June 22, 2008
I USED to watch a lot of Westerns as a kid. And the one thing I can remember taking from those pictures, plain as if it happened yesterday, was this: I couldn't wait to drink.
Now, the clarification:
I couldn't wait to drink the way the cowboys drank in those old Westerns. You know the scene: They've been riding around the dusty plain for weeks, they fling open those cool swinging gates to the saloon, they amble over to the bar, they give the barkeep a knowing glance, barkeep brings over a bottle of whiskey and a glass, cowboy sweeps the glass away with the back of his hand, and then just guzzles the bejeezus out of the bottle, one swig, full to empty, then slams it on the bar and wipes his mouth with the back of the same hand that knocked away the glass.
Whiskey: the ultimate thirst quencher.
Of course, it wasn't long after raiding my old man's liquor cabinet for the first time that the harsh reality hit: as a thirst quencher, Jack Daniel's isn't exactly as tasty as, say, lemon-lime Gatorade. Or even iced tea. Which is when it sort of hit: maybe that really was iced tea in those whiskey bottles in those old Western movies.
Ah, the magic of movies. Even alcohol poisoning can look cool.
Similarly, movie magic makes pain seem as painless as a feather, especially when it comes to sports movies. Think of "The Natural." Not only was Roy Hobbs old (and Robert Redford was 47 when he played Roy Hobbs, meaning that by the end of shooting every day everything had to hurt the poor guy, no matter how much he tried to channel his inner Julio Franco), but the poor guy was BLEEDING FROM HIS STOMACH when he hit the game-winning home run.
