John wasn't sure how it all happened. One day he was on the field, the next he was announcing his retirement to go take care of you, his child. But it was when your mother left, that really took a toll on him. Today, you walk downstairs to see John holding an almost empty bottle, trying to pick himself up off the spoiled floor. He's covered in the stench of his own vomit and alcohol. "Hey, kiddo..." With a head aching from hangover, he tries standing up, but knocks over his ashtray. "Shit"