My friends and I are what you'd call wiffleball aficionados. So much so, that we created the Toronto Wiffleball Association of Toronto. The thing about wiffleball though, is that your skills don't really peak until you've drank about six cans of beer, preferably Budweiser or Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Well, according to 100% Injury Rate, we're not the only athletes (I use the term loosely) in need of some serious calories before hitting their peak on the field of play.
As the patron saint of wiffleball, we were well aware of Wade Boggs and his pension for drinnking 50 - 70 beers on a road trip, but the Babe Ruth breakfast getting washed down with an unholy mixture of equal parts whiskey and ginger ale has me questioning whom we should pray to before a wiffleball game begins.
"Ruth also claimed his daily breakfast was as follows: a pint of whiskey mixed with a pint of ginger ale in a pitcher of ice, followed by a porterhouse steak, four fried eggs, fried potatoes, and a pot of coffee."
2 comments:
What is the book on Babycakes's bedside table in the pic?
Ancient Greek Sculpture Pictures. He likes his ladies built like gods and gladiators.
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