participated in the riots in Kenmore Square. He told me he helped flip over a car. They then proceeded to light it on fire, but he said he had nothing to do with that. He said it was a lot of fun. I told him that was wonderful, and we did a shot of Jaegermeister.

It takes a very special type of person to find fun in flipping an innocent person's car for no reason. He was a wrestler, Greco-Roman style. He used to come home and show me his latest ringworm, which he got from rolling around in a one-piece on a sweat-soaked mat. The little ring-shaped bulge in his shoulder, or chest, or back looked pretty cool, but I can't imagine it was very healthy.

Friends of his got him a gallon of ultra-cheap Russian vodka for his birthday. I took a shot—it tasted like rubbing alcohol. So instead of joining him for more, I watched as he drank himself into a stupor in our room just for the fun of it. Then we watched The Big Lebowski.

My fondest memory of him came one night as he was returning from a party with his girlfriend. I can't remember if my girlfriend at the time was over or not, but that's irrelevant. Both of them were stupid drunk, but ready to go. I was asleep, but woke up when they walked in and drunkenly turned the light on. I didn't move, and they shut it immediately, so they thought I was still asleep. It wasn't long until I heard moaning, very faint at first, but mounting steadily. Then, "Oohh your dick feels so long and hard inside me!" Followed closely behind by, "sshhhhh!" "Harder! Harder! Faster! Faster!" "SSSHHHH! Shut up!" I stuffed my face into my pillow to stifle the laughter. I couldn't see them, but damn his girlfriend sounded just like a porn star. I never told him about what I heard that night, but the memory will stay with me forever.

Oh yeah, he also peed into bottles and kept them under his desk, because sometimes the bathroom is just too far away. Good times.