At the end of the night the skin on my thumbs was torn to shreds, there were red stains streaked across my shorts, ‘battle-worn’ barely began to describe either my appearance or my attitude. When the final Abita had been poured, the final head sucked, the final puff of powdered sugar faded into the air from a beignet, I emerged victorious. Yes, I went to the Where ya at Matt crawfish boil, and I won.
What’s that you say, you didn’t realize that crawfish boil attendance was a competitive sport? It’s more marathon than sprint, more chess than wrestling, more thunderdome than anything else. I have gone, I have seen and I have conquered. The spoils of my victory are that I return with five pieces of advice to help future warriors in their crusades against the masses of mudbugs.