All names are fictitious because my friends like keeping their jobs…
Let’s start this damn thing with a quote. Confucius once said, “Only the wisest and stupidest of men never change”. I never met the old timer, but that Chinese dude knew his shit. With tradition comes a sense of normalcy; a sort of depending factor in which you know things will be the same but always changing. That sounded shitty, I don’t even know what the fuck I’m talking about. That quote sounded dope and this article is about tradition. Tradition in a young man’s life that has continued into early adulthood. What am I referencing you might ask? This glorious representation of tradition that I so confusedly talked about is indeed, The LimpStick Invitational. Follow me through this journey of debauchery, drunkenness, and to put a friendly spin on things, friendship. Awwwwwwww, (8 W’s).
I’m sitting in my Buddy “John”’s living room early one Saturday morning; early enough that you might still be drunk from that night before, you’re delirious and tired, and you are laughing (more of a almost throw up giggle) at everything in preparation for the hangover that is really about to set it. There is about 4 or 5 of us laying on the floor or couch talking about the night before and trying to put things together and reminiscing about how dumb we are, when all of a sudden (a nameless friend) jumps out of his seat and yells, “holy shit, I just remembered I got arrested last night”! I know what you’re thinking…..if you know me and you’re reading this, you are well aware of who this friend is. The rest of us in the living room look at him cross-eyed confused. Questions like, how did you just remember this? What did you do? And how are you here right now and did you escape from jail? You know, normal Saturday morning questions. To shorten this story up and to get to the point of the article; this idiot friend of mine was indeed arrested for trying to tackle a stop sign. I’m going to say that again, trying to TACKLE a stop sign. He was released after a few dropped soaps later and somehow made it back to the house. This story was simply another tale from the LimpStick Invitational.
So what is the LimpStick Invitational you might be asking? Or you might just be reading this because you are bored at work and are at this time, wondering when this article gets good. Well, back toward the end of my college days; The Godfather, who we will call “Bartholemew” (because that’s a solid fake name), decided to start a humble golf tournament with a few college friends. You know, a quick 9 hole round, drink some beers, have a few laughs, then maybe meet down at the local bar to have a few night caps. Little did The Godfather know the monster of a golf weekend he was about to create.
The first couple of years, LimpStick 1-3, the golf tournament averaged about 10 or so guys. It was a simpler time. The emergence of social media and your basic word of mouth created a monster turn for LimpStick 4, 5, and 6. Because of the shear number of people that would now be attending, around 40-60, new protocols had to be made. The godfather decided to make this a full weekend event. By this time we were all out of college and it turned into a college reunion back to our stomping grounds of yesteryear. It went like this…
- Friday: We would rent out a bar and officially have the draft. Golfers were put into different categories based on skill level so all teams were even as possible. Like that really mattered because it was an anomaly if a team even finished the round. We would draft, drink, make plans for the following day, and drink some more. Once we drank all of the booze at one bar, we would walk to the others and do the same thing. Keep in mind, we are not in college at this time, but we thought we could still drink like it.
- Saturday: After waking up in random spots throughout town, we would all commence at the local shit hole golf course. We would talk about the previous nights events, who got laid, who got arrested, and how hungover we feel. With the LimpStick comes tradition; and that Saturday morning before golf is one of my favorites.
- The RULES:
- Teams of 4
- Each member must drink a tall boy of their choosing for every hole
- Each team must use 1 drive from every player
- Hold on…
- Yeah, that’s pretty much sums it up.
- The RULES:
- Sunday: Dead
As the golf round finished up, the party train continues. We would find a house that was hosting a party, it was usually nice out, and we would further the send sesh. Some of us broke away from the group and went to the bars, some of us would find a pool to lounge in, some of us even sobered up out of a black out to find themselves in the middle of a poker tournament at the local casino. We took over the old college town and left it worse then when we found it. I can say this with confidence because our group was banned for life from that golf course. So where the fuck do we go next…?
Well, let’s think about that for a second. The core group of dudes that have been attending LSI since the beginning somewhat agreed that it really got out of hand the last couple of year. Was it great? Of course it was. But we were all getting a little older now, therefore more mature obvi. So where is the next logical place to go being that we cannot go back to our old college town? Yes that’s right; Las Fucking Vegas.
We took our talents to Vegas. “We”, was a small group of about 10 that are venturing off to somewhere the LSI has never been before. It was a perfect weekend of good weather, pool parties, I think we golfed, and too many laughs a dude can’t remember. The LSI tradition would not be stopped because of that dick head Course Marshall that kicked us out for life for breaking 3 of his golf carts. The LimpStick lived on in Vegas…
Since Vegas, we have continued the tradition around the local area with the same core group. The stories from every LSI get placed in our memory bank and stored. Memories of our friend “John” getting arrested, or the several pool parties, and the folklore of every LimpSticker in the past; these things will not be forgotten. The Godfather created something that we can all look forward to throughout the year. It’s immediately put on our calendars the second a date is picked. The boys of the LimpStick invitational have created a ritual. As I sit here and write this; the anticipation for LimpStick 10 is real. Where are we going to go next? Mexico? Brazil? Canada? Only time will tell. So as Confucius stated…”Only the wisest and stupidest men never change”. I think we are a little bit of both.