So, the Golden State Warriors won the NBA Championship last night. We got to see the goggles come on, the champagne get popped, and the cigars lit. The team pulled down the figurative curtain and let us in on their joy. But I knew all of that was complete bullshit. Every single member of the Warrior organization was waiting for the cameras to leave so they can get fucking drunk.
Lee Jenkins, Sports Illustrated’s fantastic basketball reporter, chronicled last night’s celebration. The partying seemed to be all well and good, but it sounded a little tame to me. It felt held back. Granted, they were in Cleveland. Following the loss and a crippling realization that they all had to go back to work making bathroom tiles and area rugs, I imagine the fan-base wasn’t going to be a fun bunch to party with.
Also, one quote really stood out to me:
“Two Warriors famously abstain from alcohol, (Andre) Iguodala and Harrison Barnes, and both were under more pressure to drink than college freshmen. “They didn’t get me,” Iguodala claimed. “They got me,” Barnes admitted.”
MAN WUT.
I’m always shocked whenever I find out that a person doesn’t drink – it might not be fair, but you automatically become an undercover cop. Quadruple that shock it’s a top-flight pro-athlete.
I mean, look at this shit:
Finals MVP, Andre Igoudala, ripped off of two liters of Schweppes Ginger Ale. My god.
Now Harrison Barnes is a different story. As far as I’m concerned, the dude wasted his entire college experience (yes, I know he only stayed two years, made the NBA, and probably had sex with more girls than I have talked to in my entire life, but still). All it took was an NBA Championship to bring the fun out.
In shambles after 2.5 Heinekens and a sip of Moët, HB tried it last night pic.twitter.com/LIvBFLuVe0
— WJ (@WMsDiary) June 17, 2015
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This got me thinking – if I were in the same position as these guys, what would I do different?
1. Party with the team, pop champagne, say something very cliche and generic to reporters, and give a few loud “WOOOO”s.
2. Sneak away from the crowd, find my phone, go on Instagram, and proceed to slide into ~100 DMs.
3. Chug like four beers, throw up in my mouth a bit, and ignore the judgmental eyes of those around me. Stop looking at me, Riley, you NARC.
4. See what the dudes without families are trying to do, weed out the savages, and find a crew to gallivant throughout downtown Cleveland.
5. No one wants to come.
6. Take Andre Igoudala’s Finals MVP trophy because he’s a nerd.
7. Google “Clubs in Cleveland”, become wildly disappointed, and have a semi-panic attack that such a thing may not exist.
8. End up at something that resembles a club in Cleveland with the MVP trophy in hand.
9. Tell the bouncer I want a table, wait for him to say “Just you?”, and then proceed to point at my trophy and say “and my Finals MVP trophy please.”
10. Proceed to get belligerently drunk and invite every girl above a 6 to sit at my table.
11. Get offered cocaine, immediately say “Nah I don’t do that, man.”
12. Do tons of cocaine.
13. Repeat #11 and #12, but replace “cocaine” with “molly.”
14. Once things get less hazy, find myself in a strange location near a textile factory, then realize this could be anywhere because Cleveland is essentially one large textile factory.
15. Escape from what is presumably one of those 6s I let sit at my table’s apartment.
16. Ensure the safety of the Finals MVP trophy because Andre needs that shit back.
17. Go on a Legend of Zelda-esque quest to find an open Popeye’s restaurant.
18. Try to Uber back to hotel, but realize phone is still at the 6’s place. We’ll call her Tiffany.
19. Sidle up next to what appears to be a very comfortable ditch near an overpass.
20. Vow not to go on the internet for the next month because that probably won’t be good.