IN THE BEGINNING...

1998 HEADLINES:

*President Clinton “did not have sex with that woman” Monica Lewinsky, yet still manages to leave his semen on her XXL dress and plunges the country into a Puritanical witch hunt.

*Speaking of going down, Titanic is big at the box office and in the Oscars.

*Google is born.  You will soon be able to find a web site written by two immature brothers who think that going to a bar on Friday nights is interesting to others.

*Sonny Bono, Wendy O Williams and Linda McCartney die (a tough year for shit singers).

*Tony and Jim go out drinking on Friday night for the first time.

    We have not always been the smooth, debonair, bon vivants that currently haunt Edison’s in Birmingham on a weekly basis.  No, the early Friday nights actually took place while the sun was up, ended before last call and featured blue balls.  

   In 1998, Tony and I decided that we needed something to celebrate the end of another week of mind numbing labor.  We thought that a vigorous game of racquetball (that’s the blue ball reference) immediately following the closing bell would provide a nice punctuation mark.  Once the sweat was showered away, drinking beer to replenish lost liquids was a natural.  A couple of issues:  It only took a few weeks of racquetball to realize that our uber competitive nature on the court would spell the end of our brotherly love off it.  Also, getting home form the bars at eight o’clock meant boozy interacting with family before snoring on the sofa.  Problems yes, but we liked the drinking too much to entirely scrap the concept.

   We decided to ditch racquetball and take in a high school football game each Friday.  It seemed like the perfect combination of sports, night time and the opportunity to continue boozing.  And, unlike racquetball, we couldn’t see any way to fight with each other over a bunch of kids playing with a pigskin.  Typically, we would leave right after dinner, have a drink or two at a local bar near whichever game we selected, watch the game and go back to the bar for a nightcap.  We soon found ourselves leaving after the third quarter, then at the half and finally after deciding that it was to cold to sit outside watching a bunch of dopey kids play football.  Tweaking Friday night was still needed.

   “Hey Andrea... Tony and I are going to hang out at the bar Friday night.  I’m going to pick him up at 9:30, stay out until closing time, come home reeking, forage around the kitchen like a bear, fall asleep on the sofa and be somewhat useless on Saturday.”

   I get douche chills just writing that.

   Amazingly, that was the shit I threw against the wall, and it stuck.  Tony and I now had a standing date most Friday nights, not every Friday night, but most Friday nights.  I still had to float out my plans on game day, gauge reactions and act accordingly.  I took very little, if any flak, but this phase is still marked by uncertainty.  During these formative years, Our Kid and I were primarily hanging at The All Around Bar in Taylor listening to the classic rock stylings of Razorback and watching Downriver’s great unwashed careen around the dance floor.  Other favorite haunts at that time included J. Dubs, Double Olive and US 12.  Strictly local.

   Using the philosophy that if some is good, more is better, and through sheer repetition, Friday night eventually morphed into a given.   It was no longer, “Are you and Tony going out tonight?”, but “Where are you and Tony going tonight?”  During this golden era, Bug Juice spread its wings and visited Oakland County.  There, we found Utopia, Walden and Xanadu in the original Rosie O’Grady’s in Ferndale.  It was dark, cheap and a bit dirty just like the two brothers sitting at the bar each and every Friday.  Presided over by Lauren and Mike, the dynamic duo of bartending, Rosie’s was the foundation.  After consuming a few rounds with nothing else to do but bullshit with one another, Tony and I capped off the evening at nearby Boogie Fever.  Boog’ was the flash and the ultimate people watching experience, a place where the nickname game took hold.  The Pigeon Sisters, Spaghetti Man, Mountain Girl, Black Lalanne to name a few.  Good Times!

But now the days grow short

I’m in the autumn of the year 

And now I think of my life as vintage wine 

From fine old kegs

From the brim to the dregs

And it poured sweet and clear

It was a very good year

   In 2008, after being rebuffed by Real Detroit magazine, Tony and I decided to start committing our thoughts (?) to paper in the hopes that someone might notice them and get a laugh or two in the process.  Friday Night Bug Juice is big time now.  Blog links in the Downriver News Herald and Dearborn Press and Guide and thirty-five ravenous followers on Facebook.  Women want to be with us, men want to be like us.

