Voy Por Ustedes

I don't know why I do it to myself. I'm too old for this. I can't take my drink anymore. The Rosè challenge at the Fox on Monday has taken at least 5 years off my life.

I've slept for 24 hours and I still feel numb. I've still got the shakes. I haven't eaten anything since I downed half a dozen oysters on Monday night, which I have to say were very nice...but still I'm not quite ready yet for solids.

I've been trying to piece together events to fill the void in my memory, but I'm just blank. Completely blank. I often experience some memory loss when I've been on the sauce, but never a complete black out. It's as if someone, probably the Chinese, has just erased the last day and half, I didn't exist. I was a no man. The undead.

The last thing I remember was trying to bet Big Dick off a pot in the PLO cash game while holding six high. For those of you who have played in this game, this should give you some indication of how far gone I must have been.

After that, nothing. I woke up at about 8.30am in one of the rooms above the bar, half dressed, or half undressed depending on your point of view, and with a surreal sensation that my very soul had become rotten and a part of me lost forever.

I drove home, using my instincts, and slept for 24 hours straight, save a few occasions when I had to get up to vomit out some yellow coloured bile which tasted like ear wax. I doubt I can do this to myself again for at least another six to eight months. During my convalescence I shall ask myself some searching questions about how big and clever I think I am attempting a Rosè challenge I could not possibly win.

Now if you'll excuse me I must begin the long and lonely search to find myself again.