We no doubt operate on quite different levels of morality codes. First off “heavily” is very open to interpretation. Second, I do not recall the piece including any references to lampshades being worn, people passed out, arrests, public urination, etc... Some no doubt off key singing and few poorly executed dance steps. But no gendarmes.
What we have is a group of men, soldiers, under a massive amount of pressure day in, and day out. Pressure that one cannot begin to imagine unless they have been there. So they are in Paris letting off steam and drinking. As Wilf noted “It's really irrelevant.”
But you're right, they're not “20 something year old kids here...” they have responsibilities and stresses no 20 something year old can ever even fathom.
“The general's staff is a handpicked collection of killers, spies, geniuses, patriots, political operators and outright maniacs. There's a former head of British Special Forces, two Navy Seals, an Afghan Special Forces commando, a lawyer, two fighter pilots and at least two dozen combat veterans and counterinsurgency experts.”
No doubt plenty of talent at quaffing ale in various and sundry pubs.
“By midnight at Kitty O'Shea's, much of Team America is completely s***faced. Two officers do an Irish jig mixed with steps from a traditional Afghan wedding dance, while McChrystal's top advisers lock arms and sing a slurred song of their own invention. "Afghanistan!" they bellow. "Afghanistan!" They call it their Afghanistan song."
Alcohol bonding sessions are older than the Legions, just ask Ken!
"McChrystal steps away from the circle, observing his team. 'All these men,' he tells me. 'I'd die for them. And they'd die for me.'”
Doesn't seem like McChrystal was “s***faced” and probably acted more in the role more akin to a big brother watching over his younger siblings to be sure the envelope wasn't pushed too far. The kind of man other men die for.
"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."
We aren’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints;
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Chuck him out, the brute!”
But it’s “Saviour of ‘is country” when the guns begin to shoot;
An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please;
An’ Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool,you bet that Tommy sees!
The error I see here was in allowing a scribbler, who never spent a day in his life in uniform serving his country in war, a glimpse into the intimate world of the combat veteran on liberty.
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