1968, Cincinnati. A fifteen-year-old with a fake draft card and a bar tab at Lonnie’s Lounge is already a professional misfit. Sandy B. didn't just drink; he drank like a pig, white-knuckling a chaotic childhood until he found his father’s basement stash. For two decades, his life was a series of blackouts and "safe syndrome," where disaster dropped on him like a cartoon anvil. He was a thief and a bully who lived in an abandoned shack on the riverbank, illiterate and weighing 300 pounds, until he finally hit a wall of nine DUIs and a wrecked Mercedes.
He was salvaged by Greg, a tough-love sponsor who didn't ask—he commanded. Sandy prayed to "Greg's Higher Power" because his own was too mean. He went from a toothless animal being gang-tackled at a meeting to a man with a graduate degree in social work. He traded the robbery of his mother’s robe for the return of her trust, proving that desperation is the only fuel that works.
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