HUGHES (V.O.)
It was the first time I was overwhelmed to the point of tears of joy. The rush of victory in that moment was unlike anything else I had experienced up to that time. The triumphant conclusion to a legendary campaign. We had beaten Navy and finished the season as non-losers with a record of 5–5–1 — 58th of 108. It would be the last college football game I would ever play a part in, but at the time I was blissfully unaware of the snare that lay in wait, and as a plebe I was king of the world and on leave the rest of the night with only two things to remember — stay out of trouble and certainly don’t be That plebe.
Looking back, I wish I had gone out and explored that evening the wonders of brotherly love at the successful conclusion to my football career. Staying in the heart of Philadelphia, our hotel was centrally located and alive with glory and cheer. As I was exiting the palatial palace of freedom for us plebes this victorious day, I was tackled and driven laterally into a heaping mess of bodies by now gathered in the hotel bar.
Before too long I was buying drinks, freely. Having no real opportunity to spend money, a plebe makes a good bar mate. I understood these celebratory drinks I was fortunate to be participating in might one day pay dividends in my destined path towards the stars. So at least I thought at the time. Besides I recall thinking, when else can a varsity letterman plebe buy his team and his army’s upperclassmen a few shots in a hotel bar in Philadelphia just hours after playing and winning the 96th Army Navy game and live, to write about it?
Have a ‘shot’ from the plebe punter. Hooah!
I proudly graduated from high school having never felt the effects of alcohol, or any other recreational drug for that matter. I did once ‘share’ a cigarette when I was 12 with my cousin Pietro Joseph but I do under oath admit I did not inhale — despite what I may have boasted at the time in the attempt to conceal my shame for being unable to say ‘no’. What I am attempting to convey is the fact as a plebe with little if any experience in the dance with drink, calling me a light weight would be putting it mildly.
I am just a plebe kicker, remember?
Half way through the night’s festivities, I was suddenly done for the evening. The buzzing room began to lose its festive nature as panic flooded in from the back door. I knew I had to get back into my room before I was sick in public and, as a plebe, I would not want to account for the mess I would create for myself if I were to vomit anywhere but in the private aloneness of my own hotel room; where I no doubtingly would be regrettably revisiting the poor choices I had made in the hours leading up to hugging the throne.
But I would also be smiling. Between the gut wrenching only a cactus can create, I would be smiling knowing I had just successfully made a lasting impression on tomorrow’s leaders and makers. By way of perseverance and grit, I now could celebrate respectfully through generosity with a naivety only a successful plebe on a mission could accomplish. However, by this point, it was too tough to go it alone and I needed assistance making it to my room with the appearance a plebe on leave should possess.
Fortunately I had seen a few familiar faces that afternoon in the bar, now called hell, and knew I had fellow company mates I could rely on if the going got too tough to go it alone. When you are sunk, it is better to be busted by your own chain of command, than from anyone else’s. I knew it was just a matter of time — Is that Copout coming my way?
Cadet Carolyn Copout was a cow in my company. A varsity softball player, she looked the part. Copout had always been a bit kind to me, perhaps being able to relate to the additional stresses playing a varsity sport can create for a cadet, even a plebe. I recall a day early in the football season when I repeatedly addressed her as ‘Sir’. Repeatedly. Somehow, you see, my terror and stammering made her laugh and I was magically off the hook as she sent me on my way. Surely, a B-3 Bandit will assist me— at least I had hoped.
As we made it on to the elevator, I was further nauseated by the reflective interior of the lift taking me to the refuge located on the thirteenth floor. I expressed my thankfulness to Cadet Copout — reminding her of the girl I had back home. Ma’am.
Confirming the saying “punters are poor drinkers” — I was prepared to accept what may await me once back at the academy should anyone have taken note of my sloppy appearance so early in the night’s celebrations. At least I was now safe as I unlocked my room using the key card and some assistance provided by Copout. I immediately dove for the toilet as Copout proceeded to enter into my room and shut the door behind her.
It seems like I puked for hours, but as I exited the bathroom after fifteen minutes of vowing to never touch tequila again I was startled by seeing Copout waiting patiently there in the dark. Failure in one motion, I struggled to remove my uniform as I fell into bed.
…
I must have slept for a good while. By the time I was awoke, enough time had passed to have allowed Copout to successfully undress me down to my shorts.
…
She was at the time of my awakening, working my boxer shorts down around my calves as I lay dead flat on my still made hotel bed. Unable to speak or move, I succumb to the bobbing and spinning of the Jose induced nauseating rolling of the room as an upper-class female cadet from my company sucked on my plebe member.
I immediately was sick.
Making my way back to the battle splattered war zone that was my hotel bathroom, I forcefully demanded that my betrayer depart. Immediately!! Ma’am.
The elation and tears of joy I had experienced only hours earlier in the day, dramatically had been poisoned and made foul. The one night I should have been out on the town with my plebe team and company mates, I cried tears of anguish as I slipped in and out of consciousness where I hoped it was all just a nightmare.
#THATis2024
