CELEBRATING THE OLYMPICS IN STYLE

It's Saturday.  A man in a suit, loosens his tie and walks into the Wild Cherry Tree Pub. 

"Top of the morning, mate."


The man stops.  He takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust.  He blinks, then waves to the bartender.
 
"Well," he says. "Sounds like you're from England.  Makes sense, this being a Pub and all."

"Well, not exactly," says the bartender.  "I'm from Sco-lun.  Glasgow Killbride.  Management figured I was close enough.  Who in Studio City knows the difference between a Sco-ish Brogue, and some bloke from Liverpool.  They gave me this Manchester United Jersey, so I'm good to go."

The man removes two one hundred dollar bills from his wallet, and tosses them on the bar.  "That should cover it."

Glasgow smiles.  "All depends, mate.  What is it you're gonna be 'avin?"

"I'm Wayne. Wayne Wheeler."  He looks up a the Plasma Screens above the bar.  "I came to drink to the Olympics.  You know, while I watch.  I got all day."

"Well, Wayne Wheeler.  What'll you 'ave?"

Wayne holds up a piece of paper.  "Here's my drinking menu."

It's torn, stained, and folded flat from his back pocket.

Unfolded, their heads together, they look it over.

"So," says Wayne.  "Your best Tequila, and a shot glass.  This is how I'm going to celebrate."

"Our best?" says Glasgow.

"Hey, Olympics only comes around every four years. Why not." He pushes the bills across the bar.

"I'll have to update this menu.  There isn't much swimming left."

Two men at the bar see the menu.   Wayne holds it up.  "I'm celebrating the Olympics."  He holds out his hand.  "I'm Wayne."

"I'm Lou," says Lou.  "And this is Bud."

Both read the menu, look up at Wayne, then at each other, and in unison, "We're in," they say.  "Sounds like fun."

"But we have to update this," says Bud.  "Let's say, a shot every time there's a Visa Commercial.  You okay with that?"

"Why not," says Wayne.  "Hey, it's on right now.  We gotta do a shot."

Glasgow is back.  "Okay guys, I got shot glasses, three."  He pours.

And they do their shots, heads back, eyes tight, teeth grinding.

Wow, Oh man, and Haaaa, say the three.  Their eyes water.

"That was...WAIT," says Wayne.  He points.  "There's Phelps.  Another shot."

Glasgow pours, and again, Oh my GOD, Whew, That's what I'm...cough..talking about.

"Let's add to this list," says Lou.  "Every time they show some family member, you know, Mom or Dad...look, right there, Reece Hoffa's Mom, we sip some beer.  We can't do shots every time, we'll get hammered way too fast."

"Okay," say Wayne.  "Glasgow my man."  He teeters on his stool a tad as he waves.  "We each need glasses of beer.  Something English."

"We got Newcastle, Boddington’s Pub Ale, an I think we 'ave some Fuller's London Porter in the back.  How about Guinness Draught, from Dublin. How about that?"

"Guinness it is," says Wayne.  He grabs the menu.  "There, they're showing Missy Franklin, yes, yes, a new world record."  He points, they look.  "Shots for World Records.  Here, I'll pour."

And again, Haaa, Oooo, and Yikes, and again their eyes water.  Tears for Wayne.

"I'll get another bottle of Tequila, Gran Patron," says Glasgow.  "Be right back, and the Guinness."

Two young men belly up.  "Hi, guys.  Olympic celebration?  We couldn't help but notice, all this tequila..."

"Join us," says Wayne.  He again points.  "I'm Wayne, this is Bud and Lou. 

"Well, I'm the Naked Trucker," says Trucker.  "This is T-Bones.  So...?" 

"Wayne here has an Olympic Drinking..."

"A Visa Commercial," says Bud.  "Sip time," just as Glasgow arrives with reinforcements.

Glasgow pours and they swig, the Naked Trucker and T-bones included. 

"Look, there's Phelps' Mom."  More tequila, and another bottle from the back.

Fast Forward, you get the idea, with flash backs of hops on the landings, something about the U.S.S.R, more of Michael Phelps,  and the cell phoning of friends about free tequila shots, at the Wild Cherry Tree Pub where it's S.R.O., where people point, and yell, and...wait...
Another Visa Commercial!  Sip of Guinness

"...biggest race of his life..."  Sip of Guinness.

"There, Bela Karolyi with his mouth shut.  That deserves a shot."  Gran Patron.

Glasgow is back with armfuls of alcohol.  "Should I make some coffee?"

"Oops," says someone. "I took a shot by mistake,"  and laughs.

"I just got back from the bathroom." "You gotta catch up, two more shots."

Wayne lays his head on the bar, and tries unsuccessfully to sip his Guinness sideways. Mistake.  Then feels the floor against his face.

Glasgow comes around the bar.  "I'll need your Visa Card..."

"He said Visa.  Everybody, take a shot..."

...Your cash ran out...and..." says Glasgow.

Two fingers, he fishes out Wayne's wallet, pulls out the card, moves back, and swipes it through the register.  $2,687.00 and counting. 

"...Did he say Phelps?"  Doesn't matter.  They drink.

"...Hey, that's somebody's father in the stands.  Whose?"  Doesn't matter.  They drink.

"...He said Romania.  That's close to U.S.S.R."  Doesn't matter.  They drink.

So, it's Saturday, at the Wild Cherry Tree Pub, and a crowd is getting blind drunk.  Guinness Draught, Gran Patron, and Plasma TVs.  Now isn't that the way we should all be celebrating the 2012 London Olympic Games?
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Help comes from:
cheezburger.com/6478253056,
maxim.com/sports/olympic-drinking-games,
reuters.com/london-olympics-2012, Readabilityformulas.com
http://www.survivingcollege.com/happy-olympics-london-2012-olympics-drinking-game/ (Larger Menu)