HHGR Roundup

HHGR's 15th Hole. A 187-yard, par 3, known as "Tierful."

Our annual golf outing at Heritage Hills Golf Resort was a rousing success. Well, the parts that I remember were pretty cool. Allow me to explain.

Last year, me and my friends Badger, Vinnie, and Fish cleaned out the bar's Shot of the Day: Washington Apples. Together we drank a total of 26 shots before our round, and while we were feeling pretty swell, we were sober enough to still play. This year, it rained cats and dogs in the hours before our tee time, so we thought we might as well settle in for a day's worth of drinkin'.

The next thing I know, I am sharing my pints of Guinness with shots of the following:

• Yager Bombs
• Kamikazes
• Screaming Nazis (Badger said it was like taking a shot of Crest.)
  
• Washington Apples (Three of them.)
  

I was well on my way to a new liver when it happened: the rain stopped and the sun came out. Oh frak, I thought, now I have to golf! And it wasn't pretty. The only thing I remember from Sunday's round is that I only ended up playing about eight holes, kept using the wrong club - trying to hit a ball out of the rough with my driver - and spent the rest of the day passed out while Fish was Driving Miss Wyatt.

Oh, and I remember the accident.

Picture this little scenario. The course's fifth hole is a short par three with a highly-elevated tee box. The road down to the green is steep and winds around a few times before the bridge that crosses the creek. Every year, my idiot friends and I gently "push" the front cart down the slope, in hopes of a spin out. Of course, no one ever thinks that someone will get hurt.

This time, someone did: it was Fish and I. According to the accounts - I didn't see the event, thanks to the alcohol - Badger pushed us down the slope, and rammed us right before the bridge. Our cart flipped over and landed on the driver's side. Fish slammed into the pavement, and I landed on top of him. Fish's finger was a little gnarled, and I suffered a cut that ran from my right ankle to my right knee. Still hurts like hell.


Other golfers ran over and tried to put the cart upright, while still more asked if Fish and I were okay. We were, and Badger was completely apologetic. It was dumb, but we're dumb guys, so . . . Ironically, my inebriation probably saved me from serious injury. I didn't react immediately to the crash, so I didn't try and break my fall with an arm or a leg. I broke my fall with Fish's back. Thanks, Fish!

The rest of the day couldn't get any worse, so after a late dinner, I went to my room and slept like the dead.

Monday was a much better day. I woke up on time, showered, dressed, and strapped on the breakfast feedbag. When my friends came down to the restaurant, we got together, went out to our carts, and waited for the tournament director to send us out. (For the record, there were close to 144 golfers at this year's tourney, which is set up by Badger and Deathlok's brother Sean.) We kept the al-key-hol under wraps and geared up for some serious golf.

Oh, the candids you capture when your friends are tipsy.

Unfortunately, we still stink on grass. We hit balls out of bounds, into the water, and onto other fairways, but we always have fun. We're are the typical Ugly Golfers, with little to no etiquette, and even less class. Most of us have no problem with ripping someone's wife during their backswing. I mean, we're not breaking 100, anyway, so why not enjoy the game?

Monday's round was uneventful. No drunkenness, no arguments, and no accidents. Fish was well to keep us behind Badger and Vinnie's cart all day. In fact, the only problem we faced was a big problem. A big problem with scales and a long tongue.

On the 16th hole, Fish launched a shot that came down near the creek. When we came to the location of the shot, we started looking in the creek and on the surrounding rocks for the ball. As I was walking down the creek bed, I saw this under a few large rocks:

Yeah, that's a snake in the center of the photo. I apologize for the quality, but my cell phone camera isn't the best. And, I wasn't getting anywhere near this thing. I was almost on top of it when I heard a loud hissing and saw the critter curl up and look at me.

Because I am a tough, big-city police detective, I screamed like a little girl, "Guys, get back!" When my pals asked what the problem was, I hysterically calmly said, "It's a snake. A big f**king snake!" Not one to believe me, Vinnie walked to my position, looked down, and said, "Wow, that's a big f**king snake!"

"I KNOW IT'S A BIG F**KING SNAKE! I JUST SAID THAT!!!"
When we calmed down a bit, we slowly moved away from the reptile and finished the round. I shot a 118, which is basically terrible, but we had a blast.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go find the Motrin.

