My Retirement From Raging

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My Retirement From Raging

First of all, thank you for reading this. It’s been a long, glorious journey, and I always knew this day would come. I honestly didn’t think it would happen this soon, but sometimes in life, that’s just how it goes. I’m here today, though, to officially announce my retirement from raging.

I have been fortunate enough to have a long, distinguished career that has spanned over a decade. I’ve seen a lot of bars, watering holes, patios, weddings, and bachelor parties in my time as a rager. I can honestly say that there’s nothing I love more than raging, and there’s not one second that I would ever take back, aside from the occasional sports argument that escalated into an uncoordinated fistfight, and maybe that one time my credit card got dinged for $2k in Vegas at that strip club. I’m still not entirely sure that was even an accurate representation of the action I received, by the way. But other than that, no regrets.

It’s been talked about at length, and I’m not breaking any news here, but my performance as of late has not been up to the standards I’ve set for myself. I take pride in what I’ve been able to do, whether it’s powering through crippling anxiety to make it to brunch, or just maxing out on a week night. Those activities were the cornerstones of my career, and what I’m best known for. Unfortunately, it’s becoming more and more obvious that I just can’t compete at that level any longer.

You know, for me, it’s never been about the personal accolades. It’s cliché, but I’ve always thought of myself as a team guy. If the four guys sitting in the booth at Chili’s with me are having a great time, crushing apps and margs, then I know I’m doing my job. It’s never been about me. Looking at some of my recent performances, specifically that bachelor party back in late March, I think it’s obvious that my performance is bringing down the group. I won’t get into specifics, but there’s no reason a member of my team should be begging a pit boss to not call security on me for throwing the double bird at a blackjack dealer and passing out at the table. It’s not what I’m about, and that type of behavior doesn’t live up to the standard I feel that I’ve set over the last decade.

At some point, guys like me just have to accept that their bodies, and their bank accounts, just can’t support the lifestyle any longer. That’s where I’m at, and I’m completely comfortable with it.

I’d now like to thank those people who helped make this a great ride.

First, my friends: high school, college, fraternity, etc. You’ve seen me grow from the kid who could get hammered off two of his dad’s Coors Lights to the guy that drinks scotch and water at happy hour in an effort to seem important. You were there to let me know that buying the entire table a round of Azteca tequila shots was not only unwanted, but it was a very poor choice in general.

Second, my coworkers. Those of you that have tolerated my occasional disheveled appearance and total lack of sentence structure on certain mornings have just been the best. You could’ve said something to my supervisor, or even HR, but you didn’t. For that, I am truly thankful. Clay, I’ll never forget the office happy hours we ducked out of early to go meet our college friends at better bars.

And to the bartenders. You truly have a place in my heart for all of eternity. You probably knew I was using a fake ID for most of college, but you still served me anyway. And you never failed to serve me despite the fact that I occasionally snapped my fingers to get your attention. Even though we had our fair share of disagreements about when it was proper to cut me off, I still respect you.

Finally, I think it would be wrong if I didn’t address my occasional use of performance enhancing drugs, mainly Adderall. A lot of different people have a lot of different opinions on what that means for my legacy, and there’s nothing I can do about that. At the end of the day, everything I took was prescribed to me by a doctor, and if that’s how history will remember me, then so be it.

Don’t forget about me. We had a great run, and you’ll still see me out from time to time, grabbing a beer or two with dinner, or picking up a 6-pack of local craft brew. Maybe you’ll catch me at a wedding enjoying a glass of red wine and possibly even partaking in “Shout.” If you see me, say hello. I’d love to know how you’ve been, and I’d even love to hear a few wild stories about your weekend in Jackson Hole that I had to decline due to lack of finances/self-control. Just remember me. Remember me as the guy that would do anything for a good time, including sacrificing his body for the game.

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