Supplements
The love of the game: Bailey and Attersall flash some Blue Steel.
Kris Kotarski/The Gauntlet

Gauntlet Drinking Supplement 2002

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Last year it was a no-brainer. The editorial board held a meeting to determine who the editors of the Gauntlet's Bar Supplement should be. All eyes gravitated towards myself and one Kris Kotarski, a pair of notorious office lushes.

It made sense, I mean, we were drunk during the meeting.

This year was a little bit tougher. You see, I was still around and drunk as ever, however Mr. Kotarski is the head honcho now, and could not fully commit the time or alcohol tolerance necessary to recreate the magic of 2001. It seemed I was set adrift, left to my own devices, forced to drink alone. Truly, a depressing fate.

It was then that a multicultural, womanizing drunkard came to my rescue.

Mike Attersall, lover of fine (and not so fine) alcoholic beverages and partner in crime on many a Den Thursday, courageously offered to lend his many talents to the cause. Now that a dynamic duo was in place, the time had come to get down to the business of drinking.

First, we needed a plan.

The necessary preparations were made, that being a 26 of rye, a 24 of Pil and a selection of Eddie Murphy movies, and we got down to business. As the alcohol disappeared, the ideas poured forth and the supplement began taking shape.

It would no longer be the "bar" supplement but rather the "drinking" supplement. The outdated notion that students drink solely at licensed establishments is part of a bygone era, when schooling cost less than $4,000 a year. We needed to acknowledge that many of you, our readers, get right pissed at home just as often as you drop too much money on a night out.

Further, while tradition needed to be preserved, new angles needed to be explored. While mainstays like the Ralph Klein Pub Crawl weren't going anywhere, obvious bedfellows like alcohol and video games, or drunken mayhem and Banff, Alberta had not, as yet, been fully explored.

Hell, any event that leads to my being renamed "Smashy, Smashy" due to a hatred of Aztecs (the "car" not the culture) and an overabundance of cinder blocks fully deserves its own story.

As time wore on and the hangovers began to mount it became apparent that I was essentially manning this ship alone. Attersall was no co-captain, though he remained a loyal and devoted first mate. At least Kotarski got into the act. He couldn't resist. He's Polish.

Another year, another labour of love. I realize this may not be much of a departure from my regular way of life, but I usually don't have to plan as much as I did. I hope my 90 mile-an-hour lifestyle offers some enlightenment about the many joys of the alcoholic arts.

So, for better or for worse, this is the latest installment of legitimized inebriation. Chock full of so much gooey goodness we had to spread it over two issues. I hope you enjoy it, and keep an eye out for me. I'll be drinking.

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