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Raymond was at his usual stool having a beer. It was just after 8 o’clock in the morning. He was discussing the early days of Vietnam with another early morning drinker also warding off the "night before" by "having a little hair o’the dawg".

The conversation moved through Vietnam, back to the Bay of Pigs, and on to the capture of the Pueblo, before settling in on the World Series of 1968. His friend was trying to tell him Mickey Lolich was a relief pitcher and Denny McClain was the pitcher who brought the Tigers back from being down 3-0 by the Cardinals.

"I don’t think so," said Raymond. It was sometimes amazing the breadth of his conversational knowledge. "Bob Gibson won three games in that series and I don’t think he won ‘em back to back. Lolich was a starter, but didn’t have the year McClain had. Denny won 31 games that year. Then Lolich had two or three more good years, while McClain was getting his ass locked up over them dope deals."

"Well, you could be right," says his friend.

"Damn right, I’m right. I thought I was wrong once. But it turned out I wasn’t." Raymond said as he twisted his body on his stool.

Just as he turned there was a pop. Just a low pop like a mini-explosion.

"Oh shit!" yelled Raymond, as he started pulling up his pants leg over the top of his boots. There was a sudden smell of whiskey in the air that was almost sickening, it was so overwhelming. "Oh shit, oh dear!" Raymond repeated.

Slowly he removed the left boot. His sock was drenched in Jack Daniels Green Label. His boot held the part of a pint of whiskey that had not already began seeping through the leather boot.

"Sombitch," says Raymond. "I guess I should ‘a left a little breathing room in that bottle."

"What was that?" asked Jerry from behind the bar.

"What’s it smell like? I just poured a little drink from the half gallon I had in the icebox. I thought I might need a drink. You know, if I happen to hit a sinking spell or somethin’."

"Damn," said Jerry. As much as you’ve drink in your life, don’t you know whiskey will explode if you don’t leave some air in the top of the bottle?"

"I seem to remember somethin’ bout that, now that you mention it." responded Raymond, as he calmly removed his other boot. "Luckily I wore two pair of socks."

He pulled off the two wet ones and tossed them into the trash can. He pulled one of the dry foot and placed it on the naked one. Then leaning across the counter he poured the remaining whiskey from his boot into the trash.

"By god, it’s enough to make a man want to take up sock sucking!"