Post by Coach T on Sept 19, 2006 13:30:04 GMT -5
Every week i'm going to try to post a fond Bona memory. Enjoy the stories!
-Coach T
Drinking The Big Dance: The 2004 NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament.
Let me set the situation for this event. About a week before the big dance started, Mike, TheDean, Millet, and I were drinking on a Thursday night in the 'Semi Friendly Bar' as usual. Normally we stroll into the bar, and face the glares of the townies that frequented the questionable joint we called home on most every weeknight.
Tonight however felt different. As soon as I walked past the heavy wooden door I could feel, no smell the electricity that came with a new drink special. The glares we were conditioned to ignore were now smiles. We all walked in, and stopped, caught off guard by this show of affection for us undergraduates from the local university.
We continued to our normal routine, ordering pints of cold beer, shots of southern blues, and a request for darts, for the shabby dart board in the back of the bar. We were served by our usual bartender, Lisa. Our shots didn't make it back there; they rarely left the aged cherry wood that they were poured upon. Lisa poured them full, not the kind of shots to be transporting around the glorified hallway, not even safe to pass behind your back. The liquor was harsh then sweet as we breathed out the aftertaste. We slammed down our glasses, nabbed our pints of Blue, then shuffled to the broken down booth, patched with duct tape, and jukebox we called home.
Our beers didn't last through the darts game, they rarely did. I took my shots at the board, and then took my glass to be filled. As Lisa tapped the keg for a new pint I fumbled in my pocket for my pack of smokes. I clicked open my Zippo to light it, and noticed the new scribbling on the drink specials board.
"Watch the NCAA games here! 25 cent Bud or Bud Light Splits. Over time = half price!"
I rubbed my eyes, blinked and looked at the board a second time. The writing was still there. I got clarification from Lisa, and ran to the back of the bar to break the news.
The plan was set. That Thursday, we would get up for class, but probably not go. Hop in my car, and drive it to the bar knowing full well that I would not be driving it back. (I've driven buzzed, but even I knew when to draw the line at that point.) Get to the bar around 11:45 AM, and begin the insanity.
The week leading up to Thursday was exciting. We knew we would have to condition our bodies to be able to make the 15 hour burn we were planning. Actually, I don't remember much from that week. But I do remember having a hard time sleeping that Wednesday night knowing what was going to happen the next morning. It felt like General Tso's Chickening Christmas!
My alarm went off at 9:50AM. I had a class at 10. I didn't go. I wouldn't have paid attention and would have probably left early. I stumbled out of bed, and made an Irish coffee, with more Bailey's Irish Creme than coffee. Mike rumbled down the hall with excitement. "T! You know what today is!" We knew. We took it as a physical challenge. You always hear of the guy that starts drinking at 4 or 5 in the afternoon, and they are usually the first guy to pass out at the after hours party. We were not going out like that. We were in it to close the bar and keep going.
We pushed the door open and saw two people already sitting. We walked past them and then I stopped Mike. "You know we will be in these seats for over 12 hours, so we should choose wisely." We each picked our stool, and settled in for the Tour De France of our drinking careers. The buckets came fast, almost too fast. I kept track of the number of splits we drank on a Bass Ale cardboard coaster with scribbled lines and dashes. After the first game we knew we were in for a wild night. By the end of two hours, we had BENT 8 splits each. A pace that wasn't about to continue.
Millet showed soon after the buzzer sounded marking halftime of the second game. He started at zero and had ground to make up. He attempted to. One bucket, then two and before we knew it he was close, or within 3 of us. Mike and I looked at each other, then back at our poor friend. He was treating the beer like a fourth grader treated the mile run in gym class. He sprinted. The worst thing he could have done. By the end of the third game we were eating and he was snoring with a leg propped up on the bar and his head resting on it. I marked the embarrassment on the coaster. He had downed 20 at the time of passing, and had the lead. We both caught and passed him before he came to.
