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HOW DRUNK WERE YOU, FOOTBALL FAN? AN EXAMINATION

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WE'VE ALL ENDED UP INSIDE A COURTHOUSE INSTEAD OF OUR HOTEL ROOM

Ronald Martinez/Getty Images

We've been reading about South Koreans and binge-drinking all day. Did you know Koreans could drink? As in drinking 13+ shots of liquor on average a week, well above Russia and other noted titans of international hooch consumption. Between that and the sheer amount of fermented vegetables they consume per week, the average Korean's intestine must be a marvel of modern engineering and biochemical warfare. Like Grand Theft Auto 5 online, but happening inside a human.

There is even an entire tumblr dedicated towards capturing the totally not-uncommon sight of Koreans sleeping on the street. The man sleeping in the trash is our favorite because, when you pass out drunk in trash, you are living out every sensational scene of wild, hobo-festive drunkenness filmed before the year 2000, aka the era of television and film when being drunk was screamingly funny.

Passing out where you shouldn't is not just the reserve of South Koreans. (This may be especially true, since there seems to be no bad place for Koreans to pass out in South Korea.) Enter our test subject: Howard Anthony Schroeder, a 35 year old man who celebrated PREPARED FOR (MY GOD THIS HAPPENED SATURDAY MORNING --ed) the Sooners' victory over Baylor in Waco by merely trying to find his room at the Waco Hilton.

Wearing a crimson Oklahoma Sooners shirt, a groggy Schroeder sat on a bench in the courthouse rotunda and tried to explain to deputies that he thought he was at the Hilton. Deputies noted in reports that Schroeder smelled strongly of alcohol.

That is not a description of the Hilton, but rather of the McLennan County Courthouse, where Schroeder finished his evening by breaking in, finding a comfy spot in a courtroom, and curling up until deputies answered a burglar alarm. They found Schroeder laying there, explaining that he believed he was at the Hilton. Because he was drunk. Very, very, very drunk

How drunk was this terrestrial astronaut, his addled brain piloting a craft he was no longer capable of controlling? Let's look at the data.

DISTANCE TRAVELED IN THE WRONG DIRECTION

WACODRUNKNESS

The Hilton Waco is a full half-mile by foot away from the Courthouse, and definitely not in sight of the Brazos River, which is pretty much the only real landmark in Waco. Time dilation under the stress of heavy drinking is real, but ten minutes in the wrong direction is a stretch even by completely wasted standards. Mr. Schroeder, as a spotter for himself, proved to be inaccurate even by the standards of even Civil War artillery.

DEGREE OF VISUAL CONFUSION RE: THE DESTINATION

This is the Hilton Waco:

Hotel

It's your standard Hilton, a bland slab of concrete warrens stacked into something you might call "Mid-Continental Continental." It probably has deplorable cable television, decent wi-fi, and excellent duvet covers. There is your standard u-shaped lobby approach; there is your prominently displayed swooshy "H" logo indicating the brand.

There are no visible stairs leading up to the hotel. Remember this important detail.

This, in contrast, is the McLennan County Courthouse in Waco.

WacoooohnoCourthouse

If the trees, columns, lack of a hemicircular driveway and Hilton logos, and complete lack of resemblance to the building you were staying in did not tip Mr. Schroeder off, there's one very tactile difference he might have noticed: THE GIGANTIC PILE OF STAIRS LEADING UP TO THE BUILDING THAT IS DEFINITELY NOT YOUR HOTEL. How he did not notice this is a mystery, since being drunk often leads to the kind of torpor that says, "Sure, leave the half-eaten pizza on the floor, the ants will surely leave it alone."

Then again, he was probably still burning off the kind of thrill-tinged energy one gets only after beating Baylor. Maybe he thought he had stumbled onto a stairmaster in the hotel's fitness center. Maybe he thought Yeah buddy I am MURDERING this workout, all the while wondering where this stairmaster came from, and when he was going to get off of it and into his bed. Eat shit, wuss-ass stairmaster, he thought, calmly bashing his way into his hotel and wondering why it looked like a courthouse and not a Hilton.

I mean who'd put a stairmaster there. Stupid-ass Hyatt doesn't even put pillows on this wood bed.

PLACES HE COULD HAVE GONE

It could have been worse. Mr. Schroeder was obviously hammered to hell and back, but he didn't decided to sleep in the Brazos. He could have ended up at the Jack-in-the-Box on University Parks Drive, which is basically like ending up at the bottom of a river that smells like fries. Worst of all: he could have ended up as an accessory featured on Fixer Upper.

"You know what would really tie this room together?"

[flops unconscious, fly-swarmed but still alive drunk Oklahoma fan onto floor like a rug]

"OMG HE'S PERFECT."

WAS THIS DUDE DRUNK?

Yeah, he was by all measures pretty damn drunk.