Grizzly, Charlie & Jose (11.3.2007)
My mate Grizzly (Beare) finished up as my team leader on Friday (I’m doing it from Monday), so I suggested we have a couple of beers after work. The Grizzled One was keen enough.
We declared it a day and took an early mark at 3:45, whence we flitted off to Kitty O’Shea’s. Funnily enough, we ran straight into our boss and his boss – playing pool and drinking pints, that is, they were conducting their standard Friday afternoon 3 O’clock meeting. We all exchanged greetings and nobody mentioned the time. We played about 8 rounds of pool, swapping teams around (as Chopper Copcutt had arrived to join us). There was a bucks night on offer at 6, starting at Hogs Breath – but I was none too keen on that one (another one of the brass). The plan was to move closer to Hoggies and stop at Shennanigans for a top up – these pubs are all in the same street – Mitchell St Darwin, possibly 500 metres apart.
The Super 14’s rugby was on the telly at Kitty’s and when we heard the approaching thunder, the boys got a bit antsy. When I noticed the cable TV drop out, I suggested we get moving – at my place, this usually gives you about five minutes warning before the storm proper belts down upon you!
Big pregnant drops began falling as soon as we hit the footpath – we stepped it up a bit and burst through the door of Shags dripping a bit but with a torrent chasing our backs.
Shag’s was fairly packed with punters, so myself and Grizzly stood out front watching the downpour while we drank. A cab pulled up at the corner and three young-buck Pommy backpacker boys risked the traffic to get a lift. They traversed Mitchell Street, Frogger fashion and tried to wave down the taxi boy. Unfortunately, for the tourist lads, from the pub door perspective, the heavy rain prevented one from noticing that the cab was already full – and of course he went straight past the unlikely lads. So by this time, being fully soaked, they turned their faces south and dawdled back to the pub, still carrying their sense of humour.
A cute little Irish barmaid did the rounds selling raffle tickets – unfortunately I didn’t recognise her at the time. Last time I had met Louise, I was admiring her through a festive season haze at midnight Christmas night, bikini clad and bobbing round my mate’s pool, with a drink in her hand.
Grizzly and I bought ten bucks worth of tickets each for the impending raffle. Now, a lot of pubs round the country have chook and meat raffles in support of footy clubs etc, but Shags’ Friday arvo raffle is a little bit different – this one was for $4,600 cold cash. They start out with 12 envelopes – One of which contains the jackpot – the others have pub t-shirts, caps, a beer ticket, a bag of chips etc. If your ticket gets drawn, you go up on stage, pick an envelope and the MC dude offers to buy it back in a kind of auction. He offers you a hundred say, then if you don’t accept that, he lifts the bid – and stops whenever he likes – then you’re stuck with the envelope and whatever it may contain – or you can sell him the envelope earlier, take the cash and leave. I hadn’t bought tickets in this raffle for years and I was contemplating this exact point. About three years ago, I was with a bunch of the boys – the jackpot had reached $5,800 and it was declared that it would go off on the Friday night before St Patrick’s day, one way or the other. There were 6 envelopes left at that stage. There were 6 of us boys in it (among a pub bursting at the seems with punters) – we decided to all throw in together. Due to it being nigh on six large on offer, they knew no one would take the cash offered, so they didn’t bother offering it – you chose your envelope and opened it – that was it. The first person picked out, drew a bag of chips – to the crowd’s great delight. The second bloke got a pint of beer – the crowd went wild.
The six of us had twenty bucks worth of tickets each and I was hoping one of the blokes would get dragged up next. I was wrong. My number came up. The boys all cheered. I’m not a man that craves the spotlight but I found myself centre stage, with four envelopes left and a crowd of hundreds baying for my blood and wishing me very much bad luck. MC Lambo thrust forth a fist full of splayed envelopes and said “Take One”.
I took the bottom one and he said “Open It”. I opened it on stage and read the little scroll of paper without emotion. A subdued cheer went round as he asked “So what have you won Steve?” I calmly handed him the scroll – he unwound it and read, half laughing “Congratulations, you have won………The JACKPOT?!”
The boys went up as one, hurling the remaining tickets in the air and jumping round with hugs – then near knocked me off the stage! We got just on a grand a piece and I didn’t spend another cent all night – it was a fine old high stepping Irish night.
So last Friday night, I got to thinking – this is almost the anniversary of that win – the week before St Paddy’s all those years ago. I was feeling a bit numbed by this stage and when they called the first number out – and the woman took $350 for the envelope (which contained a Shag’s Cap), they declared they’d call another number. I knew.
“It’s a white ticket (they’re all white), two, nine, eight….”
Yep, here we go – I got my tickets in my sky-rocket.
“……..eight……..”
I know I’ve got all the Eighties.
“……Nine! Do we have a winner?”
I walked up on stage, said hello to Louise and looked at the envelopes (only 7 left). In a shade of de javu I grabbed the bottom envelope. I’d already worked out the odds and unless the offer was over 500, I’d be getting way under the odds. I’m figuring 6 to 1 for $4,600 – taking about $700 makes it worth the risk. He started at 200, went to 350 then to 450 – I said “Nah”
Grizzly’s words were ringing in my ears – “No guts, no glory!”
MC tells me that’s his highest offer – so I got the envelope.
“What did you win?”
I unrolled the scroll, read it and announced to him and the toey crowd “Congratulations you have won two dollars”
The crowd all laughed and cheered and I went back to my beer – with my two bucks.
I was happy enough – I always play the odds and you don’t often get a 6 to1 chance of grabbing four and a half grand.
No guts, no glory……..no money…………but still plenty of beer.
Grizzly had organised to meet a girl and a few friends at the Ducks Nutts, just up the road and dragged me along. We had a few drinks then his friends went home and left me and Grizzly with the girl he was trying for, Charlie. Ducks had a new pre-mixed promotion going – Jose Cuervo tequila mixed with lemon and lime or some such thing. We had a few and chatted to Charlie – who was a bit of a wild girl, as it turned out. I dropped a few lines, through habit, like saying she looked 27, when I knew that was way below the genuine mark, and some sly thing referring to her natural beauty. The promotions dude gave us a special Cuervo stubbie older each to keep our drinks cold. I was having a good time and she was getting friendly – then I noticed grizzly trying to slip an arm around her. I remembered that tonight, I was his wing-man and she was his target. I declared I was leaving but she physically dragged me back by the arm and bought me another drink – Grizzly tried to convince me to stay too – what else could he do? I finished my Wild Turkey, went for a wiz and slipped quietly through the crowd, outside and into a cab. I messaged Grizzly half way home and told him I’d done a runner and good luck with Charlie.
What else could a good wing-man do?