For those of us who have been relegated to a permanent seat here on the bench, there is no doubt that the lack of competition tends to make our lives very dull.
Seeing teammates compete and earn all the cheers and accolades while watching from the sidelines is disheartening. Even though we never sniff the playing field, it doesn’t mean we suffer from a lack of competition, rather a lack of opportunity.
| We actually looked like we knew what we were doing. |
Thankfully, there is an opportunity for benchwarmers like myself to get in the game and earn all the cheers and accolades of our teammates and perhaps achieve immortality in the sports world. I’m talking, of course, about the Bar Olympics, a true test of endurance, strength and mental agility.
Last week, after my good friend Adam challenged me, I took my first step toward Bar Olympics immortality.
The night started off innocently enough at Dooley’s Pub, 442 Water St. The first event of the evening was an epic battle in photo hunt on the Mega Touch Force 2005.5 machine located conveniently right at the bar.
Normally, photo hunt is one of my stronger events, but not this night. Adam handed it to me in photo hunt, sweeping me easily in three games. Decimated by the loss, I opened my wallet for the first round of drinks, which Adam earned with his memorable performance.
The second event was darts, a strong event for both us, or so I thought. Darts at Dooley’s Pub turned out to be quite similar to photo hunt, utter domination by Adam. After two losses, I decided it was time for a change of venue, so off we went to finish darts at The Pioneer, 401 Water St.
After shelling out more money for another round of drinks, it was time to get down to business, mainly because I was running out of money. I needed three straight wins in darts to tie up the olympics at 1-1, unheard of, I know.
But I came out swinging in the first game, shutting Adam out and forcing him to dig into his wallet for the first time. Game two was close, but I squeaked it out, tying the dart series at 2-2. Then came the rubber match. Adam was fatigued. I could see it in his face, so I took advantage of him, applying the pressure from the first dart. It might not sound realistic, but yes, I did win the rubber match. That’s right, three wins in a row, and I was right back in the hunt.
After a quick victory drink, it was off to Brothers, 324 Water St., for pool.
At this point, pool was a crap shoot. Neither of us are very good, and we were both starting to feel the effects from a hard night of competing, or rather, the alcohol. Surprisingly, it was a close game. We actually looked like we knew what we were doing. Unfortunately for Adam, I was seeing just a bit straighter. I won the one and only game of pool. Brad, 3, Adam, 1. Yes!
With empty wallets and full stomachs, we sauntered back to my apartment to finish off the olympics with a three-game series of fusball. Being that I have a fusball table in my living room, Adam never stood a chance. I quickly put him away in two games. Brad, 4, Adam, 1. I was the champion of the Bar Olympics and boy-oh-boy, did it ever feel good. All that time spent watching from the sidelines had only motivated me. I finally got my opportunity, and I took advantage of it. I was the champion. Although I didn’t see anybody holding up “Go Brad” signs on my walk home or hear anybody cheering when I sealed Adam’s fate, I did feel satisfied.
Maybe we never get in the game, maybe nobody even knows who we are, but those of us down here at the end of the bench have more than just a towel and water to offer. We are heroes, too, just in a different way.
Knickerbocker is a senior print journalism major and a columnist for The Spectator.