Swing And A Long Drive!

L to R: Fish, Me (pre-diet), Vinnie, and Badger at the links.

It's that time of year again, kids! Time for our annual two-day golf trip in scenic York, PA. (Yeah, that would be Amish Country, gang.) My friends and I will be staying with 140 other golfers at the Heritage Hills Golf Resort. The trip, organized by Badger's brother Sean, includes room, breakfast buffet, two rounds of golf, and carts for less than $150. You cannot go wrong.

A few of my fellow bloggers will be there, including Deathlok and Grimjack, but this is not a social function, per se. You see, because when my friends and I aren't golfing, we'll be at the bar, drinking drafts of Guinness and taking shots of every liquor known to man. It's Heaven on earth. The fact that the weather report is showing thunderstorms on Sunday and Monday doesn't bode well for our golf games, but it bodes very well for our livers.

I realize the thought of me not being here scares the hell out of some of you - and gives most of you intense feelings of joy - but I am not leaving the blog dead in the water. The lovely and talented Jim from bRight & Early will be taking over in my absence. Please give him the same respect you give me. And by that, I mean call him a racist and a hate-monger. Heh.

I'll be back to posting Monday night . . . or Tuesday if I get really, really drunk.

NYC Pub Bans "Danny Boy" On St. Patrick's Day

Finally, an Irishman sober enough to make sense.

NEW YORK - It's depressing. It's not usually sung in Ireland for St. Patrick's Day. Its lyrics were written by an Englishman who never set foot on Irish soil. Those are only some of the reasons a Manhattan pub is giving for banning the song "Danny Boy" for the entire month of March.

"It's overplayed, it's been ranked among the 25 most depressing songs of all time, and it's more appropriate for a funeral than for a St. Patrick's Day celebration," says Shaun Clancy, who owns Foley's Pub and Restaurant, just off Fifth Avenue opposite the Empire State Building.

The 38-year-old, who started bartending when he was 12 at his father's pub in County Cavan, promises a guest free Guinness if he or she sings any other traditional Irish song at the pub's March 11 pre-St. Patrick's Day karaoke party. On other nights, guests will be rewarded with a surprise. (H/T - Yahoo!)

Free Guinness? Hear that, Grimjack? They're playing your song!

The Most Important Criminal Case In History

Sons of bitches!

450 Kegs Stolen from Guinness Brewery

DUBLIN, Ireland (AP) - November 30, 2007 - Irish police were hunting for a beer bandit who stole 450 full kegs from the Guinness brewery - the largest heist ever at Ireland's largest brewer.

National police said a lone man drove into the brewery - a Dublin landmark and top tourist attraction - on Wednesday and hitched his truck to a fully loaded trailer awaiting delivery to city pubs. Diageo PLC, the beverage company that owns Guinness, said the brewery had never suffered such a large-scale theft before in its 248-year history.

Police said the raider took 180 kegs of Guinness stout, 180 kegs of U.S. lager Budweiser and 90 kegs of Danish beer Carlsberg. Guinness brews both of those foreign brands under license for sale in Ireland.

Police declined to say whether the theft had been captured by closed-circuit surveillance cameras. No description of the suspect was issued, suggesting that nobody got a good look at him. (H/T - 6ABC)

I am hereby offering my detective services to the Dublin Police Department, and vow to make this case my top priority. I will not eat, I will not sleep, and I will not (of course) drink until I find the doers of this most heinous crime. No stone will be left unturned, no pub will be left unexamined, and no bathroom will be left unvisited. In short, I am forming a posse.

Who's with me?

Man's Weekend, 2007: A Retrospective

Yet another terrific MWE is now in the books, and a good time was had by all. Of course, it wouldn't be a Man's Weekend without a post-event wrap-up here at SYLG. And away we go . . .

Thursday, October 25th

Since Badger and Vincent couldn't get out of work early this year, we were forced to start MWE much later than usual. Vincent picked me up at 6pm, and we arrived at the shore house a little after 8pm. While driving down, I asked Vinnie what alcohol he brought with him.

His response? "All of it."

