Picture the scene: Your rugby team has just moved into it's new home, first practice on a fresh…read morefield...2 hours of non-stop athletic sluggery. Each time your boot hits the ground, the shock wave travels up your body, only to be met at your head by the equally oppressive stadium lights that shower the field in their opulent glow. The mud clinging to your feet, making them heavier with every step. You can't help but notice that this isn't the first time you've felt this...perhaps you were a German soldier marching through the Ardennes forest in a past life.
Coach-President blows the whistle. It's over. You're relieved, proud of yourself...great start to the pre-season. But there's another feeling lingering about...thirst. The kind of thirst that only a Mongolian crossing the Eurasian steppe would be familiar with. You and your comrades demand refreshment, and fast. But where? This is a new land to us...we aren't familiar with the terrain. With his booming voice, our massively resplendent Coach-President announces he has found what we require, and tells us where we can get it. "Boys, we are going to Bowl Bar..."
...quickly, we gather together our gear and disperse to our waiting vessels of transport. We follow our brave leader, much like those Mongolians followed the intrepid Genghis Khan through the arid Eurasian steppe. Luckily for us, our journey was not nearly as arduous...as we only need travel half a block.
It is only mere seconds after leaving the field that you lay eyes on your promised land. An extremely poorly lit parking lot, devoid of cars. Undiscovered land? Maybe. Brave, and desperate...but mostly brave. You and your band of nomads gather in said parking lot, which is surely the staging area for a night of splendorous imbibing. You approach the heavily tinted plexiglass door, unsure if this establishment will avail itself to you tonight. You're the first one, you turn around, and with reassurance from your traveling companions grab the handle of the door. You open it, slowly. With an unsure first foot, you breach the threshold and step inside.
As if in a bar scene from a spaghetti-Western, time seems to stop as you enter. The establishment is empty aside from the bar staff, which all look up at you with confusion, or perhaps in wonderment, as if you were John Smith and have pushed through the bushes and discovered a new tribe. Still holding the door open, you turn to your compatriots and announce..."It's open!"
Within seconds 20 or so sweaty, dirty men fill the bar. Quickly encircling the fine marble and glass-brick fixture that dominates the room. Lights? You don't need them. You're not here to look. You're here to drink. Without saying a word, the heavily make-upped, but obscenely polite and helpful bar staff snap into action. You're immediately poured an extremely heavy vodka soda (mostly vodka.) Your friends all go for the deal of the night...and WHAT A DEAL it is! 5 Heinekens for $15! Boom. Buckets of Heineken start flying, bottle caps popping off all over and the sound of air escaping freshly opened bottles permeates the room. But wait! You need tunes! Bowl Bar has you covered, a state of the art Jukebox is available stocked with all the latest (now, and 15 years ago) and greatest hits. A killer sound system sends the waves pulsating through you, almost massaging your aching body.
Through the rigorous consumption of alcohol, your mind may begin to wander and you may begin to worry about your safety and that of your companions. But relax, friend. You're at Bowl Bar, the wall-to-wall mirrors ensure that you will be able to detect any mobile threat from every angle. This well thought-out feature makes ocular pat-downs of potential assailants a breeze.
After a few beers, a couple vodkas...you realize you've found it. Your new home. The German soldier marching into a lightly defended France, the Mongolian nomad sweeping westward to conquer unknown lands. You're all home, and what a home it is. Enjoy and cherish it.