Around 10pm everyone was awake and ready to eat again. Buffalo wings were the food of choice this time, and not a very good one. I had 5 then had another beer, and I was at the breaking point. I had to stop eating, or stop drinking. Knowing my priorities, and my own limits, I put down the food and filled up my
bucket.
The trouble really started at that point. The Dayton / DePaul First round game had reached the end of regulation tied. Lisa rang a bell and shouted, "OVERTIME!" We knew this was the end. An overtime game meant that the already low price of 50 cents was
then cut to 25 cents, making buckets $1.50 instead of $3. I ordered up, and the others also added one of their own.
I should have seen it coming. Two rings of the bell and a siren later, the price had dropped to 12 cents. DOUBLE OVERTIME! I said, "General Tso's Chicken this. We are taking advantage of this. Hey, Lisa, Hurry! Ya, um quick question. How much for 3 cases of splits?" She thought I was joking. Then she saw my excitement and knew I was BENTenly serious. "Nine Dollars" she replied, after thinking over the numbers in her head. "I'll do it" I told her. We each took a case, and put it in the back of my Pathfinder.
Let's do some math at this point
3 x 24 = 72 Ok so that's 72 bottles of 7oz. of beer.
72 x 7oz. = 504oz. There is 7oz. in a Bud Light split bottle.
504oz. / 12oz.= 42 Ah so you're telling me I got 42 bottles of beer for 9 General Tso's Chickening dollars? If you find a better deal you better buy more than I did!
The final buzzer sounded on the hated Dayton Flyers, and our evening. The final totals were in. Mike had 34, Millet came in with a questionable 35, and I put down 39 therefore winning the coaster.
The ride back in the cab was fuzzy, and I don't remember finding my bed, but I will never forget that day in the Semi-Friendly with the boys. It made me recall days of playing hooky from middle school to read comics, or to catch a day game at the local minor league park. It had that excitement for me. That pure insanity of getting into something that could have real consequences, and escaping to conger the next limit breaking plan, it makes life worth living.
-Coach T
Drinking The Big Dance: The 2004 NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament.
Let me set the situation for this event. About a week before the big dance started, Mike, TheDean, Millet, and I were drinking on a Thursday night in the 'Semi Friendly Bar' as usual. Normally we stroll into the bar, and face the glares of the townies that frequented the questionable joint we called home on most every weeknight.
Tonight however felt different. As soon as I walked past the heavy wooden door I could feel, no smell the electricity that came with a new drink special. The glares we were conditioned to ignore were now smiles. We all walked in, and stopped, caught off guard by this show of affection for us undergraduates from the local university.
We continued to our normal routine, ordering pints of cold beer, shots of southern blues, and a request for darts, for the shabby dart board in the back of the bar. We were served by our usual bartender, Lisa. Our shots didn't make it back there; they rarely left the aged cherry wood that they were poured upon. Lisa poured them full, not the kind of shots to be transporting around the glorified hallway, not even safe to pass behind your back. The liquor was harsh then sweet as we breathed out the aftertaste. We slammed down our glasses, nabbed our pints of Blue, then shuffled to the broken down booth, patched with duct tape, and jukebox we called home.
Our beers didn't last through the darts game, they rarely did. I took my shots at the board, and then took my glass to be filled. As Lisa tapped the keg for a new pint I fumbled in my pocket for my pack of smokes. I clicked open my Zippo to light it, and noticed the new scribbling on the drink specials board.
"Watch the NCAA games here! 25 cent Bud or Bud Light Splits. Over time = half price!"
I rubbed my eyes, blinked and looked at the board a second time. The writing was still there. I got clarification from Lisa, and ran to the back of the bar to break the news.
The plan was set. That Thursday, we would get up for class, but probably not go. Hop in my car, and drive it to the bar knowing full well that I would not be driving it back. (I've driven buzzed, but even I knew when to draw the line at that point.) Get to the bar around 11:45 AM, and begin the insanity.
