Bling Bling, its American Sports!
As I sat on the bus from DC to New York on Wednesday evening, with my blood/alcohol level slowly returning to pre-Saturday night levels, I tried to piece together quite how badly I'd fallen off a wagon I was so nearly going to get on in Philadelphia.
Ah, that was it, the Vodka Martini. Which soon turned into 2 and 3 and a couple of vodka cranberries, which at $1 tip per time meant I was still under the price of a normal drink! It felt good to have something pure, strong and with a decent flavour in me rather than that dull bloody lame-arse beer stuff. G was talking shop with the barmen and we got to chatting about the website so the measures increased when I said I'd make them famous.
We crossed the bridge into New Jersey and stopped off at the 'Bread Board' for a Philly Cheese Steak (a staple food like kebabs are to us) made from sliced beef, cheese and onions with salad in a long roll and a pickle and chips on the side. Tank here (G's mate) being the top man he is, gave them to us for free.
We then went onto the Beirut Stadium in Haddonfield. Beirut is an ingenious drinking game involving a table tennis table, some cups, some beers, a table tennis ball and a fat load of drunken swearing and posturing.
The idea is to stand on one side of the table and 'drop bombs' into the opponent's cup of beer which in turn has to be downed. Apparently it was called 'Kabul' for a while and 'Baghdad' never really took off so it's still called Beirut. The stadium is in a bloke called Walsh's back yard and is an open sided wooden arena complete with a DJ Booth and twin heaters at each end for those chilly winter evenings.
While gleefully telling me he'd 'kick the English outta ya... at Beirut' Walsh gave me an NBA headband which somehow ensured I looked more European and would encourage everyone else to beat us more.
Which it didn't, 1st game we whipped him and Roy so bad that Roy vomited out the back of the stadium.
OK so fair enough we lost the next two but for a while I had a 100% win ratio in the stadium you built beeeatch. Roy and Walsh, voted most hateable opponents 2003 by the New Jersey locals. I liked 'em, they were like Jay and Silent Bob. Without the Silent.
Next day we didn't even have time to be hungover as we started tailgating at 11 am at the Philly Eagles new 70,000+ seater stadium. G gave me a Philly Eagles shirt and I gave him his laugh for the day by saying 'Marvellous, I look like a Rapper.' Anyway, tailgating involves standing in the car park drinking beer and talking about football for at least two hours before the game. I think it was there I formulated why I haven't been getting 'happy' drunk. I think its beer. Beer is great for having 1 or 2 then carrying on as normal. But if I want to get wasted (happy drunk), spirits is where its at.
It seems not everyone agrees with me though.
Well, what can I tell you about American 'Foot' ball. Well, like our other young colonies, they don't actually kick the 'ball' using their 'foot' often (if that were the case it'd be called soccer) instead preferring to carry and throw it in short bursts of action. Short bursts of action which last on average between 6 and 10 seconds at which point play (and the clock) stops and they huddle together and talk about what they're going to do next for about a minute.
Now as someone who isn't a massive sports fan (unless it involves a high degree of cool or personal risk) that's between a 1/6 - 1/10 'play to bored' ratio. As if that isn't enough, they also have 'Time-outs' which involve fucking around for even more time as apparently a minute isn't enough time for them to say 'You go long' or 'You go wide and throw it to me.' Honestly, if you don't believe me, watch it on TV. I guarantee you won't see anything real-time, its all slo-mo to try to make it look interesting.
In its defence, G man told me it's more like chess than rugby as each man plays against his opposite all at once. Then there was that there were more penalties in this game than any in the last 51 years (that's dull 15yrd penalties not heart stopping England/Germany ones.) Also we had seats up in the gods so I couldn't see the Cheerleaders. (actually when I stepped out up there, my brain went back a week and I honestly put my hands on my ribs to check my cutaway and reserve handles!) There was a minute on the clock when we left to beat the crowds back to the post-match tailgate. We did OK as that last minute lasted for over four days.
After watching the sun go down over the Lincoln Financial Stadium or 'My Church' as G calls it, we went back to the hotel for the free cocktails. Later, we met another couple of G's friends in a bar next door, one of whom said he knew where the Philly Eagles were heading to party that night. About 11pm we went out to a club called 'Suede' in Central Philly.
It was like walking into one of those videos on MTVBase. Dark browns, gold lights, chocolate baby boom boom bling honey honey. One of the Eagles was sitting at the bar by himself. G's mate knew the barmaid (thats how he found out about it) so we got a couple of rounds of large vodkas for free. By the time we'd drunk them the place was full of huge 6ft tall, 3 ft wide black football players with diamond rings and Rolex's. G was pretty impressed (he'd written the idea off when we came in to only find one of them) and his mate was almost wetting himself every time one of them walked passed. Donavan McNabb, Bobby Taylor, Deuce Staley they kept rattling off names. They looked at me and said "You have no idea who any of these people are do you?" I just shrugged my shoulders and carried on drinking my Nth Vodka and whatever.
Around 1am, Alan Iverson turned up with his entourage. Apparently he plays for basketball and is one of its richest stars. Which wouldn't surprise me as the guys with him were decked out in huge diamond rings, saucer sized diamond and jewel encrusted Rolexes and cell phones that, at a guess showered rubies while they rang Bling Bling. A.I. himself had a necklace which drooped down to his stomach made entirely from pebble sized diamonds. Which obviously didn't make him happy as he stood in the corner looking bored. Or cool. Maybe he felt cool and detached but he just looked bloody miserable.
Apparently having all these people in one bar just doesn't happen, I've been informed that even when I don't know it, I'm still a lucky bastard! After clocking up 15 hours on the big drinking clock, we both went straight home. To bed. And nothing else happened. And you can ask G too. He'll tell you exactly the same.