P E N N A N T F E V E R G R I P S H U B ! ! !

Celtics, tonight; Bruins, tomorrow!

Three Words: Celtics and Bruins

It's a little-known fact that baseball is the only sport wherein the defense has possession of the ball.

586 Bistro/Hyannis: Won’t Get Fooled Again

Okay, so Harvey paid 25 bucks to a local radio station in exchange for a certificate good for $50 at the 586 Bistro in Hyannis. Neither one of us had been in that location since it once had been Roobar. We’d each gone to the old place on our own, and nothing drew us back. Clearly, it was more of a nightspot than a bar, which is fine. Just not our cup of tea.

Anyway, the appeal of this new incarnation was their advertised half-price pizzas on Monday and Tuesday, as well as FREE appetizers at the bar from 4-7 on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. If we were to go on a Tuesday, then odds were in our favor that this might be a good deal. For Harvey’s 25 bucks, there could be a couple of $12 pizzas for only $12, plus some free apps, plus some paid upscale beers. [Quick math: $50 certificate minus $12 = $38 of beer (divided by two)] then pay tax and tip.

Only five restrictions were printed on the certificate: (1) No cash back, (2) Dine in only, (3) No early birds, (4) tax and gratuity not included, and (5) certificate expires one year from date of purchase.

So, we appeared there at 4:45p, and we were the only patrons other than some dude sipping a beer at the bar. The cook was at work in the open kitchen, the wood was burning in the oven, and the bartender welcomed us as we sat down at the bar. “Pizzas are half price tonight,” were the first words out of his mouth.

We ordered a couple of upscale brews (Stella and a Noble Pils) for starters, looked at the menu, and began to chirp away. This was not a place for nachos, skins, onion rings, wings, or pickled eggs. So, we went for an order of calamari (those fuckers eat submarines!), a margarita pizza, as well as a pepper, sausage, onion combo. All of these were stated on the menu, so we were not deviating from their suggestions.

Another round, but I went to a Bud Light, because they had no PBR.

Didn’t see any free apps or business people or anyone else.

Squid came and it was very good. Lightly floured, crisp, and with a (dare I type this) remoulade which was delicious. Yes, a barfly CAN have exquisite taste, and we told the bartender (AND yelled out to Dave) how great it was. (We yelled to Dave that he had to make certain he got his share of our 5% tip! Ha ha ha)

Another round.

Pizzas are here. Though they were 14” crusts, there was barely any crust at all. “Thin” does not begin to describe the crust, but that’s not a problem. The pizzas, too, were great. We stated that. In a league of their own, but not very filling.

Could have used a free app here. A beer nut. A Cheez-it. How about a pretzel stick? Wasn’t OUR idea. But we said nothing about their not being evident.

We yapped with the bartender, reminisced about bars long gone from Main Street in Hyannis, and inspected some bottles of the bubblegum Stoli behind the bar. Brooklyn Vodka is a Stoli limited edition by Spike Lee. Said to taste like apples and ginger. Good for girly drinks, I supposed.

Another round, perhaps, and a request for the tab.

Harvey produces the certificate and the barkeep announces “That doesn’t cover half-price pizzas.” We did not argue, but we imagined it also did not cover the free appetizers.

We did note that the certificate did not state that restriction, and we also went online with a cell phone to show to the bartender the website that heralds the pizza price and the free apps. Politely, we explained that it was not OUR idea to determine those prices and to advertise them.

Now, a wise businessman would have said, “You’re right. Let’s take $12 off the tab.”

Did I mention that the tab had come to $71 and change?

Well, it did. We paid that. We tipped 20 percent of the pre-tax tab, and we told them how good the food was.

We did not bother to break down the price of the beers, but it was hefty. Harvey did notice, though, that the other guy at the bar had conveniently disappeared during our polite discussion of their view of their own promotion. We suspect he might be the owner.

Bottom line is that the radio station notes that 100 of these things were purchased for the Bistro, and that means there are 99 others out there with a big surprise in store.

Moreover, just remember that the Bistro is an upscale restaurant that happens to have a bar with high margin drinks.

Lemme see: Duck Inn Pub, Elbow Room, Nineteenth Hole, Kian N Rylee’s, Jack’s Lounge are all much better deals.

Fool us once, shame on you. Fool us twice, shame on us. Won’t get fooled again.

"Harvey and I have things to do . . .

" . . . We sit in the bars . . . have a drink or two . . . play the jukebox. 

"Very soon the faces of all the other people turn towards me and they smile. They say: 'We don't know your name, mister, but you're a very nice fellow.' 

"Harvey and I warm ourselves in these golden moments. We came as strangers. Soon we have friends. 

"They come over. They sit with us. They drink with us. They talk to us. They tell us about the great big terrible things they've done and the great big wonderful things they're going to do. Their hopes; their regrets. Their loves; their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. 

"Then I introduce them to Harvey, and he's bigger and grander than anything they can offer me. 

"And when they leave, they leave impressed. 

"The same people seldom come back, but that's — that's envy, my dear. There's a little bit of envy in the best of us. 

"That's too bad, isn't it?"

— Elwood P. Dowd

What's in YOUR beer glass?

Forget the CapitalOne commercial that asks: "What's in your wallet?"

