This is a night in the life of me.
I left the office at 5:30, dragging and sluggish from a long day at work. Got home at 5:45, laid down in front of the TV with VH1 Classic on, and took a nap.
At 6, I got up and drove out to volleyball. It was brutal, looking straight into a hot bright sun. Easy to lose the ball. And that's as good an excuse as any for why we lost all three games. But the beer was cold. So that was good.
After our match was over at 7:30, I drove back north to shower and get ready to go out. Got home, turned on the Twins game, saw that they once again couldn't score any runs, and turned it off. Too maddening. Showered, and left at 8 for the bars.
At 8:30 I got to Marks for Continental's birthday party, out in the beer garden (or is it called a wine garden there? I don't know, that place was fancy and stuff.) Ordered a Michelob Ultra, because just like in the commercial, I'd just exerted myself physically on the court and people of my calibre drink low calorie brew. Plus it was the only beer on the menu that I recognized.
After sitting outside in absolutely gorgeous weather, we left at 10 to go right next door to the Underwood Bar -- or as I call it, the Flannelwood -- for really really cheap beer. That's the beauty of the Dundee neighborhood. You can have a expensive culturesque place, and if you walk right next door, you can get a $3.50 40 OZ beer mug/personal pitcher.
An hour was enough for most of our crew. So at 11, we filed out, but Continental, Dick, and myself (plus some cool guy whose name I forget) stood out in the street talking for a while. We were verbally accosted by a gentleman wanting change. We laughed about it. And then Continental and the guy I can't remember left. Dick turned to me and said,
"Pitcher at The Homy?"
Absolutely. You bet.
So at 11:15 we headed to the Homy Inn. Monday nights are $1 off all pitchers, so the Bud Light pitcher was real cheap. And we sat at the "old baseball cards" booth, the one with 80's cards affixed to the table and a sheet of glass placed on top to "protect" them, as if slapping high-stick glue to the back of them somehow left them in a state of needing to protect their value. Anyway, so Keith Hernandez, Dale Murphy, George Brett, Joe Morgan, Frank Viola, Donovan and myself sat at the booth and drank the pitcher, and at bar time, we cleared out.
At 1:15 I stopped by McDonalds for a burger and fries on the way home. I'd played volleyball, and I'd drank those two Michelob Ultras so I owed it to myself. They were tasty.
And at 2am, I went to bed, to wake up at 7:15 to start it all over again. Just another night in my life. Good times.
You bet.
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