Dave is…
Finally achieving the main goal of his trip.
Last fall I drove the United States for six months. I covered 23K miles from coast to coast and up and down. I visited some of the countries most beautiful areas I searched out the strangest things America had to offer and I met tons of strange people. But one thing eluded me.
Like Arthur and his Knights I was on a quest. And my Holy Grail oftentimes seemed as elusive as anything the Knights of the Roundtable sought. I was seeking Natural Light on draft. You laugh. I can hear you. But it was not as easy as it seems. Even at the Anheuser-Bush brewery, the guardians of George Washington’s heavenly elixir, the Natural Light tap was notable absent amongst the dozens of beer samples available.
So everywhere I went I stayed vigilant. But from the fanciest wedding reception in Westchester, to the racist Lil’ Rebel Bar and Grill in Tennessee I came up empty. Until today. Today I discovered that magical place where the Natty flows like wine and the women flock like the salmon of Capistrano and it was right in my own backyard all the time at The Stadium.
I traveled all that way just to discover that all I ever needed was in the Northend all along. I am pretty sure that I could definitely market the story of my trip to Hollywood now cause every damn romantic buddy comedy and young teens movie ends with that realization.
And it wasn’t just Natty Light on draft, it was ONE DOLLAR NATTY LIGHT DRAFTS! I bowed my head in supplication. Sweet Lord Jesus come down to save us! Can I get an Amen? AMEN! I said can I get an AMEN?! AAAAAAAAMEN! Preach on Preacher Man. HALELUJAH. Praise the Lord and pass the Natty. Reach out and feel the sweet alcoholic drops of his mercy and praise his holy name! (If only they used Natty for the blood of Christ instead of that cheap wine I would be the best damn priest that church ever saw. More enthusiastic than James Brown in Blues Brothers and with one 10th the child molestation of the Brooklyn diocese.)
It was only fitting of course then that the Stadium’s new Natty Light Tap was manned by the hottest thing this side of Mary Magdalene (and we could only hope as purchasable). She was even nice enough to turn a blind eye so I could take the sign off the wall. That bad boy is going right over my bed in NYC.
(On a side note the walls of my apartment are going to be decorated with that sign, my certificate of ordination, an original He-Man animation cell, my 1st Annual Russian National Disc Golf Championship commemorative disc and a Charles Manson poster. If I aint the most awesomely random interior decorator you’ve ever met then you know some strange people.)
The Natty, while the absolute highlight, wasn’t my entire day. It began with me once again foolishly thinking that a round of golf in blister inducing heat would be a good idea, I think cause I was trying to avoid any more packing.
So the old man and I did nine holes out in Greenview. I haven’t played with him in ages (again other than the aborted round at Disneyworld), so long in fact that his clubs had cobwebs on them.
Neither of us were very stellar. I was less of a duffer than Sunday though maddeningly inconsistent but I hit a beautiful shot on the par 3 6 hole that got me my only birdie and secure my skins win. I drilled an eight iron like a mortar over the pond landing with such force that it drove itself a half inch deep into the green. It was so deep and impressive I layed down and posed with it but the Old Man, true to form, managed to cut the ball out of the photo. Sigh. I think it was out of spite cause he was losing.
Don’t feel bad for him though. Post match he drowned his sorrows with his weird wine on the rocks thing and floating in the pool while I went into town to get a birthday dinner with Risse and his mother (what started the delectable chain of events that ended with me finally discovering Natty Drafts.)
Not all is lost. I can see the ball in your sunglasses. Nice shot!