True enough, Vinnie brought sloe gin, amaretto, vodka, frangelico, and of course, whiskey. Thus, we had all the fixins of chocolate cake shots, Alabama slammers, and gimlets. Once we settled down - that took about three minutes - we broke out the cards and began the drinking games. Five of us plowed through a case of Guinness in a little over an hour. Ouch. When the black stuff was all gone, Vinnie made me one of his infamous Alabama slammers.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Thanks, Vin!

Friday, October 26th.

For those of you not in the Philadelphia area, this past weekend saw deluges of Noah-like proportions. When we awoke on Friday, no one really thought we would attempt to go golfing.

Unfortunately for us, we did - and it was one of several bad MWE decisions over the years.

When we were ready to tee off, it was obvious that we were the only morons on the course. It was cold and rainy, with high winds. Did you ever see Caddyshack, where the priest and Bill Murray play in the monsoon? This outing was much, much worse. My foursome included Fish, Badger, Vinnie, and myself, and when we noticed that it was raining horizontally, we knew we were in trouble. Simply stated, the holes were filled to the rim with water, there were small streams running through the greens, and you had to swim across the fairways.

When we finished the 9th hole, we looked longingly at the clubhouse. We didn't really want to quit - for fear of being called, um, "wussies" - but we were soaked to the bone. If we jumped into a pool, we would be less wet than we were. Vinnie was all for staying, but I think he was still drunk from Thursday night. Badger and I were considering quitting, so we turned to our moral center: Fish. We asked him if we should keep playing, and he smirked, shook his head, and deadpanned, "No."

We spent the next two hours dripping wet at the bar.

Once we got home, Vinnie took a shower in the bungalow. We rent the main house and the bungalow beside it. Like most years, Deathlok drops the ball with the owner, and the bungalow is missing:

• Heat.
• Electricity.
• Hot water.

When it's cold and rainy, a hot shower is a godsend. Vinnie, not wanting to wait in line for the good shower, decided to let loose his inner psychopath by taking an ice cold plunge into the bungalow shower. He screamed once or twice after getting in, but remarked that it was "great" afterwards. I think he had frostbite on the brain . . . and a few other areas. Heh.

Unfortunately for him, the ice shower kicked Vinnie's liver into high gear. And when we went to The Pour House in Sea Isle, he wanted to warm up. And what better way than to order whiskey shots? Vinnie ordered a "Whiskey Sampler" which consisted of four different whiskey shots. You can imagine where I'm going with this. We reminded Vin that the MWE record for whiskey shots in one night was seven, and that he should try to break that mark.

And break it, he did. Vinnie finished his ninth whiskey shot sometime around 2am, just minutes after Badger's brother Sean finished his tenth! Vinnie wanted to press on, but couldn't give it a go. Frankly, I'm surprised the two of them didn't drop dead. Whiskey is the Devil's work. And no, I would never survive in the Old West.

Saturday, October 27th

It was still frakkin' raining! What the Hell??? Saturday morning is usually reserved for recovery, since Saturday night is such a barf-fest. We laid low for most of the day, then Badger, Fish, Vinnie, and I embarked to the bar to watch the Flyers game at 4pm.

Do the math: First bar at 4pm. Bar closes at 2am. Total drinking time: 10 hours. Yikes!

Keeping in mind the truism: liquor than beer, you're in the clear, I started off with rum and coke. That was pretty safe. Somewhere between then and the end of the Flyers game, Vinnie bought me slammers. Not good. I was pretty cheery by then, and would have even sung the praises of Hillary Clinton. It was that bad.

We finished at the first bar and sauntered over to Charlie's in Somers Point. This place serves the best screwdrivers in the free world, using freshly-squeezed oranges with every order. Sweet! When we entered the establishment, we noticed something awesome: it was the bar's Halloween Party! Why was this awesome? Because one of the waitresses was wearing this exact costume (left). And she wasn't even the hottest employee in the place.

If I wasn't married, completely unlikable, and morbidly obese, I would have tried for this chick's phone number. Thankfully for her, I am all of those things, so I was good. Fish and I spent most of this night laughing at Badger. He and his nephew were thoroughly toasted, and that's always good for a laugh or three.

