After being dumped on our collective asses in the South Carolina softball tournament this weekend, we slunk back to our hotel and plotted just how plastered we were going to get that night. The first order of business was finding a bar. Tony said we passed a place called Winners on the 30-minute drive back from the fields, so we piled into 4 cars and headed out in search of heavy drink.

We should have taken the ironic hint from the ill-named placed: Winners was a video store.

And it was closed. They must have seen us coming.