Cheers

Three brothers and a brunette walk into a bar, and the bartender says, “May I take your order?”. My brother, Greg, responds, “We’ll take six beers”.

I hate jokes, but reality is funny. Although Greg and his wife, Molly, were living in Connecticut at the time, during the visit (intrusion) from his brothers Mike, Tom and Ben, we decided journeying to Boston’s Fenway Park would be fun since we are all baseball enthusiasts. I refrain from the word “fan” because the word “fan” is derived from the word fanatic and reserved for those whom  wish to wear shoulder pads, helmets, face, chest, or ass paint. Don’t get me wrong, I love football, I just recognize why my wife loves baseball more. She’s less terrified at the ballpark, and I can’t beat up a person who spills beer on her while she or he is wearing a fabulously stupid looking helmet.

Boston’s temperature that day was, I believe, 175 degrees, give or take a couple degrees.  Thus, we were all parched and required some beverages.  So, we went to a bar called the Bull and Finch, also known as Cheers from the television situation comedy.

When Greg ordered the double beers, the bartender was a bit mystified because there were only three guys and Greg’s wife, who ordered an Ice Tea.   The  bartender’s  reply was simple.  “I tell you what guys…I”ll bring you the equivalent of 2 and a half beers each only if you can guzzle them without coming up for air.  If you can do it, the next round is on us.”  Reluctantly, Tom and Mike declined.  Happily, Greg and I accepted.  Returning with the gigantic beers, and with a smirk on his face, the bartender, I think his name was Moe or Sam, said “drink up”.  I am not proud of this, but Greg and I terminated those beers much like Mike Tyson would dispose of opponents or pigeons.  When the bar dude stood wide eyed while ponying up to the bet, I tapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Don’t worry, we were going to drink it like that anyway”.  He received a nice tip.

Over our shoulder, a nice Canadian couple (did I capitalize canadian…..should that be a proper noun?……)  decided to attack the same experience.  With a frown on his face, the bartender agreed to provide the male portion of the couple the same beer.  To make a long story even longer, his beer was mostly consumed by his beard and the rest was consumed by the sidewalk. His girlfriend spent the rest of the afternoon with us.  We kept swilling.

After devouring wonderful food and watching a great game, we were forced to go back home. Greg and Molly’s rented place was fabulous.  It was about 17 square feet, but it had a pool. The landlord had simple instructions for our family….  “No one can dive into the pool!!!”.   Greg had simple instructions for the landlord. “Don’t tell my brothers not to dive into the pool.”  Upon arrival, the landlord stated, “I just love your brother, Greg, and his wife, Molly, but  please don’t dive into the pool.”  (read that with a Boston accent….it’s much more funny). With Greg shaking his head, Tom and I immediately did a swan dive into the pool, surfacing as cackling dolphins only to await their eventual feeding of herring and laughter.

She recognized our crazy behavior, and stupidity, but accepted our gift of laughter.  All was well in the world.  Cheers.

Ben Gannon

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16 Responses to Cheers

  1. Tom Gannon says:

    Remember it well. Loved the place and the time I had but not the insane humid temp. Brother Mike’s choice was to sleep in the pool the last night we were there. He did it on an air mattress. I suffered in bed all night long sweating profusely. When we got to the air conditioned airport in the morning, we were in heaven.

    Would do it again in an instant if I had the chance.

  2. Gregory J. Gannon says:

    Molly, my wife, has reminded me of several other stories of that weekend. (My wife was sober and pissed off most of that weekend and has remained that way for most of our 13 year marrige) I was preemptivly tossed from the restaurant atop The Prudencial building in down town Boston for no better reason than wearing sandels. However, Molly pointed out that being cross eyed drunk, drooling and having a conspicuously large wet stain in the front of my shorts didn’t help much. As we were walking away, Tom, in his wise and observant wisdom quipped, “We can’t go anywhere with you. You F—-ng caveman.”
    So, the weekend continued, next by walking away in a drunken stuper from an Irish pub in Hells Kitchen NY. NY. and leaving my wife behind in the ladies water closet. She found us not far down the Ave by looking for three bald spots stagering along aimlessly. A Yankee game where (and I’m not kidding) we spent a combined 500$’s on beer betwwen the four of us. Beers are expencive and it was at least 105 degrees. Scott Brochious hit the game winning homerun in the bottom of the ninth. Too end my brothers stay on the east coast we finished up by getting evicted from the Seaman’s Inn in Mystic Seaport Conn. The waiter said politly, We cannot serve you any more oysters, we don’t have enough for the rest of the guests and no more beer. I don’t think your drunk, he said, but the manager has never seen anyone drink this much so to play it safe he wants me to cut you off. Mike then asked if we could just sit and enjoy the AC but the waiter said,” I think, for your sake, you should leave. Their are many more things that I could write about but I will let Ben do that.

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