Boxing And Intoxication: A Running Diary For Algieri Vs. Provodnikov

Every once in a while, an idiotic idea takes hold of me and I decide that it is worth pursuing despite the sheer lunacy of what I am going to attempt. It happened again yesterday when I read Alex McClintock’s inspired drinking game designed around HBO’s coverage of Ruslan Provodnikov-Chris Algieri.

Despite the mounting evidence to the contrary, I still think I am indestructible. So I offer to you a running diary of my descent into bourbon fueled grouchiness, anger, sadness and queasiness.

Saturday, June 14

10:40 a.m.

Read Alex’s post and decide it’s a brilliant idea. Further decide to substitute bourbon for beer because June 14 is National Bourbon day and I’m a patriot, Goddammit!

Alex asks me not to die, I say I’ll do my best.

4:00 p.m.

Go to liquor store, buy fifth of Evan Williams 1783.


Come home to find that my dog has rolled in cow shit and now needs a bath. Affect my best Gallic shrug and then bathe said dog.

6:00 p.m.

Eat dinner of ham sandwich with provolone on rye.


Decide to eat second sandwich just in case the first one proves ineffective at providing a cushion for the alcohol to come. Ponder life decisions and decide that I am simply an awful excuse for an adult.


Watch replay of Cotto-Martinez and offer completely redundant analysis on twitter. Begin Drinking in earnest.

11:10 p.m.

HBO’s Andre Ward talks and my hatred starts to swell. I drink more because fuck it, why not?

11:18 pm

Offer actual insight about the wretched Andrade-Rose fight. Continue drinking.

11:39 p.m.

HBO’s Max Kellerman makes a Rocky reference and I take a shot, realizing this is going to end very badly.

11:45 p.m.

Another shot as raw moose liver is referenced.

11:52 p.m.

Algieri gets dropped twice during first round. I take a shot because I am convinced the fight will be over soon.

Sunday, June 15

12:07 a.m.

Algieri’s trainer tells him to use the “tap-boom” (whatever the fuck that is). I take another shot and realize I’ve lost count of how many shots I’ve taken, and that I’m drunk. Decide drinking a few beers during the day while I cleaned the house was a bad idea.

12:08 a.m.

Read a tweet from Bad Left Hook’s James Foley (@therealFOL) mocking the HBO announce team referencing raw moose liver. I take another shot lest I break the game’s rules, but am very unhappy about it.

12:09 a.m.

Decide to mock HBO’s announce team myself, because halfway through the fight I have no clue how anyone could have given a single round to Algieri. I chug some water.

12:26 a.m.

See CompuBox stats. Disagree with them. Drink more.

12:31 a.m.

Someone says “Siberian Rocky.” I drink again.

12:38 a.m.

Fight ends. Despite not keeping an official tally, I am convinced that Provodnikov has won easily, but allow that my alcohol intake may have played a part in that opinion. I take another shot.

12:43 a.m.

I vehemently disagree with the split decision in Algieri’s favor, mention that I’m drunk and prove it by misspelling ‘Bullshit.’  Take another shot.

12:46 a.m.

Having completely lost the ability to make decisions, I ask Alex if I can stop drinking. He encourages me to pour one out for Ruslan. I drink more.

1:10 a.m.

Vomit profusely after drinking 2 large glasses of water in a vain attempt to rehydrate. Regret life decisions.

1:45 a.m.

Realize I’m sitting on the floor in my living room. Stumble off to bed.

9:00 a.m.

Wake up. Find empty fifth of bourbon in the kitchen and three empty cans of beer that I don’t remember drinking in the living room. Regret life decisions some more. Find a semi-comforting tweet from Alex. Respond that I don’t feel as bad as I thought I would.

10:00 a.m.

Begin starting to feel exactly as badly as I thought I would. Make joke about it.

11:35 a.m.

Discover Casey Kasem has died. Feel mostly apathetic about it and nauseated.

11:40 a.m.

Start typing.