Let me tell you a heartwarming tale about a plucky band of misfits. About six months ago, I stumbled into going to bar trivia night at a local tavern. I sucked a few friends into it, and we soon needed a name. Being several pitchers into the night at that point, a silly pun prevailed, and Drinkin' Bout It we became.
Week after week, we came in near the bottom. "We're not last!" we cheered at the end of the game, soused and eager to take another run at it. We clapped for those few teams who came in below us, and we clapped for those who regularly knew what quarterbacks belong to what NFL teams and three poets whose names start with G.
But we began to learn. For example, we learned that the guy calling the questions checks cnn.com every week for his current events questions, and we bumped up a place or two. We learned that he can sometimes be bribed with shots of liquor. And we learned that we'd better have somebody familiar with the old Testament and the periodic table.
And this week, with no warning whatsoever, we stomped 'em. We came in first, and amazed ourselves as much as the teams who'd become comfortable with us as a barrier between them and last place. We were the Bad News Beers, the Mighty Drunks.
Next week we may well come in dead last. But for a week, we're champions.