More importantly: "What's in your beer glass?"

For starters, there'd better not be any milk in there. [Note: Soy milk is NOT milk. It's juice! A soy plant has no breasts!] Pouring milk into a beer glass will forever sully that container, and it must be disposed of under federal guidelines. [cf. the U.S. Sullied Glass Act of 1952]

Second, there must be no lipstick traces whatsoever around the rim, especially if your bartender has placed it empty upon the bar. [cf. Lindsay Lohan, plaintiff v Moe Szyslak, defendant]

Third, beer must be the primary ingredient. Other acceptable enhancements include: 1.5 oz. of whisk(e)y or tequila; under extreme conditions, no more than three ice cubes; and, on occasion, a dash of salt.

Finally, there should be absolutely no fruit or vegetable of any species or form whatsoever. No lime, no cucumber, no broccoli rabe, no pepper sauce. By the same token, there should be not even any such reference on the label of the container of origin; i.e., NO blueberry, pumpkin, cranberry, etc.

START THE PRESSES ! ! !

Is it me or do the so-called "news" organizations all believe that no real news happens over the weekend?

Case in point: The Sunday Cape Cod Times.

Now, let's have a show of hands here. How many were shocked, no SHOCKED to read the front page "investigative news" report in this morning's Cape Cod Times that revealed that most season ticket holders for Fenway Park and the Whatever-It's-Called Garden are held by corporations with luxury suites and topnotch seats elsewhere throughout the park?

I said, "Let's have a show of hands." Anybody? Hello?

Yes, I thought so. This ain't news to anyone here on this barstool either. Apparently, though, while you and I were sleeping soundly last night, the investigative team was hard at work pounding out all the details on this late-breaking story so that the guy without a muffler in that beat-up jalopy could come roarin' down your street before sunrise to drop the first edition at your doorstep. Oh, wait. There's only ONE edition, and that appears to have been written last Wednesday.

As you might have suspected, I haven't been to a Sox game since Tom Brunansky roamed right field.. . the first time. And I haven't felt like buying a Pats ticket since they blew up Schaefer Stadium. Of all the owners of New England sports teams, none ranks higher on my list than the Kraft family, but I have the best owners' box right here beneath my butt. Still, it's not news to read that tickets prices soar and are held only by corporations. (Just wait until the President learns about THOSE demons!)

But I digress. Bottom line is that newspapers are folding, because they serve no current purpose. It's bad enough when the internet can post the news right now, but these papers become their own worst enemy when they set their front pages days before.

Goodnight, Chet. Goodnight, David. Goodnight, John Boy. And let's put the lights out altogether on the Times Sunday edition.

Let's grab a beer while the sun's still shining.

What will they think of next? (Shhhhh. I don't wanna know.)

See, Harvey, I told you (3/24): "No beer in Fenway this season, because the Sox lost the opener!"

So what if they lost another opener on April 1st, it’s still a great joke (almost as great a joke as the Sox themselves). 

Oh, lighten up and admit that you loved the Olde Town team much better when they always found some way not to win. Today, they’re just a mob of mercenaries passing through town on their way to the bank, rather than the Hall of Fame. And is there any mercenary who looks any goofier than John Henry does in the stupid hat? When I was a kid, we all knew that “John Henry was a steel drivin’ man, Oh Lord. John Henry was a steel drivin’ man.” But this John Goof Henry is a certifiable chardonnay sippin', brie munchin’ goof: essentially, John Forbes Kerry without the hair.

All of which brings me back to the topic of the lost opener. [Note: Never judge a barfly by the joke s/he tells; only judge a barfly by the joke s/he tells more than once.] Lost opener or not, now John G. Henry now wants to sell mixed drinks throughout Fenway (and not just in the snob boxes). Apparently, they want to begin with next week’s home opener (just in case they lose that one, too).

According to the Boston Globe, “At the hearing last week, Red Sox officials said the mixed drinks available to fans in general seating areas would contain no more alcohol than the beer that is currently sold.” That, of course, should raise an alarm for every consumer, barfly or not. It reminds me of the retort by the honorable Moe Szyslak, proprietor of Moe’s Tavern. Whenever anyone orders a “scotch and water,” Moe feels compelled to note: “My scotch IS scotch and water.”

So, what might we expect from John G. Henry now? Some sort of bastardized bubble gum booze for the masses fully ordained by Ben Affleck (and what a national treasure he is, right)? Raspberry mojitos? Banana banshees? Brandy Alexanders? Grasshoppers? Sombreros? Or will it be a limited list: Tangueray and tonic, Jack and Coke, or Finlandia with a splash of Cranberry? Surely, life will be so simple. And the price is sure to be cheap. Be certain to tip your waiters and waitresses.

Face it, the only kind of mixed drink that ought to be serving at Fenway is a boilermaker. And if they won’t serve you that, then at least the goons ought to refrain from frisking you in search that hip flask full of Four Roses. (Let the goons buy their own!)

As for me, I’ll take some peanuts and one of these Haffenreffers brewed at the old JP brewery.

For closers, consider this: What would Lou Gorman drink?

a. Wildroot Cream Oil
b. Sterno
c. Vanilla extract
d. All of the above