When Charlie's finally kicked us out, we had to fit six of us in Sean's Mustang. Badger and Sean sat up front, while Fish, Ross, and Colin sat in the back seat . . . with me lying across them. It was the most painful drive of my life - save for the drive to the church on my wedding day. (KIDDING!!!) It was a brutal end to a very long day.

Sunday, October 28th

For a change, the ride home was uneventful. No hangovers, no vomiting, and no vomiting. Heh. In an MWE first, no one in my group lost their lunches during the weekend. It was also an MWE first when we realized that not one vodka gimlet was consumed.

Sometimes "firsts" are definitely worth celebrating.

The Jameson Diet

Rachel sent me an e-mail today stating that someone found SYLG by typing in the search words, "Jameson whiskey weight watchers points."

Good grief, man, attend a meeting!

Stop That Vehicle!

I will need to interrogate the driver, and impound the car immediately!

(H/T - Randal Graves, who took this photo while coming home from our Dad's house in Delaware.)

Not to be outdone, Vinnie sent in his own camera photo in. It's a wonder my friends don't get into more traffic accidents!

HHGR Golf Outing Roundup

Our 6th Annual Heritage Hills Golf Resort excursion took place this weekend, and a good time was had by all. Of course, most of that "good time" involved the alcohol and not our golf games. I mean, my friends and I stink anyway, and HHGR is a very difficult course. Halfway through our first round, Vinnie said, "Well, we're playing lousy, so we may as well get hammered."

Now, that's the spirit!

Vinnie, Fish, and I arrived at the clubhouse at noon on Sunday. Since we weren't due to tee off until 2pm, we hit the bar to meet Badger. Go figure. After ordering pints of Guinness, a cute little waitress came toward our table carrying a tray of shots. She asked Vinnie if he wanted one. Bad move. Vinnie asked what they were, and she replied, "Southern Apples. It's Southern Comfort, Apple Schnapps, and . . . " That's all Vinnie heard, since he was too busy rounding up all of the dollar bills in his wallet. We each tried one, and let me tell you, these things were heaven on earth!

So we bought another.

Um, then another.

When she left our table, we cleaned her out of her first 12 shots. Not too bad. For her, that is, since three shots apiece in about five minutes was not our brightest idea before a golf round. Anyway, the waitress was having trouble moving the Southern Apples, so she stopped by our table a few minutes later.

We bought the rest of her tray. Vinnie, in a class move, said, "We'll take the tray. You know what? Just leave the tray here." After downing the shots on the tray, we were up to a total of eighteen between the four of us. In twenty minutes. (Since we thought no one would believe us, Vinnie took the below photo of the 18 empty shot cups - and our pints of Guinness - with his camera phone.)

When the waitress made her second round, she came to us last. Deathlok's friend Jim bought us some more shots, which cleaned out her second tray. We kept the tray at our table for posterity, too. Total shot count before golfing: 25. In thirty minutes. (Vinnie, Badger, and I each had six, and Fish had five. Jim took the rest.)

Suffice to say, we did not golf all that well as a whole. Considering the fact that the four of us also downed a half bottle of Jameson and a half bottle of Chocolate Cake shots in five hours, our livers were waving the white flag. After the first round, we went to our rooms, showered, and went to dinner. After dinner, we brought out the Guinness and shots again at the bar. Deathlok and his pals marveled (read: laughed at) our idiocy, but we had a terrific time. Especially Fish. I had to "escort" him back to his room at 11pm, because when he stood, he had to sway back and forth. Mental note: when you're drunk yourself, it's difficult to half-carry a friend up three flights of steps.

Monday came - by the grace of the Lord - and for some reason, none of us were worshiping the porcelain god. We all made the 7am breakfast before the 8am tee off. We were hurting with the alcohol and lack of sleep, but we made it. Ironically, no one wanted anything to do with beer or liquor this day. We still golfed like hell, but it was a blast. It's the one event besides Man's Weekend where we can all get a little crazy. I can't wait until next year!

Editor's Note: The author of this post in no way condones binge drinking. Morons such as my friends and I have little brain matter to lose, so we're okay with it.
(Vinnie's photo of our 18 shots. The waitress' tray is on the right.)

Run For The Hills

Me, Fish, and Vinnie. Badger is passed out drunk in his room.

