Hot Potato

The origins of Hot Potato are not necessarily illustrious, nor dignified, nor really even disposed to anything beneficial when one is pressed to consider their virtue.  In fact, these so-called origins of Hot Potato are almost certainly steeped in nothing more than pouty-red-stained-lips and a real or imagined lack of glassware or otherwise drinking vessel. This assumption is on my behalf and is all I can offer as I can't really say for sure why or how this evil little activity came to be. Recollection of exactly where these origins were placed (apartment hallway, rooftop patio, backseat of someone's Mercedes...??...) are blurry, hazy at best, and the details involve so many persons, persona and places that documentation is sure to be rife with conjecture and outright lies. Not to disappoint but at this juncture hope of recovery may be lost. If someone were to find them, a heroic and possibly pointless endeavor, we would definitely, or at least for surely sort of be able to recount its fiery eruption into existence.   

You have most likely guessed that I am not talking about the scalding-hot foil wrapped baked potato thrown about between tender pink hands. Come to think of it I don't really know the origin of that little game either, and since it is impossible to drink an oven-hot-foil-wrapped-baked-potato, I surmise I never will. While I'm thinking about it though, the two do have similarities. Both partake in holding something for a few short seconds. Results of involvement of either can vary between giddy excitement and burning.  And while earnest excitement is abound in the prelim; anguish, tears and self-assessment usually follow both events. The Hot Potato I'm referring to is not something you search out. It is not something unto which you buy into, strive for, save up for, stay home for or give up date night for. No mama. If you find yourself involved in Hot Potato it's because it found you, the positives of this are truly hard to imagine.  
On with the meat, so they say. Hot Potato is by definition (relative of course) the opening, consuming and passing around of any bottle of alcoholic beverage between multiple participants until said beverage is finished. It is started at anytime, in any situation, with any beverage on hand. All that is required to start the grand event is for someone to yell, "HOT POTATO!!" Game on. Once the liquid has been successfully emptied, the group celebrates their achievement and erupts in glorious yells, shouts, and basic much-ado. This drinking and passing must be in one continuous rotation, otherwise the game halts to a premature stop and each individual is deemed unworthy and stands to feel deep resounding shame.  No one wants this, so in most cases the game ends in victory (also a relative term here). The hoopla while this is going on is quite a scene. Screaming, arm punching, face slapping are part of the game and indeed add to its festive nature. While a successful round of Hot Potato results in a win for the "group" there are "personal" wins and losses that must also be tallied. It is for sure the substance itself that determines your personal rates of win or loss and in this there are four categories of Hot Potato to consider.   

The Beer Hot Potato (the only suitable size for Beer Hot Potato is 750ml, otherwise the more appropriate "beer fly" is used with smaller formats) is likely to be an overall win-win for both the group and personal point charts, although gassiness and bloating may prove some peoples undoing. Wine Hot Potato is usually an all around winner on both fronts with volume format, alcoholic strength and a non carbonated medium making for easy gulping. Sparkling Hot Potato, the sweet cherry of Hot Potato, is the true purist's medium. The level of carbonation reveals a hint of challenge to the group and with more alcohol than beer, one can be left eerily teetering on the wasted side of the way-too-much-line. Depending on the size of the group and the size of the sparkling wine bottle, multiple passings may take place, concentrating the ingestion of sweet nectar. It is only the determined that will survive this ordeal. The holy moly of holy of Hot Potato is the magnum of prestige cuvée Champagne. Producers such as Krug, Bollinger and Salon prove noteworthy and points are added for rareness and excessiveness of price tag.  What these points do, what they mean and who tallies them is anyone's guess. The Sparkling Hot Potato is usually, although not always, a win-win on both group and personal fronts.  

The Spirit Hot Potato is reserved for only the brave, the foolish and the utterly-devastatingly-wasted. The Spirit Hot Potato usually results in a loss for the team and for the personal tally too, but exceptions are known to exist.  The brave test themselves, some sort of bizarre endeavor into self reassurance of strength, wins and losses vary here. The foolish are usually first time participants into this third tier of the guzzle-game and it proves more often than not to be a loss (loss of stomach, mind, vocabulary and common sense). Strange things happen to the foolish. The wasted are for sure true losers in this game, destined to end up with no idea, and no way home until the morning shines down the truth of their bad bad behavior.    

These, from what my mind can bolster up from the cobwebbed stairway of my brain, are the details and where-a-bouts of Hot Potato. I hope this slant, slight, somewhat sloppy recount to the joys and tears of Hot Potato serves you well. Note the highs and the lows and beware of the Hot Potato and all the things it may bring (broken toes, lost wallets, band aids, babies, sore thumbs, broken cabinetry, black eyes, unaccountable drug use, memory loss, unexplained boat outings, something called "Magic Land," emergency bathroom abductions, interventions, help lines,  throat squirrels, overall bruising,  relationshiplessness, restless leg syndrome, etc...).  It can at once bring all the joy of the known universe into one room for one moment, uniting friends and foe alike and thus be revered for its spur of happiness.  Although,  with a flip of that coin, you'll see the fiery dock of pure evil unfolding past your eyes and down your throat with nothing but a green tinted glass blur on the horizon. HOT POTATO!!!