The Yankees Fall to Cleveland

I am sure that there are a lot of 1762ers who are sad to see their team exit from the post-season. How could this happen? The team with a $200 million-plus payroll has fallen to some upstarts from Cleveland. If you read any of the NY papers today, columnists are referring to the loss as the end of an old dynasty.

Can this be true? Will the Yankees need time to rebuild and regroup? Is Joe Torre really to blame? Apparently George Steinbrenner thinks so!

I did hear from a Cleveland fan late last night, after the last of the fans left the hallowed Yankee Stadium for the last time this year. The fan I refer to worked at 1762 for awhile. He was a bartender from Australia. Of course I am referring to Croc. And BTW, he says hello to his friends, and to the Yankee fans he says,

"F~@K YOU!!!"

Lets hear from you Yankee fans. What do you think was the problem? Where was A-Rod's bat? Can we blame the bugs for the loss in Game 2? What needs to be done for next season? Should Joe Torre lose his job? And what about Croc? How does his comment make you feel?

Let the flaming begin!

The Night Tom Died

On a spring night, that was not all that memorable for any other reason, one of the patrons at 1762 left the bar to walk 150 feet to his front door. He never made it.

I didn't know Tom and never had the occasion to talk with him. We would say hello, but the conversation never ventured beyond that point. Don't know what he did for a living, don't know anything about his family, the car he drove, not anything more than his first name, and that he drank tap beer. Bud, I believe, but even of that I am unsure.

Tom was quieter than the average 1762er. He was a tall man in his 50's, wore thin black framed glasses, and had a shock of very gray hair that appeared to have a mind of its own. I imagine that his selection of pubs had a lot to do with the geographic location, which as I mentioned earlier was a scant 150 feet from his front door.

As a drinker, think of the implications of that. You never have to drive drunk. Never risk a DWI, never god-forbid kill innocents, or yourself for that matter, as a result of an impaired state behind the wheel. This set up for Tom was nearly foolproof. Nearly I say, because on this night Tom was not to be spared, not to be saved by the "perk" of having a watering hole across the street from his home.

On the night he died, Tom drank alone, and I am sorry for that. Croc was tending, and Shelley and I were drinking. Croc, Shelly and I huddled in a group at the end of the bar closest to the front door. We were playing bar dice for much of the night, while Tom stayed at the other end of the bar. It never occurred to me to ask Tom to play along with us. I am sorry for that as well. I can imagine now how he may have felt, alone. Upon reflection he appeared as almost a ghostly figure as his gray hair shimmered in the dim light of the bar. He had less than an hour to live at this point.

As the time of his death drew closer, Tom drank a couple of pints of tap beer. He looked lost in his own thoughts, even a little confused at some point. I learned later that this date of his death, was in fact also the date of his birth. Maybe that was the reason for his puzzled countenance as he watched us from from his end of the bar. This was Tom's birthday. And he was drinking alone. No one to talk to, no one to share his day with. Just the three of us, and we acted like he wasn't even there. Of course, he never would be again.

When it was time for him to go, he walked down to "our" end of the bar and said to Shelley in a melancholy, and very child-like way, "It's my birthday. Can I have a birthday kiss." Shelley gave him a hug and a kiss and we all wished him a happy birthday, though we knew it had been anything but for Tom. Just how unhappy, we wouldn't find out about until the next morning.

Shelley called me the next day, and said, "Tom's dead." It did take a second to process this information, my brain struggling to escape a wicked hangover. Then it was like a kick in the gut. Tom left us, safely made it across the street and walked up the driveway to his front steps. Popular opinion is that when he reached the stairs to the front door he fell backwards and hit his head. The blow killed him.

We don't know if he lived for awhile after falling, but the visualization of this man lying on the floor, his life force bleeding from him with every beat of his heart disturbs me. While we sat and laughed and joked and rolled the dice, there was a man who needed help just a few feet away.

For what it's worth, if I could go back, Tom would have been rolling dice with us and laughing and joking. People like to say that when it's your time to go, it's your time to go. If this was in fact Tom's time to go, I wish we would have made him feel more like one of us, less like an outsider, celebrated his life with him if only for those couple of hours that he sat alone. His last hours, so alone.

Short Stay

I ended up stopping in last night after all. Shelly was working, breaking in a new bartender. Nice kid. Familiar with1762 and its characters since she plays for the dart team.

Despite the broken AC, the temp inside the bar was comfortable. Both doors were open, fans a-blowin'. Lots of blow[in] going on from the looks of the runny noses and white residue in the dried mucus. Whatever. Not my problem.

The bright spot, at least for me, was having a perfect Big Buck Hunter Pro game. I nailed all 45 bighorn's and amassed a score of over 28K points. Hooray for me. I have noticed that one of the younger patrons, goes by "ANT", has been challenging my dominance of the game. I will have to stay sharp. I have definitely noticed that I am wasting $$$ if I play the game after more than 2-3 drinks. Definitely have the best reaction time when sober.

