On the anniversary of the Frank Robinson trade (1965), I invited both best men from the weddings for a shrine session. After that fine meal with brisket, beans, slaw and pickles, we headed downstairs for the fine ale part of the night. Dan didn't care for the first selection of beer which I agreed with him. Dave didn't seem to care either way. And when I got my kick going with those IPA's, my thought processes began to slow down. I know we did have cognac to end the evening at 1 a.m. Now, how in the heck did I get upstairs?
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