“Social life, uh, ah, finds a way.” – Frat Ian Malcolm
Broken bones, snapped tendons, crutches, and casts are things that might keep an athlete off the field, but it takes a lot more than being temporarily crippled to keep a fraternity man away from a good time. Simply put, fuck not drinking. If facing legal consequences, societal judgment, and a perpetual vague sense of regret never stopped you, why should a horrific injury? We already drink rain or shine, snow or sleet, but unlike the employees of the U.S. Postal Service, something as insignificant as a snapped femur or recently sutured stab wound isn’t going to stop us. Ever seen a mailman limping around your neighborhood? Me neither, pussies. Ever seen a brother shotgun a beer with a torn ACL? Why just last weekend, in fact.
Drinking while injured does come with its challenges though. Walking around on crutches is a bitch, and having a BAC/pain med combo that could tranquilize even a seasoned hobo certainly does not help one’s coordination. At least being shitfaced makes the chore of crutching far more tolerable. Thank God for drunk strength. I’m fairly confident the last time I was drunk and on crutches I could have beaten a fat guy in a footrace. Where’s the fat pledge when I need him dammit! And God help him if he wins. Another concern is being in a crowded place, it means you have to be on a constant lookout. Nothing is more infuriating than some equally drunk asshole stepping on your cast or bumping into your dislocated shoulder. When you’re out to get blackout and forget how injured you really are the last thing you want is a painful and incredibly sobering reminder. Nothing negates the effect of whiskey quite like feeling a splintered bone poking around inside of you.
Still, raging with an injury is the ultimate test of one’s drinking abilities. We live in a country that applauds athletes for playing hurt, and drinking through the pain is no different. I see Curt Shilling’s bloody sock and raise you a drunk idiot who cut the cast off his throwing hand to win a beer pong game. Why? Because he has too much pride to compete in the “Special” Beer Olympics. Besides, only a bleeding vag would sit around for a month and say “Sorry guys, still a little sore, maybe next weekend.” Want to know what will cure that soreness and your apparent menstruation? A fucking liter of whiskey.
The potential for taking advantage of the Florence Nightingale effect also makes it well worth your time to go out drinking despite your physical therapist’s adamant suggestions not to. Your injury can and should be used to your advantage. Why get up and struggle to grab a drink when you can just as easily find a willing slam to take care of you for the night. Regale her with the story of how you hurt yourself, you will simultaneously seem strong and vulnerable. It might just end up being the least underhanded way you get laid all semester.
There are things that can, will, and should stop you from drinking. The current finals crunch time everyone is going through currently is proof of that. But never let something as insignificant as physical limitations hold you back. Your continuously besieged liver hasn’t stopped you yet, why should a flesh wound?
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