T. GAMBLE: Here’s a High Life to a long life

Last week after visiting Yankee land in Erie, Pa., I returned home to the astounding news that Agnes Scott, 110 years old, credits her long life to drinking three beers and a shot of Johnnie Walker Red every day for over 70 years.

She says her doctor told her, and I quote, “Agnes, you must drink three Miller High Lifes a day.” I assume she threw in the Johnnie Walker Red just for good measure.

I immediately concluded, among other things, that I need to find her doctor.

My doctor never says anything nearly so reasonable. He says things like “eat more broccoli” and “quit eating fried chicken.” Well, I’ll quit eating fried chicken when they pry my cold, dead hands from a crispy chicken breast, which also, according to my doctor, may not be all that long.

You see, doctors as a whole are pessimists. They never look at the bright side.

You could take a doctor to the Playboy mansion and he’d complain the air was too cold. They’ll give you stats like there is a 20 percent chance you will die of stroke if you continue to eat fried chicken. Why don’t they instead say there is a 80 percent chance you will not have a stroke if you eat fried chicken? See? Doesn’t that make you feel better?

But no, they tell you, you are too fat, don’t exercise enough, and you need to walk more. Doctors love to tell you to walk more. If doctors ruled the world, the car would never have been invented. We would all just walk everywhere. I haven’t bothered to tell them we all walked in the 16th century and folks lived to be about 50, so how did that work out for everybody back then?

And, oh my God, eat greens, eat squash, eat salad, don’t eat salt, don’t eat meat, don’t eat bacon. The next time a doctor tells me not to eat bacon, they’ll have to put the office in lockdown mode and call the SWAT team. I will not leave the office until delivered 10 pounds of freshly cooked bacon and I’ll make the doctor eat it with me.

This whole vegetable thing drives me crazy. A cow eats nothing but greens and I have yet to see one of them top out at a 110 years old.

The article I read about Agnes indicates her caregivers have “recently discouraged her from drinking alcohol.” That advice probably also came from a doctor that will die before age 75. Telling Agnes to change her drinking habits is like telling Jack Nicklaus to change his golf swing.

I’m like Agnes. If I do make it to 110, I’ll be dad-gum if I’ll be sober sitting in the nursing home while some doctor tells me to walk more. Agnes said when she reached 100: “I went to the mirror to thank God that I was still here. And I thank him every morning.”

I did not realize until then that God was in the mirror. I guess I need to spend more time praying in front of the mirror. Of course, maybe she went to the mirror to make sure she was still there.

Drinking three beers and a shot of Johnnie Walker Red will cause you to do those sort of things.

If Agnes’ routine for reaching 100 is really the way to make it to 100, then where I live has one hell of a problem. My neighborhood will be filled with 100-year-old drunks shooting liquor and drinking beer, as opposed to its current state of 40-year-old drunks drinking beer and shooting liquor.

I’m sure Agnes is probably just an aberration, but just in case, excuse me while I have another Miller beer.

Email columnist T. Gamble at [email protected].