This past weekend, I found myself as the designated driver for a group of my college friends. This “boyz” weekend has had numerous constants these past 20 years: watching football games, drinking beer and shots, gorging on pizza and BBQ, and invariably closing the evening with Tums and seltzer cocktails, a Pepto-Bismol chaser, and calls home to the wives advising that all were behaving.
This year’s event brought us to a city that was home to a large state university with a major sports program and an even larger young adult party scene. After a misguided stop to a landmark bar in the city, which featured alternative and very loud music permeated with vulgarities that would make the Jersey Shore crew blush, we settled at a Blues bar. It is here that we met a guy named Mitch. Mitch was a former Marine with two combat tours, and was using his GI Bill to attend college on a six year plan. He was very well spoken, and it was obvious that he knew all of the key people in this
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