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The Jester’s Quart
April 28, 2006
The Jester's Quart: Sports Bar Exam
There are two questions that seem to dominate Hollywood these days:
What will the spawn of Brangelina be able to do first: walk on water or cure lepers?
Why aren't people going to the movies anymore?
Depending on how the numbers
are crunched, there are varying degrees of a "box office slump" that's affecting
every genre of film. Well, except for horror: any movie where a high-school dude
can get the chick sitting next to him to clutch his arm for security from the
sheer terror on the screen is not only "slump"-proof, it's critic-proof as well.
Some of the major studios think this slump can be attributed to the
ever-increasing technology of home entertainment. They contend that if a family
or an individual is spending between $5,000 and $10,000 on a home theater system
with a plasma widescreen and surround THX sound, there's really no reason to
venture to a crowded multiplex for "the movie-going experience"; unless it's for
a specific event film. Thus, many of the must-see summer blockbusters are still
drawing swarms of people, but the majority of films are now "wait for DVD" and
"wait for cable." (Or, if it stars Jimmy Fallon, "pray for death.")
The same goes for the sports viewing experience. There was a time when the only
way a fan could catch an out-of-town game on a big screen television was to head
down to the local sports watering hole and hope to God that the barkeep would
have the good sense to flip one of the TVs to your satellite station for three
hours. Now, you have that satellite station. You have that television in your
basement, with better sound equipment. And you can drink your own beer instead
of paying $3 for a bottle of Miller Lite. The only things missing are those
adorable chicks in football jerseys that are always hammered by halftime and
start doing really goofy dances and flirting with everyone in sight during the
second half. Then again, their overprotective, hair-trigger aggressive
boyfriends are missing, too...
For all the reasons previously stated, I haven't had the need to go to a sports
bar to specifically watch a game in quite a while. But I made the trip to a
suburban Washington, DC sports establishment this week to catch a Devils/Rangers
playoff game with some friends.
It was a reminder of the intense, and at times surreal, sports bar viewing
experience.
We arrived about a half hour before face-off, and none of the TVs in the joint -
there are roughly 70 spread around the place - were tuned to hockey. This was
troubling. Many times, especially in college, I've ventured out to catch a
Stanley Cup playoff game at a local bar, and many times I've been told that
there just wasn't enough interest to tune one of the TVs to hockey. I remember
one season the Devils were in the Eastern Conference Finals, and the bartender
refused to turn on the game because the Baltimore Orioles were playing a regular
season game in May. IN MAY!
At the sports bar this week, our waiter came over to ask for our drinks before
the game. One dude at my table quickly identified that he had "Joey Lawrence"
hair, and proceeded to do the "Whoa!" from "Blossom" for the next minute or so.
But he was only half-right. I warned him that the information I was about to
share could cause a serious case of what I term "the giggles" every time this
kid came back to the table during the course of the evening. But even with that
warning issued, he was ready for my observation, and here it was:
"He looks like the love child of Joey Lawrence and Vin Diesel."
The table exploded with confirming laughter. He did have
that face made of putty, the nose, and the vague Italian features of America's
greatest thespian. Only he was about 5-foot-4, which made the combination even
more hilarious. We spent the next five minutes debating whether to nickname him
"Vin Lawrence" or "Joey Diesel." Naturally, we settled on the latter.
As face-off drew closer, we corralled Joey Diesel and asked him to turn on the
Devils game. "Which game?" he pondered. "Devils and the New York Rangers," we
replied, "on the TV right above our table."
Several minutes later, a Tampa Bay Devil Rays/New York Yankees game appeared on
our set.
It was the ultimate insult: baseball instead of hockey, Devil Rays instead of
Devils, and a flippin' Yankees game to boot. We decided to go over Joey Diesel's
head right to the guy controlling the TV, and soon we were ready for Game 3.
This sports bar is famous for being the "home away from home" for Buffalo sports
fans, especially Bills fans during the NFL season. So a cadre of Sabres fans has
filtered in and set up shop around the largest television in the bar, ready for
Buffalo and the Philadelphia Flyers' game. There was a corner for the Philly
fans, a few clad in those garish orange jerseys, watching the same game. A group
of Montreal ex-pats gathered around another set to see their game against
Carolina. It was official: there were more hockey fans in this bar than there
were at any single Capitals game this season.
(No Rangers fans, though. I guess their bandwagon had a flat on the way to the
bar.)
I love the brief interactions between fan bases in a sports bar. Sometimes
you're worried things could get nasty later in the evening, if spirits have been
crushed and enough beverages have been consumed. But if everyone's chill, it can
make for great moments - like the one I had in the crapper.
It was between periods and I was on my fourth beer. It was time to hit the head.
I went into the men's room and there were four options: an occupied toilet (not
an option, obviously), another stall, and two urinals that were close together
in the corner. Really close together. Uncomfortably close together. We're
talking Brokeback Bathroom here.
I chose the open stall and realized why it was open: there was something that
had stopped it up to the rim. I'm thinking someone tried the Mega Chili Burger.
I'm pretty sure someone tried to use a plunger on it and the handle burned off.
It was one of the most disgusting, toxic messes I had ever seen, and I grew up
in Jersey.
So I waited for this dude to finish at one of the Love Urinals and took my turn.
Soon the door swung open and a Sabres fan walked in. He first went to the
unoccupied stall, and let out a "Whoa!" Not a Joey Lawrence "Whoa"; more like a
walking-in-on-your-parents "Whoa!!!"
"Don't go in there," he said.
"Way ahead of you," I said.
With no other options, he walked over to the urinal to my right. I'm telling
you, there's more room in those shipping containers they use to sneak illegals
into the country than there was at this urinal. I needed a tension-breaker.
"So, you guys are up 2-0 on the Flyers?"
"Yeah, but they're giving us a fight tonight."
"Man, I hope you knock those f-kers out."
"Me too."
Mission accomplished. I walked over to the sink.
"What's your team?" he asked.
"I'm a Devils fan"
"Oh, well then I guess I should thank you for knocking the f-cking Rangers out."
"It ain't happened yet, but thanks in advance. You know, the way things are
breaking, we might see each other in the next round."
"I don't care who we have to beat as long as we can kick Montreal's ass at some
point."
"Good luck with that."
"Yeah, you too."
And with that, we left the bathroom and went back to our respective corners. The
conversation was a hockey fan conversation, the kind that reminds you that even
if the rest of the world doesn't give a damn about your sport, there are people
who understand so completely that they'll have a chat about it while standing
practically foot-to-foot at a pisser.
The rest of the night was the quintessential sports bar experience. Lots of
food. Lots of beer. Lots of cheering and booing and swearing. And a few people
who came for a nice meal that kept shooting the hooligans dirty looks.
It was a reminder that I love watching sports in a home theater set-up. But
there's something about the sports bar that makes a big game even better.
But I'll only go for the blockbusters; everything else, I'll wait for the DVD...
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Published on the web and www.SportsFanMagazine.com since 1997, "The Jester's Quart" is a weekly satirical look at sports, pop culture and why NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman is a jackass. Columnist Greg Wyshynski is the Senior Editor for SportsFan Magazine in Washington DC, and the Senior Sports Editor for The Connection Newspapers of Northern Virginia. His book "Glow Pucks and 10-Cent Beer: The 101 Worst Ideas in Sports History" can be ordered now. Email Wyshynski at jestersquart@hotmail.com.
