11 Hours To Go

Good morning, Fackers. Today is the big day. Well, one of at least four big days, anyway.

When was the last time you were this excited in anticipation of a sporting event? If we're talking strictly about baseball, it's obviously the '03 and '04 ALCSes. Being out Boston at the time, it was engulfing. Professors talked about it in class, everyone with a hat of one team or the other had it on, and you overheard conversations about it where ever you went. I couldn't think about much else during the days when games were played - I just wanted it to be game time.

If we're talking about sports other than baseball, Super Bowl XLII was probably the last event that came close, but no one thought the Giants had much of a chance. Big Willie Style, Sampson and I had celebrated the NFC Championship like it was the Super Bowl, going out to the college bars around 80th and Amsterdam, staying out until three in the morning and handing out spontaneous high fives to complete strangers. Needless to say, we all took that Monday off.

It felt like the Giants had just earned the right to lose to the Patriots in Arizona, but that didn't really matter at the time. We were just happy that the season wasn't over and were celebrating the incredible game they won in arctic temperatures in Green Bay. The Yankees are never going to be the underdogs like the Giants were that season, but after the last six years, it still feels like an accomplishment for the Bombers to have made it this far.

Not everyone shares that sentiment, however.

There was someone conspicuously absent from Sunday night's champange celebration. Reggie Jackson was there. Hal and Jennifer Steinbrenner were there. Hank wasn't there because they don't allow smoking in the clubhouse and you know how he gets when he drinks. But there were probably numerous members of the front office partaking the festivities after Gary Matthews, Jr. went down swinging.

Brain Cashman was nowhere to be found. Some had speculated that it had something to do with his meeting with Aroldlis Chapman. It turns out that wasn't the case:

[Cashman] purposely avoided the scene, saying he simply chose to stay away and leave it to others.

"I'll wait to participate if we have an opportunity to win the whole thing," he said.

Yet another reason I like the cut of Cashman's jib. I realize that this would never happen, but it would be incredibly bad ass if a team didn't go for an over-the-top celebration unless they won a championship. Maybe something when they clinched a playoff berth or won the division but not in the LDS, or LCS. Save the bubbly for the ultimate glory.

Players deserve to enjoy their accomplishments and the champagne lubricates those celebrations in more ways than one - it would be awfully awkward were players just jumping around and hugging each other with dry clothes in a well-lit locker room. But at the same time, wheeling out the carts when they swept the Twins seemed a little contrived. By the time the World Series winner is awarded, we'll have already seen 14 other locker rooms protected by tarps then laden with libations.

Celebrating every step of the way is the one thing that really undermines the "championship or bust" mantra that the Yankees swear they have. If they were the one team that really was only satisfied with winning a World Series, then they shouldn't pop the Perignon until they do so. It would make it a whole lot sweeter when it finally came.

Cashman is the only guy who really thinks this way. He's got no choice. He's gone too long as the General Manager of the team with the highest payroll in baseball without winning a World Series to consider anything else a success. Let's hope he gets to taste the Taittinger soon enough.

Amsterdam Ale House

Formerly Westside Brewing Co, seeing the sign for Amsterdam Ale House made my day. And it was only 9:30.

Guess that guy on the Beer Advocate message board was right...

Requiem For A Restaurant

The absolute best part of living in Manhattan is the preponderance of awesome things within walking distance from your apartment. I have accounts with two different banks, both of whom have a location within two blocks from my place. We have two grocery stores within the same distance. I can walk to work in just about the time it takes to listen to Shine On You Crazy Diamond Parts I & II, and Central Park is under 5 minutes away. I've mentioned the Beacon and Fairway, both of which I wouldn't swap for another theater/grocery store.

Another thing that makes the location of our apartment so perfect is (was) Westside Brewing Co. When we first moved down here, we used to go there every Sunday night in addition to the impromptu visits during the week. If I had anyone came into town, it was the first place I thought to bring them.

I would place their wings in my top five of all time, with some serious consideration for the #1 spot. I'm probably biased, but trust me, these were not your ordinary orangey, fake-looking, limp dick wings you get at TGIFriday's. The sauce wasn't sweet like a BBQ and didn't really have a buffalo twang. They never detailed any of the ingredients on the menu, and I'm not much of a gourmand, so if you've never had the pleasure, you are going to have to use your imagination a little bit. They were a deep maroon color, subtly smoky, hot, but not lingering, and... did I mention they were fucking amazing?

Westside stopped brewing their own beer long before I moved down to the city, but they kept a rotating selection of ten taps to make up for that fact. They centered on local brews like Captain Lawrence, Chelsea and Blue Point, but also drew from across and the country and world. Last time I was there, they had Green Flash Le Freak on tap and around Easter-time last year they had an incredible Rauchbier (smoked beer) from Germany.

The had a pretty fervent staff turnover, but managed to keep a cute girl hostessing with remarkable consistency. One time Sampson and I walked in, and were making some offhand comment about work, and the cutest of the hostesses smiles and says "Are you guys in the movie industry?" Sampson immediately goes "Yeah, I'm a director and he is a producer". Her eyes light right up, so we had to let her down gently. She's was like, "Oh, it seems like everyone is in the movie business around here". After we sat down, I went to Sampson, "They aren't really in the movie business sweetie, they just want to have sex with you".

