Monday, February 20, 2012

TANYA AND EVANDER TEAM UP

7:30 am.  I sit in my usual booth in the back, near the kitchen, at the Montana Galley.  Oat meal with a dusting of cracked flax seeds and two dollops of honey, sits on the table, and a tall buttermilk. 

Helena, the owner, walks through the restaurant with a coffee pot, pouring refills. 

She is the key to my brainstorm.  It came to me about 3am.

As she walks by, "Helena, my dear. I have a proposition." I say.

"Woody, It's not even 8am.  Wasn't Friday night enough?"

"Sure that was all right, but..."

"All right?"  Her fist goes to her hip.  She looks down at me.

"You're wonderful," I say. "But I have an idea. Let's open a Sports Bar."

Silence.

"For real." I say, and wave to her to sit.

She sets the pot down and slides in across from me.

"A Sports Bar? You mean change the Montana Galley?"

"No, no," I say. "You have that storage room in the back."

"Opening a restaurant is no easy trick, you know.  Looks simple, but it's hard work.  So..."

"There 's no competition, within five miles.  A real money maker."

Her eyes widen.  "Money maker?"

"The Stiff Left Jab Sports Bar."

"Stiff Left Jab?  Spots Bar?  I don't know about the name.  Every biker and Poluka..."

"I like it.  Short. Easy to remember, and you'll get a whole new customer base."

She shakes her head and slides out of the booth. "I gotta think about this.  Sports Bar?"

There's work to be done. I pull out my IPhone and dial.

"Tommy...Tommy Lasorda" I say.

"Hello?  Sounds like Belair?  Brentwood?"

"Tommy," I say.  "We're opening a Sports Bar.  We'd like you to be one of our Celebrity Bartenders.
Stiff Left Jab Sports Bar. What do you think? I need your opinion."

"What's my opinion on being your bartender.  You call me up before 10am and you ask me that. What the BLEEP do you think is my opinion? I think it's BLEEPIN' crazy.  Me serving BLEEPIN' booze, to a BLEEPIN' bunch of BLEEPIN' BEEPS. What is my opinion?  How could you ask me a question like that?  What is my opinion of being your bartender? "

"it's not a bar yet." I say.

"And you thought about me?  Now if it was a linguini with clams bar, now you're BLEEPIN' talkin;'"

"So, you in, Tommy?"

"Sure, why not. Sounds like fun.  But Brentwood, I've been readin' your column and that last one was BLEEPIN'..."

"See ya Tommy. Thanks." I say.

I scan my address book.

"Joe?   Joe Namath?"

"Hello, what time is it?  I want to kiss you."

"What?" I say  "Wait." 

"Not you," says Joe.  "Who is this?  I just got in.  Who is this again?"

"It's Brentwood Belair.  We're opening a sports bar and we want you to be one of our Celebrity Bartenders."

"Hold on, sweetheart,  I'm on the phone.  Who is this again...wait, no more champagne."  Pop.  "Okay but just a little...Hello? Sports Bar?   Hello..."

Thanks Joe.  Tending bar is probably a bad idea."

"Why not...Hello, who is this again...just a sip...I wanna kiss you..."

"Talk with you later Joe."

I scan more numbers.

How about Denny McLain, Tiger pitcher.  I dial.

"Florida State Department of Corrections.  How can I direct your call?"

"Oops, I must have an old number.  Thanks, bye."

I dial again.

"Pete?  Pete Rose?"

"Hello?"

"This is Brentwood Belair.  I write  a sports column..."

"Hey, I know who you are. Only writer that every really was nice to me in the paper.  What's up.  Check out my website, you need to learn more about my life."

"Thanks, Pete, but I'm opening a Sport Bar her in The Valley. We'd like you to be a Celebrity Bartender."

"Sounds great, but I already got a gig her in Vegas.  People have dinner with Charlie Hustle at $5 grand a pop.  Kinda keeps me busy.  Come on over, I'll set you up."

"Five grand?  I don't think we can go that high."

"Vote for me for the Hall of Fame, next time.  I put in my time, you know.  And if you hear about
some team needing a batting coach.  I can work that around this dinner thing."

"Just bartending, Pete. Thanks."  I hang up.

I look up and as I live and breathe, who comes through the front door?

It's Tanya Harding, and who is that with her?  Evander Holyfield?  He wears a torn sweater, and unlaced shoes. 

They sit near me in the back.

"You know how this is," she says. "When I start boxing again, I have to win these matches, at least at the first, become popular again.  All you have to do is be around...the Intimidation factor...let them know I have to win the match.  They'll be watching me so close..."

"I know what to do," he says  "How much you going to pay me?"

"$100 per match I win."

He looks at his hands.  They are dirty.  "I have to make child support payments, I'm behind.  You'll have to do better.  They're  working on some property I have, keep it out of foreclosure so maybe I won't need to be doing this."

"So you're in." she says, and pushes an envelop across the table.  "For starters."

I look over at their table. "Hi" I say.  "Tanya. Evander.  We're opening a sports bar here, and ..." I move over to their table..."would you like to be Celebrity Bartenders one day a month?  We could work out a percentage."

Silence

They look at me.

"Have you been listening to us?" says Tanya.

I look into their eyes. "You'll tend bar, right?  And I won't say a thing about the envelope.  Be our secret."

"It's not what you think," says Tanya,  "Really." Her hands shake.

"I'll be in touch," I say, as they slide out of the booth, and out the door.  They did not look back.

Helena watches them leave.  She looks at me.  "You're making my customers leave?"

"I had to sell my integrity for a couple of bartenders. Tough decision but I did it for us.  Sports Bar is coming together."

"This name you picked, Stiff Left Jab.  I don' t know?"

"We'll talk about it later.  But first I'll need to get into that storage room and start measuring."

And that's how the Sports Bar began.   


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Help comes from:

Google, Wikipedia,
BleacherReport.com...worst players...,
WhoTheMan.com>blogs,
CaughtOffSide.com/100-best...
PeteRose.com

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