I’m Intervening Into This Intervention

Hi…How’s everybody doing? I realize this is awkward – me barging in here uninvited like this, but I couldn’t stay away. I really think I have something to contribute here. It’s obvious that I wasn’t invited to participate because you’ve got me on some “enabler” list and everything, but I need you guys to hear me out – especially you Jeremy. I know that you’re all here because you love Jeremy very much and you want to see him stop drinking so he can live a long healthy life and realize his full potential. I get that. I want to see that too…the long life thing anyway. Shit, Jeremy’s my best friend. Unfortunately, you’re the last bunch of motherfuckers that need to be intervening into another person’s life. I mean seriously…

Jeremy’s aunt Susan: Remember that time around the holidays about three years ago? You were mad at Jeremy’s uncle Barry ’cause he went all crazy after Carson Palmer got knocked out of the game? He got loaded and just kept mumbling “pantywaist” under his breath until he passed out in Jeremy’s dad’s chair? Remember that? You couldn’t go home because Barry wouldn’t wake up…and his keys were tucked under his scrotum for safe keeping? Remember? So Kimo von Oelhoffen couldn’t get ’em, use them to steal Barry’s car, go over to his house and ruin the rest of his life? So then we said we’d take you home on our way to One Eyed Jack’s Bar and Grill. Remember how you asked if we’d mind if you joined us for a couple? And then four hours later you were dancing with that 400-pound guy? And then you put your head between his massive chestal fat deposits and slapped them up against your face? The whole bar completely forgot about Carson Palmer and roared with laughter. Now look at you Aunt Susan…wearing that cheap sun dress from the discount store, holding hands with Uncle Barry with a serious and concerned look on your face. You don’t look the least bit disheveled. In fact, you look downright sheveled. You’re not fooling anyone Aunt Susan. Once you’ve made drunken motorboat sounds from deep within a morbidly obese man’s bosom, you are no longer allowed to take part in alcohol-related interventions.

Jeremy’s mom Dottie: Remember that time you came home from Belterra with the giant novelty check for $9,000? Remember how Jeremy invited me along to celebrate with you later that night? Remember how you were all quiet the whole night and drinking wiskey sours like it was your primary occupation and some mystical boss appeared with a blast of smoke like Batman and told you that if you didn’t drink those wiskey sours faster and better and quieter than you ever did before that you were going to lose your job as a professional wiskey sour drinker? Remember how Jeremy and I were fighting about whether or not Tinker Bell on “Peter Pan” actually needed the pixie dust so she could fly? I said that she didn’t ’cause she’s got wings and Jeremy said she did ’cause that’s how everybody flies and then you started screaming really loud for us to shut up and then you started crying? Remember how you told us between sobs that you didn’t really win the jackpot? How you were playing next to that old lady with the oxygen tank who smokes the filterless Pall Mall’s when she won the jackpot? Remember how you told her that all the bells were going off because T.V.’s “Matlock” had just walked into the casio? And then you slid into her chair when she went to look for him? Remember how you blew all the money on designer handbags like the one on the floor next to you? If I were Jeremy I would spend this whole intervention staring at that handbag and wondering why I should listen to a fraud like you.

Jeremy’s dad Carlo: Remember that time you got arrested at St. Xavier when Jeremy was a kid? ‘Cause the varsity game was at Elder and the JV game was at St. Xavier? C’mon…you gotta remember…Jeremy was on the mound that day? It was the biggest game of his life? Hello? Remember, you stopped off for a few drinks after a tough day at work? Your boss was all pissed at you on account of you accidentally painting the wrong sides of the things? Remember trying to get to the game after drowning your sorrows, getting confused and driving to St. Xavier? Then do you remember when the JV kid with the same number as Jeremy came up to bat for the Panthers? Oh, and the St. Xavier kid beaned him and you freaked out and started yelling? Remember when the pitcher’s dad heard you and started yelling back? Oh, and then he beat the everloving shit out of you and made you drunkenly beg for mercy until the cops got there? Remember how you freaked out again when you found out that everybody said you started it so the cops decided to take you to jail? Remember how the cops started kicking your ass again? Then you had to wait until everyone got home from Jeremy’s actual game at Elder before they could come bail you out? If I was Jeremy, I’d be remembering the time you missed the game of his life so that you could end up drunk, beaten and incarcerated.

Jeremy’s uncle Barry: Remember the time about 3 or 4 years ago around the holidays that you got so mad at Carson Palmer? Wait…we kind of did you already, didn’t we? Well anyway, nobody wants to take intervention advice from a guy that has permanent, key-shaped impressions in his testicles.

Seriously guys, I like you and all…but Jeremy’s the only one of you that’s actually any good at drinking. He doesn’t drive drunk, he makes it to work the next day and he’s funny when he’s loaded. Hell, he’s even gotten me closer to the ladies a couple of times by being such a cool drunk. Why don’t you guys go ahead and take your own advice and get to work on your problems first? Jeremy – go ahead and hop up brother…we’re goin’ to Jack’s.