Sunday, August 16, 2009

No. 60


Beer: Bass Ale
Date: August 12th, 2009

Place: People's Republik, Cambridge, MA


I'm not a bar game kind of guy.

I lack the skills necessary for pool. I always feel my bravado isn't quite there and that everyone can see through me when they say You play pool? and I say Yeah and they suggest I break and then I'm found out when I can't just break already.

I don't do poker. I find it mind numbingly boring and I don't like to gamble. I have limited money as is, and prefer not to give it to the man with a mustache and sunglasses.

I watch the people who play the machine that uses the hand to pick up (not pick up) the stuffed animal/adult DVD and wonder where they get that many quarters. I never can find them when I need a laundromat.

I thought darts would be in the same category. But they weren't. I can get into darts.

With a few stipulations:

a) I can't be drunk (usually not a problem). My aiming ability is too low and my tosses too high when the beer is flowing.
b) I can't be playing anyone with swagger. And with swagger I mean someone who actually plays. And by someone who actually plays, I mean the old man with the mustache who has moved on from poker and is now trying to hustle a college kid in a graphic tee.
c) Best results come when playing someone like Tony - who is good enough to keep the game moving along but not great enough to leave me in the wings while he runs the board.
d) When the primary purpose isn't darts.

I'd met Tony for a beer and we talked about our wives (we met he and his at our pre-marital counseling), his career (Navy first, now several balls in the air), my blog (this one), the Red Sox (losing), and after two hours, we thought it would be a fine time to toss a few darts, talk a good game, drink a pint, promise to do it again.

I lost. But only by a single bulls eye.

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