Here's a challenge! Beat me ANT! 15 perfect sites. Perfect streak to match...Hehehe I am such a kid.

In other gaming action, the golf game has been replaced by a bowling game. Shelly had something like 19 of the top 20 scores, and was second only to "ERL". I'll let you figure out who that is. Anyway, four of us played against each other. Me, The Met Fan, Shelly, and our other resident biker, Jon. I had played this game once before. Not wild about the controls, or lack of it. Jon and Met had never played before. And obviously, Shelly has some experience. When all was said and done, Jon took the high score on his maiden voyage, which apparently pissed Shelly off. Definitely a good 1762 moment. And it was appreciated as they have been far and few between.

The Limpin' Pimp made an appearance. He did his usual, let me buy the bar a drink thing. I declined because this guy is probably the littlest weasel and biggest scumbag I have met at 1762. Eff him. And his fucking money. And his fucking heroin. And his fucking arsenal of guns. And his fucking limp on his gangrene infested hoof. Wikipedia sleaze and there he is. Ready to hook your sister/daughter on junk for his own perversions. The story of Herrin, one of his heroin slaves from the Far East, I will save for another day.

Whilst at the bar I conversed with Croc via text message. Apparently he has been fired.

So, with the appearance of Gin, the new bartender, we can reduce the total number of hours per week for Shelly. The hour total stood at a whopping 95 hours. Gin is taking Tuesday day shift. So now Shelly is left with a paltry 87 hours per week, and still no days off.

Happy Labor Day

Here we are, the last officially unofficial day of summer.

Thank God...As far as 1762 is concerned anyway. AC has been broken more often than not it seems. Shelly keeps showing me the part behind the bar for the AC unit. Hasn't moved in days.

Some quick catch-up:

Croc, the Aussie legend, may be shuffling off to Buffalo. It seems that he misses the big ass lasses from up north! Eff the BILLS!

Shelly got an unexpected visitor on Sunday night...I'll let her tell you about it!

And, OK, I have to come clean here...I stopped in Friday night...Dino was there...UGH...I hate to do this...

I talked to him.

I don't know why. I still find the assault on Croc deplorable. Ugh.

The posts have been fewer and will continue as such since the new semester has started. I have a pretty full workload ahead. Taking 16 credits. I will probably need to utilize the brain cells I have left. College textbooks are hard enough to get through without a hangover. So things being what they are, my visits will probably be reduced to 1 or 2 per week, which is a drastic reduction from 7 or more per week.

Friday Night Alright for Fighting?

Continuing my protest of the decision to allow Dino to continue drinking in the bar, I stopped at the tavern for about 60 seconds.

I saw Croc's assailant at the bar and didn't stay. I just don't feel like drinking with the guy. I hope no one gets punched tonight.

I could use the sleep anyway.

Zzzz!

Dog Fighting and Ass Grabbing

Monday Night Football preseason game was a Superbowl XLI rematch. The ongoing saga of the Michael Vick dogfighting got more air time during the broadcast than the game did. Seemed that way anyway. So a conversation starts up among me, Croc, and Cokehead Fred.

Cokehead Fred is not a regular at the bar. I have seen him in here a couple of times. Not such a pleasant guy. Very intense. Must be the coke. Has a kind of reptilian look about him. Like he would eat babies. His own even. During the course of the night he will disappear for ten minutes at a clip, come back to the bar, nose will start running shortly thereafter.

So we are in disagreement over whether or not the NFL will take Vick back after he takes the plea to the dogfighting charges next week. Croc and I say,"No Way!", Fred disagrees. He thinks Vick is too big a crowd draw. My opinion is he will alienate more fans than he will bring in if allowed back into the NFL. Croc says that the NFL commissioner, Goodell, will not take him back, especially so early in his tenure.

While the game is going on into the mid 4th quarter, Hector and Ellie, a couple of regs come in. We all know each other, greetings are exchanged. For clarity's sake, Hector and Ellie are a "couple", and all parties present were aware of that fact. Between fifteen and twenty minutes later I hear Ellie yelling my name from behind me. I turn and Hector and Fred are about to mix it up. I get in the middle, Ellie is already trying to hold back Hector, so I hold back Fred.

Croc ran over to Hector and Ellie to try to sort things out. Cokehead Fred had the audacity to slap Ellie's ass, which was bad enough, but he did it right in front of Hector. And then wanted to be right about it. To quote Dave Chappelle, quoting Rick James, "Cocaine is a helluva drug!"

Hector tried to give Fred an out by telling him that he was out of line and that if he ever did it again, he would beat his ass. Instead of eating the humble pie, Fred retorts, "I don't know why you're making such a big deal about it."

