Welcome to the Extra P_int where the beer is always cold, the patrons less informed, and the conversation compelling.
Nadine greeted me at the door. She is an attractive woman who knows her way around a beer hall. She works out at a gym for women only because, as she puts it, she sees enough of sweaty men on the job. She’s smart, knows her sports teams, and how to keep a thirsty conversation going or defuse one turning feisty. Being greeted at the door was not a good sign.
“You get my tweet?” she demanded.
“I don’t tweet,” I said. “I only started texting a year ago.”
She shook her head as she dragged me toward the bar. “We got a problem here.”
“What?”
“We got one of those ‘is there a God’ questions going and it’s heating up.”
Sports bars are famous for ‘God’ questions, one where there is no answer beyond conviction. Those questions sell a lot of beer and Dennis McDonnell, the owner, had two taps open filling large pitchers. He smiled as he watched the money flow. He liked to say the smell of fermented hops smelled like money.
“What’s the Perfessor say?” I asked. “He’s sitting there.”
“He’s no help. He’s good at logic and stats, but this has nothing to do with either one.”
“So what’s the question?” I asked, working on my reasonable tone.
“What’s a winner? The Perfessor said it’s a team that wins more than it loses.”
“Hard to argue with,” I said, as I sat and waved at Dennis for a Mirror Pond, and Nadine rested her arms on the rails of her bar station.
“Hey, Scribbler!” yelled Roger, one of the Habitués.
“Speaking of arguing,” Nadine mumbled.
“Settle something for these morons,” he yelled, from about three tables back. “I say it takes bucks more than anything else to be a winner. These guys are saying athletes and coaches come first. They’re full of it! No bucks, says I, and you got no athletes and no coaches!”
I took a drink of my beer and started to swivel to face the room, but the bar bell rung before I could get a word out. The bar bell usually signals the room that someone is buying the house a round. But since it was Dennis holding the rope, that was out of the question.
“Listen up!” Dennis yelled. He fiddled below the bar and came up with the microphone. “This thing on?” he asked, much too loud.
The Habitués got up and, with beer in hand, shuffled closer.
“You know what time it is?” his amplified voice asked.
“It’s Howdy Doody time,” came a smart ass from the back.
“It’s time to buy your entry forms for the 2012 AON! Ten bucks or they’re free with your New Year’s Eve ticket.” Murmuring and some cheering filled the room. “Okay, some of you might not know about the AON. Simply put, All or Nothing is the single grandest feat of crystal ball gazing in the entire Western World. Each entrant will pick the winner of the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup, the NBA Finals, and the World Series. There is no award for close. Hit all four on the head or the prize carries over. Ties, like in the skins game, carry over, too.”
I stared around the room. The Habitués, and a lot of newcomers, stood with their mouths hanging open as the immensity of the task dawned on them.
“Gawd! Who saw the Cardinals?” came a comment from over my right shoulder.
“Or the Packers, or the Mavericks? Even the Bruins were no mortal lock!” from further to the right.
“Listen up,” Dennis yelled into the mic and we all cringed. “Last year there were 227 entries. Plus the $100 bucks the P_int tossed in for a total of $327. Last year’s prize gets added to this year’s.”
More murmuring.
“The Perfessor here,” Dennis goes on, “Says that realistically there are no more than twelve teams in each of the four leagues that have a shot at the title.”
“Which twelve?” someone yelled, and the rest laughed.
“So that means the odds are like twenty-one thousand to one,” Dennis said. “Compared to Powerball this is a cinch.”
The grumbling from the potential entrants did not escape Dennis.
“With the Perfessor’s help here, we’ve opened an interest bearing account to hold the bucks. If nobody wins for a few years, this will be a mother of a prize.”
“Okay, I’ll enter in five years if no one wins.” It was the same voice that had asked which twelve, and again prompted laughter.
“Very funny,” Dennis boomed. “I forgot to mention one not so minor detail. When there is a winner, the lucky sod will drink free beer for a year!”
Screams of approval filled the air and right behind the screams came fists waving ten dollar bills.
Twenty minutes later the noise had died down and Dennis’s pad of entry forms was seriously depleted.
“Free beer?” I asked Dennis, knowing how he felt about giving anything away.
“Twenty-one thousand to one, Scribbler! Twenty-one thousand to one.”
Stayed tune for part two of the 2012 All or Nothing competition from the Extra P_int where the beer is always cold, the patrons less informed, and the conversation compelling.
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