Upon arriving, it was obvious Sherwood had a good call going as the drunk had driven through a service station and crashed into a wall. Sherwood had the driver's door open and was commanding the fellow out of the car and the driver was replying with a marvelously complete vocabulary of vulgarities implying all sorts of acts to be performed on the Eastsider.
As I walked up, Sherwood looked at me and said, "You take his head, I'll go in the other side." So as he went around and opened the passenger door, I politely told the drunken SOB to get out. The disheveled fellow just locked his hands on the wheel and proceeded to describe acts to be performed on me this time.
Pinning his hands with my left, I reached around his head and grabbed his chin. With Sherwood breaking the drunk's hold on the wheel and pushing as I twisted his head (the driver's, not Sherwood's) and pulled, the drunk spilled out and immediately went from rigid to fully alive and active...The rodeo was on!
Several intense seconds later we had the fellow cuffed and on the ground. As soon as the threat was controlled, Sherwood and I began searching the apparent drunk; something wasn't right. He hadn't felt right, smelled right, or acted right. He was cold and sweaty, stinky, and violent...but only until controlled and then everything just stopped. After several seconds, Sherwood found the answer on a chain around the driver's neck: a medical alert. The fellow was a diabetic.
Just a few minutes later the guy was apologizing for fighting and cursing and crashing; he was totally recovered...well, almost totally. Sherwood and I were amazed at how hard it was to tell drunk from diabetic, and thank God we noticed it and got the paramedics there ASAP.