It was my first year playing rugby. We had our own tournament with other Ohio leagues. I played my ass off and then it was time to drink.
I had a trophy that said "Beer Drinking Champion" on it and the team rules were if you were champ, you had to drink every last bit in the trophy before you could leave. Well, they didn't tell me people pour a little of whatever they got in it if they are in arms reach... So, I'm feeling pretty damn good, and they wanted to go party hard. I was all for it and half naked down the highway.
We showed up to a bar in a small college town and I still had the trophy. We were drinking Irish car bombs and PBR all night. That’s when I started going in and out of blackout-mode.
I regain consciousness and found myself making out with a decent tattooed girl because (supposedly) I told her, “kiss a rugger for luck” about 30 times. That’s when I blacked out again.
I woke up in the office couch in a church... With a choir robe on. From what my friends told me, I needed to be in another town to meet my dad to help him with a charity barbecue he was doing (which was true) and needed to be dropped off so he could pick me up. Well, I got to the town. But when I woke up, the pastor told me my clothes were strung out down the sidewalk and my phone was in pieces.
He found me passed out in the breeze way of the church. He took me in, clothed me, and then made me sit and listen to his sermon on the temptation of drinking before I got my stuff back.