This weekend will see the continuation of an SYLG tradition: our annual golf trip to Heritage Hills Golf Resort. The overnight trek includes two days of golf (with carts), a room at the on-site hotel, and breakfast buffet on Monday morning. We leave at the crack of "Jesus Christ, it's early" Sunday. Badger's brother Sean is the brains behind the trip, and for the last few years, our outing has booked the resort solid. I believe we have 144 golfers this weekend. Sweet.

My foursome consists of myself, Badger, Vinnie Antonelli, and Fish. Our weekend is pretty standard. We make fun of each other, wager money on idiotic golf bets, and taunt each other during their back swings. Oh, and we drink. A lot. On almost every Monday morning - after the usual Sunday night kegger - Badger stays passed out past our tee time, and Vinnie spends way too much time eating at the buffet, while Fish and I are usually patiently waiting outside. Last year, all three were late, and when Fish finally stumbled out of the hotel, he almost fell down while carrying his golf bag. Nice!

This year will be different. Why? Well, not because we are giving up alcohol. This year will be different because we will be drinking even more. See, Vinnie and Badger thought up a terrific side game for the weekend. When a player scores par on a hole, the other three must do a shot of Jameson Whiskey. The player making par will do a shot of chocolate cake. Now, we all suck at golf, but even a blind golfer catches a par once in a while. I figure we'll be comatose before dinner.

Oh well, it's better than working, right?

We should be home by dinner on Monday evening, which will give us just enough time to make our ice hockey practice at 8pm!

Man's Weekend, Part 2

Friday, Day 2: Let 'Em "Pour"

Day Two started early, as we had an eleven o’clock tee time at Shore Gate Golf Club. After feeling queasy at the fees – Eighty dollars? Get out of here! – we trudged onto the rain-soaked course, which had more sand than Qatar. Thankfully, Vinnie continued his alcohol-induced exploits by drinking lots and lots of “Par Juice,” also known as vodka gimlets. A few holes later, he was playing demolition derby with the golf carts, and using “creative math” for his scores. By the end of the day, most of us were in the triple digits and laughing at yet another drunken Vinnie.

We went back to the house, where Vinnie screamed through another ice cold shower – the heat and electricity in the bungalow were kaput – and we prepared for the greatest bar ever: The Pour House. The Pour House is an Irishman’s dream; Guinness on tap, authentic Irish food, and a photo of an uber-hot nameless redhead near the front door. Friday nights are Pint Nights, and every participant gets a Pour House pint glass. I think Vinnie acquired a dozen of them throughout the years, and uses them as his good china.

At the Pour House, we suffered through another Flyers loss, but at least Vinnie and Badger were having a good time. A group of old bitties – they had to be at least 40 – came into the bar and took a liking to my jackass friends. Vinnie and Badger gave them the attention they so desperately craved, and although nothing happened, they made the old bats’ day.

As for me, I can’t remember how many pints of Guinness I downed, but I drove everyone home. For some unknown reason, Guinness rarely gets me hammered. The last we saw Badger and Vinnie, they followed the octogenarians to LaCosta. It was probably Geritol Night.

Golfing Takes A Lot Of Balls

It is said that alcohol dissipates with time. One could also say that drunken memories come back with time. The HHGR recap was missing a few key moments, such as Badger’s 96-foot putt on the ninth green - Yes, we walked out the distance – and Fish’s amazing display of accuracy after consecutively hitting a yardage marker, and two trees on a single hole. There were sound bites galore, which would make a halfway decent list.

Top Ten Things Overheard At HHGR

10. “I went to church today. I raise my kids right.” – Fish, thanking God after his ball skipped off a pond and onto the 18th green.
9. “Jesus, Badger, do you have to break wind every three minutes?” - Everyone
8. “The last time I saw Fish, he was ‘resting’ on a chair at 5am.” – Badger
7. “I’m still drunk.” – Fish, moments before our tee time.
6. “Nice divot. That would make a great toupee, Vinnie.” – Wyatt
5. “Nice hit, Vinnie. Does your husband play?” – Badger
4. “That putt isn’t bad . . . (Ball quickly rolls past the cup.) . . . Now it is.” - Badger
3. “Wyatt, did you pee your pants?” - Badger
2. “Yes, I did.” – Wyatt (Smiling)

And the number one thing overheard at HHGR is . . .

