Lessons from a stag party
The joy of kicking back in the takeaway as the play-offs brawl outside
Feelin’ fresh
Rob McElhenney’s all-expenses-paid trip to Vegas might look a little outlandish for an end-of-season squad getaway - you won’t see many teams being flown 5,000 miles to pool raves and nightclubs on the chairman’s credit card. But the lads weren’t out there partying alone. They’ll have had plenty of company.
See, this is the peak time for hundreds of blokes to go tumbling around Sin City - usually as part of a swansong to singledom.
Stag do season - or Bachelor Party for our transatlantic readers - is upon us. From now until September, you’ll see them in Vegas, Europe or even Skegness. They’re everywhere. Men in Borat costumes. Men in wedding dresses. Or for any Wrexham fans tying the knot, men in Tesco bags (aka Chester FC football shirts).
Whilst stag parties have the terrifying potential to produce moments you can’t unsee and will never speak of again, they can also teach you some important lessons - whether that’s about football or life in general.
One piece of knowledge they can impart is, for example, is knowing when to call it a day. The last man standing on a stag is often infiltrated by the bug of regret - an insect which burrows its way inside the brain and occasionally bites down to release a flood of embarrassing memories. You can easily spot when people have this ailment. Symptoms include wincing, digging fingertips into the temples and shouting “NO, NO, NO!”.
In fact, Ben Foster suffered a mild case as recently as August - having been dragged back to the League Two Bar for “just one more” by players and fans, only to discover he really shouldn’t have been there.
That’s our fault - we just couldn’t let him leave.
Another stag lesson: Peak at the right time. If you can get into the spirit of things at the optimum moment - you’ll finish the night feeling top of the world, and not stumbling and scrambling with others who are trying to keep going on their last reserves of energy.
Wrexham have spent many an evening lying in the gutter of the play-offs after peaking too soon. Luton. Newport. Eastleigh. Grimsby. A litany of messy evenings full of remorse that we’d all rather forget.
It’s taken a while, but it seems like we’ve got it sussed now. Our most recent outing was a roaring success - we rallied when the League Two party was at its peak, and now we’re sitting back with our feet up in the takeaway, chomping on a big burger and chips, chuckling as play-off participants drunkenly collide with one another outside on the street.
There are chaps from all walks of life scrapping on the pavements over there - fellas from Milton Keynes and Doncaster have both been booted out of town - but the Crawley and Crewe guys are still going at it, with Bolton and Oxford squaring off over by the taxi rank higher up the road.
We’ll see a couple of them in the morning when the League One brekky is served. Who it will be, we’re not sure. But that’s really none of our business right now. Whoever ends up on our table at sunrise in August is fine. We’re just happy to be there, quite frankly.
This whole adventure has been a blast. We’re a little tired, sure. But mostly fresh and dandy. And ready to go again. Hair of the dog, and all that.
Cheers to League One. Let’s see how this one goes down.