One of my favourite comic writers, the Irishman Brian O'Nolan (who published a number of comic novels under the pen-name Flann O'Brien, but whose major contribution to the world's stock of life-enhancing silliness was his Irish Times column 'The Cruiskeen Lawn', which he wrote almost daily throughout the middle decades of the last century, under the alias Myles na Gopaleen), enjoyed the same dangerous love-love relationship with drink that I do. Alas, with him it got rather out of control, and it had completely ruined his health by his fifties.
He once observed of his student days at University College, Dublin: "The only return my father ever got for his considerable investment in my education was the assurance that I had infallibly laid the foundations for a career of heavy drinking, and could be relied upon always to make a break of at least 50 [at billiards], even with a bad cue."
My sporting 'vice' was snooker rather than billiards, and I never got quite that good. In general, though, the similarity is striking, alarming.