So while I am holding back Fred, I am telling him that there is no fucking way he is right in this. And that if he slapped my wife's ass I'd react same as Hector. And Croc echoes the sentiment.

When Fred somewhat comes to his senses he starts yelling over to Hector that they are friends and he is sorry. Too little, too late seems to be the running theme at 1762 Broadway these days. Fred is instructed to finish his beer and to leave. Which he did. It was the best move he made all night.

I am getting sick of people who do what they want to do, when they want to do it, without showing respect for anyone and then saying they are sorry afterwards. When we apologize, it should be for something we did by accident, or for doing something without realizing the implications of our acts while engaged in them. I'm sorry doesn't mean shit if you are saying it because you got caught. Or acted in a way that is not socially acceptable, like a fucking Neanderthal.

Like Fred's apology to Hector and Ellie, when Michael Vick makes his public apology for his part in the dogfighting operation, it won't mean shit to me. I hope the NFL is with me on this.

The Toenail Chronicles - Not for the Squeamish!

Stopped in a little after 9 last night to have a couple of cocktails. Heinies and shots of Cabo Wabo. Croc was working, but he didn't look quite right. Kinda pale and pasty. I thought maybe he was constipated.

Biker Bob was present and accounted for after a week-long hiatus. How did he stay away so long? Seems that he has been working hard [so he claims] on a really old building in a place with no parking. We chatted a bit, he ruined a couple of my games of Big Buck Hunter, and then he headed home. Early start today at work.

Timmy was there as well. Always a good night when Croc is working and me and Timmy are drinking. And breaking Croc's balls. And drinking. And playing some good old music circa 1950's-60's. Sam Cooke, Neil Sedaka, and Booby Darin all made appearances.

Anyhow, conversation turned to Croc, and his pasty white appearance. It turns out he was in pain from an ingrown toenail. Someone stepped on it earlier that day in the bar. Talk about bad luck.

So I'm breaking his balls. C'mon, show me. How bad can it be. On and on. Finally he gives in and takes off his sneaker. His white crew sock had a blood stain right through. Then he takes off the sock. I can see the toe is partially bandaged. But the part that isn't wrapped looks like a piece of raw steak. Like a kebob cube you would skewer and cook on the "Barbie".

Now we stop breaking balls. Looks bad, maybe infected. I tell him I know a foot doctor, family friend kinda thing and that I will take him to get the toe fixed, amputated, whatever, in the morning. All that blood, pain, and rawness wouldn't deter him from closing up shop early. Standing on that ribeye of a toe had to hurt. But he wouldn't close up.

If it was me, with my civil servant mentality, I'd have called in sick, never mind stand on it all friggin' night.

I just got a text from him a couple of minutes ago...It read "Did toe. Bloody hurt." Crazy Australian.

When Dino Attacks

I stopped in last night. It was Croc's night and he was there serving up the usual intoxicants, less the Jameson, which was OUT OF STOCK! What is that about anyway...Fodder for another post perhaps.

During the course of the night Croc recounted an occurrence from Monday night. He was nursing a couple of wounds that were inflicted by Dino. In his estimation, Croc believes that Dino became angry with him over some statements he made that night. Croc took a punch to the head while scooping some ice behind the bar. When Croc came out from behind the bar, a scuffle ensued and Croc ended up being thrashed against the pool table.


Croc tells me that there were a couple of regs in the bar who saw what transpired.

Let me start with saying that I have always found Dino to be a likable guy. Right up until that switch is tripped. It's that one drink that sets him from fun and likable Dino to "Fuck 'em all" Dino. Most of us have had more than a few laughs with Dino, who is just as likely to poke fun at himself as he is at others. I've heard from more than one person about generous acts that Dino has performed for them. That's the good Dino.

BUT we have also witnessed those occasions where the bar gets thumped, the pool table dropped, and other times where belligerent behavior is exhibited. For me, this most recent incident crosses the line. In the past, I always found a way of dismissing the behavior of the evil twin Mr. Hyde because of the likability of Dr. Jekyll. Not anymore.

Anyone who has spent a couple of nights at the tavern while Croc is tending knows that he is an easy going, good-natured guy who likes to schmooze with his "Mates". I personally have found him to be a man of his word, a guy who doesn't BS, and one helluva boozer! If you ask his co-workers, they would be remiss if they didn't tell you how he has covered shifts for them on short or no notice. He should never be accused of not being a team player.

The point here is that a guy of character, while engaged in the performance of his dutiful employment, was subjected to a physical assault upon his person by a regular patron of the bar. What justification could there be for this? Is this acceptable behavior for 1762 Broadway?

I have this to say:

To Dino - You fucked up pal. And I know that you don't give a fuck but taking a swing at a guy while he is serving beer to thirsty customers won't win you any points with the hometown crowd. You lost me on this one.

To Croc - Don't let your guard down next time.