The place wasn't without it's faults. For one, it was closed for strange reasons way too often. Too many times someone came into town and wanted a fairly cheap, relaxed meal, I couldn't wait to take them to WSBC. I would hype up the wings and promise I could pick them out a great beer, only to roll up to the place and see a note scrawled on the door explaining some strange circumstance which precluding them from being open.

About a year and a half ago construction began on The Harrison, which took up most of the block between 76th and 77th & Amsterdam and Broadway. It was well boarded off, but through the slats, you could catch a glimpse of the cavernous void that claimed Amsterdam Billiards.

One night I walked in to the bathroom and in the corner underneath the urinal there was a gigantic hole, looking right down into a 25 foot deep rubble-filled pit. That must have violated the health code, because two nights later they embarked a a little hiatus for a month or two.

In the three years we've been going there, they never changed their menu. It's not like it diverted us from stopping by, but as a place that had a pretty large regular customer base, you'd think they'd have wanted to switch it up a little bit.

It is also extremely close to The Beacon and it gets a lot of spillover, which can be annoying if you want to get a seat at the bar. They occasionally even play the music of the act that is on that night. One night Kelly Clarkston was in town and we got sat down right next to a table full of pre-teen girls who knew the words to every single song, and weren't afraid to sing along at full roar.

Sometime last year, our friend Ian was around and we popped into Westside to grab some food. We got the wings (as always) I ordered a Hawaiian pizza, Sampson got a burger and Ian got the tuna melt. The pizza always takes longer to begin with, but at one point I glanced over my shoulder and happen to spot the our waitress and my pizza in mid-air headed towards an inevitable demise.

She didn't think we saw it happen and about two minutes later, after the mess had been cleaned up, she came over and said "Sorry guys, your food will be up in like 5 minutes. Want another beer?" We didn't feel like correcting her just yet, and let it slide.

She eventually brought us over the food and as she's sliding the pizza in front of me, I go, "Round two on this one, huh?" She stopped for a second and goes, "Yeah, I was kinda hoping you guys didn't see that". She was cute and we laughed it off. When Ian got terrible food poisoning an hour later, he wasn't laughing. There's not way of telling, but I'm pretty sure the 20 minutes that tuna melt spent under the lamps didn't help. That didn't stop us from going back either.

The allure was obviously the beers, for me personally. It was always crowded, so I don't think I'm alone in that respect. They absolutely always had a high quality Double IPA on tap, whose hoppy character was an unlikely match for the wings. Ten beers every week allows for some pretty serious breadth and they did a pretty good job of managing the selection.

I really don't go out to dinner than much because we have a grill and SeamlessWeb (and I have no money), so I'm probably the last person who is going to get sentimental about an eatery closing it's doors. Evelyn Lounge... now that was a tragedy. But wow, this sucks a fucking lot. I was moving my car the other night, saw the papered up windows and went out of my typical loop so I could email Sampson a picture with the caption "RIP Westside Brew Co." from my iPhone.

It's not all doom and gloom though. I was trawling the message boards over at Beer Advocate and found this little gem:

I have an infallible source telling me this place will be re-opened under new management in a few weeks. And by new management, I mean guys who know how to run an outstanding beer bar. UWSers should be psyched. More to follow.

It's a message board, so I'm not going to get my hopes up, but please, please, please almighty Beer Gods, get something in there soon. It's not fair. I'm dying inside.


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I just went out to take the daytime pictures above and as I was standing there, a guy with one of those chest baby pouch/carriers and his wife walk up. The dude was probably in his 30's and with a forlorn look on his face he said "It's like, closed, man."

Check Out This M_____f____r [Creep Of The Week]

It really came down to the wire, and I know that it is technically "next week", but this guy really took [Creep Of The Week] by the horns. Yes, that's him there in the Santonio Holmes jersey.

And the capri sweatpants...

This asshole was calling for the Steelers to challenge Santonio Holmes' near touchdown in the first quarter, and I'm like "WHY??!?!" You have four tries to punch the ball in from the six-fucking-inch line". Of course, the challenge totally backfired and they ruled the play an incomplete pass, at which point, my compatriots and I enjoyed a hearty guffaw.

He was walking around the bar chanting "Let's go Steelers (clap, clap, clap clap clap)" when Willis McGahee was on the ground with a huge crowd gathered around him, which NEVER happens in a football game unless someone is seriously fucked up. After the vicious hit Ryan Clark laid on him, McGahee was splayed on the field, vacillating between twitching spasmodically and laying totally motionless. It was eerie to every person in Bourbon Street except this incomprehensible piece of shit.

We actually watched the game with some Italian kids we met the night before named Ricardo, Ricardo and Eduardo (did I mention I'm not gay?), and fulfilled our offer to extol the virtues of American Football to them. They couldn't understand why there were so many commercials, but were thoroughly impressed by the ridiculous brutality of the "match", as they continued to call it.

When we walked into McAleer's Pub, our waitress asked how we were doing, to which I responded "Not as good as you..."


Nothing prettier than snow in the city.


Good night, great weekend.