Posted by:
Tal Bachman
(
)
Date: May 01, 2015 11:16PM
I had my first taste of alcohol one night in early 2004. My then-wife and I had realized Mormonism was a fraud a couple of months earlier, and curious about the popular substance we had never tried, we decided one night to buy a bottle of Satan juice.
I drove down to the local liquor store and walked in. It was bewildering. I knew what beer and wine were, of course, but I didn't know anything about the different kinds of each, or what any of the other types of alcohol were. I was embarrassed to ask the guy what to buy, so I just finally grabbed a bottle of what looked like red wine and went home.
It turned out to be some weird cooking port or sherry or something, and it was horrific. My wife and I looked at each other, and couldn't believe that we used to think that people would leave "the one true church" just to drink something so terrible. We poured it down the drain.
But a little while later, I tried beer, and it was okay. I tried a very nice red wine a few months later along with my gigantic restaurant steak one night in Toronto - and yeah, that was pretty nice. I could finally see what all the fuss was about, even though I can't say I was really all that taken with the stuff.
I drank only rarely for the next year or so. Sometimes when we'd go out, I'd try something on tap from the local brewery. It was okay, but no biggie.
But I jumped onstage one night at a pub to play covers with friends of mine in a local band, and the pub server started bringing over complimentary glasses of Stella Artois. Over the course of a set, I downed a couple, and got just a bit buzzed. To my surprise, the Stella turned out to be a real "experience enhancer". The music seemed to sink in more, I seemed able to kind of vibe with the crowd more, and everything just seemed more fun. So, now emboldened, I threw back three more glasses in the last set. Toward the end, the pub server brought over a big glass of white wine, which (now made fearless by the Stella), I threw back with gusto. Two minutes later, an invisible giant smashed me in the head with a giant bat - I went from a pleasant buzz to blurry dizziness and nausea in, literally, an instant. I could barely stand. (I was informed later one should not mix beer and wine).
A friend drove me home where I crashed into bed, still sick. I was quite careful after that, and didn't drink much at all until one night in the summer of 2008. My then-wife had just returned home from a solo three week trip to England which, shall we say, I discovered hadn't gone the way I would have liked.
Half of me wanted to find some way to keep our marriage together; the other half of me couldn't imagine getting past yet another "event". All torn up, I came up with the daft idea of us going out to a local dance place/pub. Maybe, I thought, there was something wrong with me. Maybe it was that I never wanted to go out to clubs dancing, and she always wanted to. I hated the trashy music, hated the trashy people, hated the thought of dancing...but maybe, I thought now (in my state of temporary insanity), if I could only bring myself to dance, somehow, miraculously, things might suddenly get better. But for that, I would need more Satan juice.
We went out, and I started slamming Strongbow ciders. You know - lower the inhibitions and all. Well...I guess I didn't pace myself very well, because before I knew it, I was nearly under the table. There was no dancing that night; only another passenger ride home.
In the end, I realized there was no way back for our once-fantastic marriage, so that ended any vestige of hope for "miracles through alcohol".
There wasn't much booze in my life until a couple of years later. Devastated by all that had happened in my marriage, I had thrown myself, in a frenzy of post-Mormon post-break-up nihilism, into playing rugby. I trained and worked out six days a week, often more than once a day. Rugby requires a wide and complex suite of physical and cognitive skills as well as sheer power; it was a big challenge. But finally, I got to the point where I felt completely comfortable and confident in games. I even found myself playing with and against guys on the national team. It was a big thrill.
Beer has always served as a special sacrament to rugby players, but was confined to post-game celebrations with the other team. But, now infused with confidence, excited by my achievement, and increasingly consumed with a pulsing lust for battle, I thought back to my experience onstage at the pub that night, and decided that slamming a brewski right BEFORE the game would similarly enhance my on-field rugby experience.
Sure enough, it did. My God, did it ever. Wow. I have to be honest - playing in a rugby game was already mindblowing enough, but (literally) hopped up on a can or two of Lucky lager (the cheapest, nastiest swill out there), the whole experience was WAY better: more insanity, more violence, more speed, more laughs, more courage, more daring, and oddly enough, better performance (yes, beer was a peformance enhancing drug).
I had already developed a series of rituals before my sacred rugby games - ceremonial washing, etc. - but now, slamming a Lucky or two right before running out on to the pitch became a brand new ritual amongst rituals - maybe the most important one of all. So before each game, I'd get all taped up and everything, have a moment of quiet meditation (in which I would commune with the rugby gods and envision what was about to occur) and then soak myself in the shower (cleats, jersey and all), then slam a Lucky or two, and then run out on to the pitch. Within a few minutes of the game starting, I'd be covered in a beautifully grotesque slime of sweat, mud, cheap beer residue, shower water, grass, mucus, and often, blood. It wasn't Mormonism, and it wasn't my old marriage - but in so many ways, it was so much better.
I kept my beer ritual going, game after game, and even started throwing cans over to the other guys in the locker room before they ran out. It was weird - I'd gone from teetotal, straight arrow, true believing Mormon, to a crazed, newly muscled nihilist, recovering from heartbreak, living out an insane Viking fantasy, fueled by a volcanic mixture of testosterone, adrenaline, creatine, and now, cheap beer. It was awesome. And besides, what else was there to do?
The rugby club administrators finally heard that I'd started passing beer out to guys BEFORE the games, and sent a circular email around explaining that it was "inappropriate" to include drinking in our pre-game warm-ups. (I disagreed, but like any good warrior, I respected my generals). So that ended that. And eventually, crushing injuries ended my rugby career, but at least I still have the beer.
Now, I drink every once in a while with my new Love Goddess. It's nice with a meal, or to enhance bedroom trips to Kolob. And while I know there are some joys unique to Mormonism, I think Mormons are really missing out with this whole temperance thing. Jesus himself drank, remember, as did Joseph Smith - how bad can it really be?
I'm not promoting alcoholism or anything; just saying, the devil's brew is a great "experience enhancer" every once in a while.
Just my two cents. Feel free to post your own adventures in alcohol below.
Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 05/02/2015 12:57AM by Tal Bachman.