Schutzie dumps the last of his single malt scotch into his eyes. The pain is excruciating but it loosens the coagulated bean dip that has both of his eyes sealed shut.
He is finally able to roll onto his stomach and crawl out from under his recliner.
His pee bag exploded sometime during the third quarter; a fitting salute to the game.
His new 400" HDTV, purchased just for this game is in thousands of pieces, shattered when he threw the beer keg at the screen when "those people" intercepted Manning a second time. For a touchdown. Jesus.
He notes with curiosity the 3 goats and one bewildered sheep eating the last of the snacks and 14 different dips he lovingly prepared for the game;
"the hell?? I don't remember inviting them" he murmurs to himself
As he crawls to the bathroom one thought keeps running through his sodden, overhung brain;
Bad enough they lost, bad enough they got their collective asses kicked, but did they have to just sit there looking like a rookie boatman who was just told to service the groover?