The week leading up to Thursday was exciting. We knew we would have to condition our bodies to be able to make the 15 hour burn we were planning. Actually, I don't remember much from that week. But I do remember having a hard time sleeping that Wednesday night knowing what was going to happen the next morning. It felt like General Tso's Chickening Christmas!
My alarm went off at 9:50AM. I had a class at 10. I didn't go. I wouldn't have paid attention and would have probably left early. I stumbled out of bed, and made an Irish coffee, with more Bailey's Irish Creme than coffee. Mike rumbled down the hall with excitement. "T! You know what today is!" We knew. We took it as a physical challenge. You always hear of the guy that starts drinking at 4 or 5 in the afternoon, and they are usually the first guy to pass out at the after hours party. We were not going out like that. We were in it to close the bar and keep going.
We pushed the door open and saw two people already sitting. We walked past them and then I stopped Mike. "You know we will be in these seats for over 12 hours, so we should choose wisely." We each picked our stool, and settled in for the Tour De France of our drinking careers. The buckets came fast, almost too fast. I kept track of the number of splits we drank on a Bass Ale cardboard coaster with scribbled lines and dashes. After the first game we knew we were in for a wild night. By the end of two hours, we had BENT 8 splits each. A pace that wasn't about to continue.
Millet showed soon after the buzzer sounded marking halftime of the second game. He started at zero and had ground to make up. He attempted to. One bucket, then two and before we knew it he was close, or within 3 of us. Mike and I looked at each other, then back at our poor friend. He was treating the beer like a fourth grader treated the mile run in gym class. He sprinted. The worst thing he could have done. By the end of the third game we were eating and he was snoring with a leg propped up on the bar and his head resting on it. I marked the embarrassment on the coaster. He had downed 20 at the time of passing, and had the lead. We both caught and passed him before he came to.
Around 10pm everyone was awake and ready to eat again. Buffalo wings were the food of choice this time, and not a very good one. I had 5 then had another beer, and I was at the breaking point. I had to stop eating, or stop drinking. Knowing my priorities, and my own limits, I put down the food and filled up my
bucket.
The trouble really started at that point. The Dayton / DePaul First round game had reached the end of regulation tied. Lisa rang a bell and shouted, "OVERTIME!" We knew this was the end. An overtime game meant that the already low price of 50 cents was
then cut to 25 cents, making buckets $1.50 instead of $3. I ordered up, and the others also added one of their own.
I should have seen it coming. Two rings of the bell and a siren later, the price had dropped to 12 cents. DOUBLE OVERTIME! I said, "General Tso's Chicken this. We are taking advantage of this. Hey, Lisa, Hurry! Ya, um quick question. How much for 3 cases of splits?" She thought I was joking. Then she saw my excitement and knew I was BENTenly serious. "Nine Dollars" she replied, after thinking over the numbers in her head. "I'll do it" I told her. We each took a case, and put it in the back of my Pathfinder.
Let's do some math at this point
3 x 24 = 72 Ok so that's 72 bottles of 7oz. of beer.
72 x 7oz. = 504oz. There is 7oz. in a Bud Light split bottle.
504oz. / 12oz.= 42 Ah so you're telling me I got 42 bottles of beer for 9 General Tso's Chickening dollars? If you find a better deal you better buy more than I did!
The final buzzer sounded on the hated Dayton Flyers, and our evening. The final totals were in. Mike had 34, Millet came in with a questionable 35, and I put down 39 therefore winning the coaster.
The ride back in the cab was fuzzy, and I don't remember finding my bed, but I will never forget that day in the Semi-Friendly with the boys. It made me recall days of playing hooky from middle school to read comics, or to catch a day game at the local minor league park. It had that excitement for me. That pure insanity of getting into something that could have real consequences, and escaping to conger the next limit breaking plan, it makes life worth living.
