“If I’m not passed out by the fourth inning, something has gone seriously wrong,” said a young dude sitting behind us at the Thirsty Thursday Riverdogs game against the Rome Braves. Though we only heard him say this, he seemed to have made a suicide pact to this effect with every other young guy in attendance. We don’t think we’ve ever heard more enthusiastic snapping along to the Addams Family theme at the Joe; the people, they were thirsty. The game’s outcome took a back seat to our interest in the bacon-wrapped corndogs, beer milkshakes, and an astounding array of attire, as always. We went home slightly drunk on dollar Bud Heavies, grateful we had brought our barn coats to a rainy late-April ball game in the tropics.

In an effort to return to wholesomeness, we got up early Saturday morning for the Lowcountry Local First farm tour out on Johns Island. Our motto is “go big or go home,” and we always double down when approaching peak yuppiness, so we rounded up some city mice, rented a couple tandem bikes, and hit the road in search of organic kale and raw milk. Needless to say, we listened to a Spoon/Belle & Sebastian/Shins playlist en route and discussed our favorite TED talks and The Wire episodes.


Let us tell you what delights people in Subarus taking tours of bucolic farmland more than being in Subarus taking tours of bucolic farmland: passing a bunch of people doing the same, only on tandem bikes and in wellies. Needless to say, pictures were taken for Instagram. During the tour, we got to hold a goat, get our Little House on the Prairie on, eat some fancy strawberries, and learn a little bit about government over-regulation of the pasteurization processes. Buy local, y’all! And besides, Walmart will never let you hold a goat.

With good country air in our lungs and Thursday’s excess sweated out, we hit up the field house at The Citadel to take in a Lowcountry High Rollers’ bout. The gal at the counter asked if we were VIP and we told her our moms say we’re very special (then confessed we were covering this event for City Paper); thus we were granted a wristband and entry into heaven. Heaven, when you’re in your 20s and broke, is access to a room full of all-you-can-drink Holy City IPAs, limitless cookies and ham sandwiches, and unobstructed views of tough girls with awe-inspiring gams. We don’t really understand roller derby, but we got some quality shouting done. Turns out “GO FOR THE THROAT” is sufficiently neutral and enthusiastic, which was great, because everyone in attendance (including small children) looked like they could have killed us with minimal effort. Since the bouts were exhibition games, everyone was a winner, but we like the High Rollers odds against any out-of-town takers. Fort Knocks told us that they have rec league on Sunday nights, so who knows, maybe we’ll be strapping on skates and pulling ha

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