Bar Supplement 2006 - The Gauntlet

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B8 SEPTEMBER 07.06 GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT Lions Park We were making pretty good time at Lions Park on our way to Tipperary’s, a pseudo-English pub on smarter choice of taking the sidewalk rather than risking disaster at the hands of the fence. Anderson We had to break down for the second time and get our fix at a franchise establishment, Moxies. Right away, we noticed the staff at Moxies are foxy, and our tardy teammate wasted no time in attempting to give a sauve lesson in photography to the nearest bar-maid. Alas, true love was not to be had, despite us ensuring his number made its way into her hands. We did meet a few cool new U of C students though, and the shots of liquid cocaine—Jagermeister und Gold Schlagger—kept us buzzing on 15 10 SAIT One would think sait would’ve been our easiest stop of the day, as the Gateway minutes wandering sait, drunkenly misreading maps several times over before 16th Ave and a bar called Loco Lou’s. 27 12 choice to leav team; this is w hazy. We wer Mongolian an that this strin ers. The cuis trading our fi consumption our task. We of the origin continued the Southland interpretation of the rules we ourselves had written. Our Southland stop was the Black Swann—a nice dark pub with an exterior reminiscent of medieval Europe. Ye olde bartender Ali was awesome too, as she served us each two glasses of their finest house wine (straight out of the box), and was impressed enough by our quest to buy us a round of shots. This prompted us to phone the other team to remind them that drinks on the house are worth triple points. Heading back to the tracks, one of our most-valuable players managed to spot a short cut to the C-Train platform. His rush helped him become the first to spill blood for our cause, despite the lack of any real urgency. 17 28 Sunnyside Our arrival at Sunnyside was marked by an extraordinary piece of graffiti proclaiming: “Lesbians to the rescue.” Let’s hope so. Our target bar was Fats, a sports bar with a decent enough atmosphere. We managed to convince the bartender that by doing a C-Train pub crawl we were deserving of the featured ladies’ night special—though it was no doubt our singing along with the Gwen Stefani playing over the speakers that pushed him over the edge. Regardless, we enjoyed our $2.95 Crantinis and left the bar, eager to finally reach downtown. Heritage Our quest took a turn for the seedy, as we found ourselves exiting the train in desperation, smack dab in an ugly industrial sprawl. Luckily the flickering neon sign of Studio 82 caught our eye. It’s a trashy place. For our benefit though, the establishment is split into two bars, offering us the chance to earn double points for hitting both at one stop. A quick, double-fisted drink in the downstairs sports bar left a working-class taste in our mouths, and the upstairs bikini bar was even worse. The severe lack of bikinis doused our curiosity, but we drowned our disappointment with another round of Jag.
GAUNTLET DRINKING SUPPLEMENT SEPTEMBER 07.06 B9 Eighth Street West We hit the 8th Street West station in pure skipping jubiliation and decided we were through with this on-again, off-again relationship with the C-Train. From now on, we were walking down Stephen Avenue and hitting up every bar on the way. The first bar we walked into was Soho, another sports bar that seemed to be making some sort of lycanthropic transition to a night-time dance spot. We tried bargaining for deals and after several minutes of drunken reasoning, we managed to score one free shot from the bartendress. Happy with that, we finished off our drinks and made a pit stop at the urinals before moving on. The next bar we managed to stumble across was Murph’s, a traditional Irish pub. No one drinks quite like the Irish, evidenced by their chalkboard that proudly announced: “The liver is evil. It must be punished.” We ordered a few pitchers and engaged in some merriment and gaelic activities. Nearing the end of our journey, we hit a truly English pub dubbed the Unicorn. By this point, some of our team had fallen under the spell of “beer eyes:” when the liquor accumulates just above the brow until even the strongest man cannot keep his eyes open anymore. Our waitress, wrongly diagnosing “beer eyes” as “completely fucking shit-faced,” instructed us to awake our friend or face the chilly cool of 8th Avenue again. We persisted, managing to finish our beers and some munchies before hitting up the next location. Chinook he directions of a moderately intoxicated Studio decided to forget about the C-Train altogether a string of nearby Macleod Trail watering holes. ections were sound, our growing inebriation g more difficult than we had anticipated. Our e the train marked another departure for our here memory fades and things start to get really e forced to hit up our first restaurant, Palatal d Japanese Cuisine, after it became apparent g of mythical bars had eluded our finest trackine was excellent however, and it was worth ve bonus points for five fried octopuses as the of food had been neglected due to the nature of didn’t neglect the drink however. While some al cast were beginning to slow down, others two-fisted tradition. 5 39 Avenue While we had to review a map and pictures later to fill in the details—including the name of the place, and the fact that we’d been there at all—the team had a blast posing as cacti in front of the trendy Cactus Club. We had a blast drinking inside too, although the Stupid Rookie had begun chugging our points before we could capture the photo evidence. 5 Erlton/Stampede Apparently we went to the Trap and Gill. Who knew A photo helped us remember making friends with some strangers and drinking cans of our first beer of the day. Alpine Lager was a fitting choice, considering it’s brewed in Nova Scotia and the Trap is Calgary’s premier maritime bar. Being served beer in a can is pretty classy, and so were we by the time we left. 8 34 8 One bonus point for every dollar of criminal infraction. In this case, $115 equals 115 points. Way to go cyan team! Unknown Our final destination of the C-Train crawl turned out to be another English or Irish pub… or something. Are all pubs either English or Irish Where are the Japanese pubs We ordered our drinks and sat down at a table, wallowing in a sense of accomplishment from beating our foes through downtown. There we received a phone call detailing the location of the cyan team. It seemed we had slipped by each other on our mirthful stumbles. They were at the Unicorn, where, after much discussion, we decided to return in order to celebrate our joint victory over our mutual foes: transit and that damned evil liver. 9 10 Victoria Park At our last stop before meeting those bastards on the magenta team, we b-lined it to the first place we stumbled upon. The Embarcadero was too ritzy for our thin blood and the owner reluctantly served us a round of shots. We continued north on foot, set for our final rendezvous with the opposite team, and while we wouldn’t know the final results until the photos were analyzed, we already knew a few of the results: headache, dizziness, nausea and a strange urge to sing really bad karaoke. End of the line With the teams finally united at the Unicorn it should have been time to say our congratulations, go home and begin the long process of sobering up. However, why sober up when the night is still so young, and so sweet. If lack of memory serves me correctly, it was about 9:30 p.m.; time to start drinking, not stop. So we exchanged tales of adventures with the other team, gloating about our successes and weeping over our failures. After trying to piece together something that resembled a timeline of the day for the other team’s enjoyment, there was only one thing left to do: with our pride, dignity and inhibitions scattered all over Calgary, we were in the perfect mindset for some top-notch Alcove karaoke. We dismounted the C-Train one final time with the glowing lights of the Alcove staring straight at us. What better way to end such an epic journey than to sing a little Journey at our favourite local dive The slurred, off-key squawking even had the classy regulars looking at us irregularly. As the $2 black sambuca shots flowed and the irritating melodies thinned out, there was only one way the long day of boozing could end for one tiring Rookie. He was eventually asked to be on his way by the staff at the Alcove. But the night hadn’t ended yet. Oh no. A couple of men in snazzy blue uniforms gave him a pink piece of paper and a ride home. Upon closer inspection the following morning, the paper turned out to be the receipt for a $115 taxi ride. That’s 115 bonus points for the cyan team. They win. 135 135 criminal 115 bonus 250 winner!
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Bar Supplement 2006 - The Gauntlet

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