Every year I head back to Shippensburg in early February to watch the boxing club compete in one of the first boxing events of the season. As a veteran of the club (and a recent inductee into their Hall of Fame) most years I offer to help at the show with the glove table, or warming up fighters, or whatever is needed. This year though, I consciously took a back seat to simply enjoy myself.
I called up the Mailman, and we made plans to meet up for the event. And instead of, like in years past where we found a floor to sleep on, or a bed to fight over, or simply driving all the way back home after the show, we actually got a hotel room, which was pretty sweet. We ran into Johnny K, had some beers, and played Tom Waits on the jukebox at Knutes. A couple was sitting on the other side of the bar and asked Matt and I who was playing, and that they loved it. We laughed, almost in disbelief, told them, and then we put another $5 in the jukebox in case they were being serious.
Knutes didn't have any Guinness on draft, but instead Victory's Donnybrook Stout. A pleasant surprise! Hell, I was pleasantly surprised at a lot of the beers available in Ship ($4 Pints of Mad Elf!?!?).
After drinking and reminiscing for a few hours, Mailman and I stumbled through the streets humming, trying to remember those old drinking songs of ours. We walked by the old apartment and called Hoi Yee and Kathy on the phone with no answer. We walked through the newly renovated CUB which was completely unrecognizable from the inside, and nearly unrecognizable on the outside. A concrete amphitheater replaced what I remember to be grass. I thought I saw the ghost of Socrates mumbling to himself on the freshly poured steps. As we made it inside the warm gym, the jump ropes were smacking hard, and the gloves and mitts were playing patty-cake. We found a seat with the rest of the old boxing guys and girls.
Ship had five fighters for the evening, our girls lost, and our guys won. All in all, it was an entertaining night for amateur boxing's finest.
Tyrone suggested that afterwards we all meet up at Marketcross for a beer or two. As it turned out, Marketcross has been renamed Ship Wrecked, but the bartenders were still the same, and even recognized a couple of folks in our group.
Matt told me that once he was asked to leave that bar when he (a non-smoker) drunkenly tried to light a cigarette on the wrong end. We asked the current bouncer at Ship Wrecked if he would throw us out he, hypothetically, saw us doing the same today. "No smoking in the bar!" he said.
I got to catch up with the old boxing crew, find out what everyone has been up to. Matt and I were able to relive, if ever so shortly, what the good life was once like for him and I. And after waking up in a comfortable hotel bed, I drove home and got the best hangover cure in the world: Sitting at my favorite table at Bravo with my brother while we ate and talked for a couple hours.
I made it back to New York before 9PM to spend what was left of the weekend with Jacqui and Felix.
I called up the Mailman, and we made plans to meet up for the event. And instead of, like in years past where we found a floor to sleep on, or a bed to fight over, or simply driving all the way back home after the show, we actually got a hotel room, which was pretty sweet. We ran into Johnny K, had some beers, and played Tom Waits on the jukebox at Knutes. A couple was sitting on the other side of the bar and asked Matt and I who was playing, and that they loved it. We laughed, almost in disbelief, told them, and then we put another $5 in the jukebox in case they were being serious.
Knutes didn't have any Guinness on draft, but instead Victory's Donnybrook Stout. A pleasant surprise! Hell, I was pleasantly surprised at a lot of the beers available in Ship ($4 Pints of Mad Elf!?!?).
After drinking and reminiscing for a few hours, Mailman and I stumbled through the streets humming, trying to remember those old drinking songs of ours. We walked by the old apartment and called Hoi Yee and Kathy on the phone with no answer. We walked through the newly renovated CUB which was completely unrecognizable from the inside, and nearly unrecognizable on the outside. A concrete amphitheater replaced what I remember to be grass. I thought I saw the ghost of Socrates mumbling to himself on the freshly poured steps. As we made it inside the warm gym, the jump ropes were smacking hard, and the gloves and mitts were playing patty-cake. We found a seat with the rest of the old boxing guys and girls.
Ship had five fighters for the evening, our girls lost, and our guys won. All in all, it was an entertaining night for amateur boxing's finest.
Tyrone suggested that afterwards we all meet up at Marketcross for a beer or two. As it turned out, Marketcross has been renamed Ship Wrecked, but the bartenders were still the same, and even recognized a couple of folks in our group.
Matt told me that once he was asked to leave that bar when he (a non-smoker) drunkenly tried to light a cigarette on the wrong end. We asked the current bouncer at Ship Wrecked if he would throw us out he, hypothetically, saw us doing the same today. "No smoking in the bar!" he said.
I got to catch up with the old boxing crew, find out what everyone has been up to. Matt and I were able to relive, if ever so shortly, what the good life was once like for him and I. And after waking up in a comfortable hotel bed, I drove home and got the best hangover cure in the world: Sitting at my favorite table at Bravo with my brother while we ate and talked for a couple hours.
I made it back to New York before 9PM to spend what was left of the weekend with Jacqui and Felix.
No comments:
Post a Comment