1. “Someone ask that girl if she is wearing panties!” – Vinnie

Cinderella . . . Out Of Nowhere . . .

Well, I have finally recovered from the Third Annual HHGR Golf Outing. All of the alcohol is out of my system, and after eleven hours of sleep last night, I think I am finally caught up. It takes a hell of a lot of energy to shoot two miserable rounds of 114 and 111, respectively.

Due to language issues - and threats from my friends - about 85% of the outing could never be posted on a public blog, but here are some of the highlights:

• Vinnie and I pulled up to the resort at noon. By 12:30, Vinnie was downing vodka gimlets. Both he and Badger referred to it as "Par Juice."
• After many, many bad experiences, I had my first taste of vodka in almost five years. It tasted like burning.
• My foursome consisted of me, Vinnie, Fish, and Badger. As early as the second hole of the first round, our lack of golf etiquette was exposed. PGA Tour players rarely make wiseass comments about other player's wives/girlfriends in the middle of a backswing.
• Halfway through the first round, the cart girls stopped by. After Vinnie and Badger were done getting more beer, they tipped them pretty well. As soon as they left, Badger said, "I think they liked us." Yeah, they find big tippers dead sexy!
• We lost our first round bet with Badger's brother's foursome by three lousy strokes - which was immediately my fault - so it was off to the pub for dinner and more alcohol. Being the smart one - or the "wuss" if you listen to my friends - I went to bed at 2:15am. Vinnie and Badger rolled in around 3-4am. Fish? Not so much.
• As our tee time approached, there was still no sign of Fish. He finally stumbled to our carts at 8am, threw his bag onto his cart, and almost fell down. Vinnie said, "Wow, Fish, you like like death." Fish responded, "I'm still drunk." Nice.
• Alcohol must be "Par Juice" for Fish, because he shot the lights out on the front nine. As we approached the snack bar after the ninth hole, he said, "I think I finally woke up." He then proceeded to enter the snack bar, and get a pint of Guinness! Now, that's a real guy.
• Deathlok was abused for his choice of hats: a jeff cap made with different colored patches. I told him he looked like Jimmy Olsen, and should be standing on a corner saying, "Extra! Extra! Read all about it!" He was not amused.

On a very positive note, Sean - Badger and Deathlok's brother, who ran the outing - held a 50/50 to benefit the family of slain Police Officer Gary Skerski. The 50/50 took in a total of $1,500, and the winner - a Detective named Jack Wright - won $750, but then gave $250 of that to the family's total, giving them a total of $1,000!

Think He Was Drinking "Busch" Beer?

How difficult do you think it will be to install a breathalyzer-activated ignition on a stock car?

PHOENIX - Kurt Busch was detained on suspicion of drunken driving and cited for reckless driving after a confrontation with police near the track where the NASCAR champion is to race Sunday. Busch was stopped Friday night after trying to avoid another car and running a stop sign about 2 miles from Phoenix International Raceway, said Lt. Paul Chagolla

"As a result of the roadside investigation the deputy did take Mr. Busch into custody for suspicion of driving under the influence of alcohol," said Chagolla, a Maricopa County sheriff's spokesman. Chagolla said the deputy smelled alcohol on Busch, but the driver refused to perform standard field sobriety tests. Busch did submit to a field breath alcohol test, disclosing the presence of alcohol.

Lousy Drunks!

(An Eagles fan with his best friend in the world: Mr. Beer.)

The only thing I dread about football season is dealing with all the drunks. And Philadelphia Eagles fans are the worst of the lot. So, imagine my outrage when the Weekend section of today's Philadelphia Inquirer (*cough* liberal rag! *cough*) ran a cover story entitled "Where to Drink in the Game." The article then lists ten "hot spots" to grab an adult beverage (read: get completely blitzed) and watch the pigskin. Unbelievable.

I have firsthand knowledge of Eagles' fans penchant for over-indulgence. If New Orleans had a dollar for every person I locked up wearing Eagles green, the city would be rebuilt by now. Monday Night Football games, especially, are "target-rich environments" for DUI arrests, and me and my co-workers will be licking our chops in anticipation of yummy, yummy overtime. Bring it on!