Drugging your captain

The dangers of mixing up your Advil and LSD

There are some times in life when your stomach plummets to your toes as you realize you just fucked up in epic proportions. Like sleeping through an exam, or accidentally asking out your tutor. But this story is about the time I accidentally drugged my captain during the halftime of the big game.

Calvin is super serious whenever he is on the field. He is constantly talking to the team and coordinating our defense, but I have seen him stumble out of the bar enough times to know that he is only serious on the field. Our fateless story begins with Calvin’s poor, poor decision to trust me. He was limping around holding a hot pack to his back when he asked me for an Advil.

I rummaged in my bag, wrapping my hands around the first bottle I found and handing it to Calvin. He downed half a pill and was walking back onto the pitch when I realized what just happened. That was no container of Advil, that was pure LSD.

In a panic, I see my two options unfold in front of me. I could stop Calvin and get him to pull trig so that he isn’t tripping balls while playing, but our team’s no drug policy is iron clad. Or I pray to every god that he has the tolerance to take the half a pill and still be able to play. Given my knowledge of his extracurricular activities at the bar,  I figured I would take my chances with his tolerance. Little did I know that during those times I saw him, he was only one White Claw deep.

At first Calvin was fine, directing everyone else on the field and holding his own against the other teams top players. But, it was a bit strange when he started galloping like he was on a horse instead of running.  Although, he would look down and say “giddy up” before booking ass.

The problems really started when Dan had possession of the ball and Calvin started chasing him around. Dan unfortunately happens to be on our team and is not particularly fast. Calvin ran him down and trampled him. I am pretty sure I heard him say, “I spit upon thee, you rogue, and rakish knave.” Not sure anyone this side of the last century got what he said, but nobody seemed to want to get close to him, so that was a bonus.

He used the space he was given to brutal efficiency when he dodged past two defenders, nearly head butted the goalie and tied the game. Our team erupted in cheers, and I started to calm down, maybe this would be the worst of it. That is when he trotted up on his imaginary horse and flopped down onto the ground looking up at the sky. “Stars sure are beautiful tonight,” he said. I did not have the heart to tell him that it was 3 p.m. and overcast. But clearly Coach did not have any problems.


“Calvin, get your skinny ass back on the pitch before I knock the stars out of you!” Coach had such a way with words. Every time he talked you could hear the blood pressure of the team rise, as an instinctual fight or flight response was triggered. Fortunately Calvin’s flight response triggered and he dove back into the pitch. Unfortunately he said, “to arms,  Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, unite against the forces of evil!”


I think that is the moment that I realized he was not coming down from that high any time soon. But as the game went on I became less scared that I would be tracked down as the accidental drug dealer and more interested in what game Calvin was playing.

As best I could tell, he was fighting against the combined armies of Voldemort and Mordor. While he was fighting alongside Sprinkles the unicorn, his battle steed, and Santa’s reindeer army. I am predicating most of this on the last five minutes of the game in which he kicked the ball into an opponent’s face and said, “Take that you death eater.” Then he passed the ball to poor old Dan, while he said, “Fly Dancer Fly!”

That is when the other coach started raising good points about the possibility of one of our players having a stroke on the field. Calvin’s response: “Shut up Sauron, you’re the world’s worst case of pink eye!”

The best part is that Dan, I mean Dancer, passed the ball to Pracer, and then Vixen dropped it back to Calvin and he hammered a shot into the back of the net. We rushed the field and Calvin hugged Coach and siad, “Are you proud of me Santa?”

People just decided that Calvin had a little heat stroke during the game despite the fact that it was 12 degrees out. So I ended up staying relatively anonymous. Calvin still came up to me at the end of year party and asked for some Advil. But that night is another story.

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