Those fine September nights. Makes you feel alive.
Tonight, I had planned on going to the game by myself. As much as I was in denial, I was planning on paying my last respects to the Brewers season, spending some quiet time alone, and singing dirges in the dark. Except my buddies Josh and Sam from Maxie’s wanted to come on down. We ate some spicy Hungarian sausages and drank a six pack apiece before we went into the game.
Inside Miller Park, we saw CC pitch his ass off for seven innings. I drank whiskey, and rye. Then they put in Éric Serge Gagné… and of course, I cheered for him… there was skepticism… And he got out of the inning! With no runs scored by the opposition! The Good Guys won tonight, folks.
In a perfect world, they would have showed the final outs of the Cubs-Mets game at Miller Park — as in the Ravens preseason game where they showed the Michael Phelps race. But instead we learned of the Mets loss in the parking lot — “Mets lose!” “Mets lose!” — snapping the towels they gave us at the gate.
The Crew is now even with the Mets with four games to play for the Wild Card. And here now, I want to tell you part of a story about a trip to Key West. In which I sing karaoke at the Two Friends Lougne.
I was in Key West with my high school sweetheart and five of my best friends ever, and we were in a karaoke bar, the Two Friends lounge, underage drinking, late into the night.
When I met Will Leitch, Deadspin editor emeritus, earlier this year, there was karaoke at the Milwaukee Ale House. We cheered him on, and he said he would only sing if it was Meatloaf (presumably “Paradise by the Dashboard Light”).
In Key West, however, my boys and I sang a Backstreet Boys song, or an NSYNC song (who can tell the difference?) and because the cocktail lounge was so small, we walked back to our table in the back of the room via the outside sidewalk.
On the sidewalk, we heard the approaching sound of sirends, getting closer and closer, until a Ford-F150 series Big Ass black pickup truck came screaming down this tiny-ass street at about 80 mph. In close pursuit was a cop car, another cop car, another cop car, all of a sudden out of the alley another cop car.
“Yeah!” we screamed, running out into the street and cheering on the police chase. Then we realized that one block up the street was a dead end in front of the A&B Lobster House, because there was the Atlantic Ocean. The bigass F150 paused momentarily, busted a Y-turn onto the sidewalk and barreled back down in the direction of the cop cars.
A cop who had left his car and started approaching the car had to dive and sommersault out of the way. He popped back up and started firing his pistol at the truck, which was T-boning a cop car, plowing it aside and speeding in our direction. We all ran back into the Two Friends loungue and ducked under tables.
All throughout the shootout, the act that followed me & m’boys kept on — some girls singing “American Pie.” That’s a long-ass song. Like, nine minutes. These girls were singing the song throughout the entire shootout, and they seemed a little perturbed that the entire lounge cleared out, rushed back in and ducked under talbes — but they had no idea what had traspired.
That’s about what happened tonight. We fucking rocked and rolled, and there was a shoot-out, while somebody else sang “American Pie” somehwere else in the night.
And us good ol’ boys will be drinkin’ whiskey and rye — at least until tomorrow night, ’rounds about 9 p.m. when we will either gain or lose a game in this death race 2008.