  It may be a tad tougher getting off the sofa, take longer to trim the ear hairs and pull on the boots, but I still cherish each Friday night.  The reason is simple really.  It’s the company I keep!

Cheers! Jim

SPORT'S HAVEN LOUNGE

   The Sports Haven Lounge, located at the corner of Southfield and Outer Drive, is a long time Dearborn institution.  If you are on old timer from the ‘hood ( hello Rob, Mallard and Nano), it will be forever known as Lem’s Lounge.  

   When it was Lem’s, it intrigued me for several reasons:  Reason 1. The bar was close enough to ride my bike by when I was a youngster.  Since I did not have to cross major streets, our paths would cross often.    Reason 2.  There is a door at the corner of the building at Southfield and Outer Drive.  It is no longer used as a functioning door.  Back in the day it would open.  In my memory burn, I can picture looking in, but it always seemed too dark to see inside.  This must be the genesis for my curiosity about drinking establishments.  Reason 3.  The name.  If you want to name a cozy neighborhood bar, Lem’s Lounge is a winner.  The name may have been changed to Sport’s Haven, but the feel of being a neighborhood bar has not. 

   Lately Sport’s Haven has been providing a bookend to my weekends.  It started a couple of months ago.  I had just arrived home, still standing on the landing when I heard Beth on the phone.  Some work we were having done had just jumped up in price.  I waited on the landing until she hung up.  Her face was ashen, knowing that she had to deal with my excitable nature.  I knew I was going to take the news badly and decide to take a walk.  Muttering and gesturing wildly through the neighborhood, I found myself at Sport’s Haven.

   I beer bellied up to the bar and ordered a Bud.  This was a surprise.  Not that I dealt with a problem with alcohol, but that I ordered a Bud.  When I’m out with Jimmy, it is Labatt’s Blue.  When I’m out with Bessie, it’s Michelob Light.  After downing a Bud or two, I was starting to feel a bit better.  I decided to call Bessie to see if she would join me.  My thinking is that she is in every situation with me, and may need to unwind.  Also, it was getting colder and I wanted a ride home.

   She came up and had a few.  We introduced ourselves to our new favorite barmaid at Sport’s Haven, Colleen, and had a great time gabbing.  That night, she told us they were going to start opening on Sundays.  This seemed like a bit of a predicament.  We were hitting the 3 Nick’s Bar in Allen park on Sundays.  The advantage of Sport’s Haven is that it is close and is in walking/staggering distance.  

   So, we decided to try out Sport’s Haven and have not been disappointed.  As I wrote earlier, it is a great neighborhood bar.  The inside is small and somewhat sheltered from the outside light.  That is unless you are sitting at the last two barstools, which has morphed into our spot when available.  I let Bessie sit by the small shaded window, so she can face me.  I sit at the next barstool, obviously.  I keep my sunglasses on and look her way.  Looking cool and being a gentleman is always a good combo.  

   The waitstaff, particularly Colleen and Melissa, are very attentive.  Rarely will a time go by that we have to inquire about our next round.  Our drink of choice is the aforementioned Michelob Light, in a bucket.  The bucket has four beers and will cost you nine dollars.  Also, if you know anything about my wife, extra napkins will be required.  She is a firm believer in extra napkins, no doubt due to her experience watching me eat and drink.  After getting my beak wet with a beer, and making sure the local team is not on the tube, it is time for music.  As written in a previous review, I love to monopolize the jukebox.  My theory is that I want to play the songs I like, that the patrons will also like.  Tooting my own horn, I have to say that I have been congratulated on more than one occasion for my selections.  At Sport’s Haven, I have been dubbed Music Man.  It is an awesome responsibility, but I am up to the task (I’d like to take a time out to give my brothers a shout out for being my college of musical knowledge).

   Our stools are also located by the pool table.  A game will set you back seventy-five cents.  If the table is open, we will play.  If not, we will become spectators, offering our opinions to nobody in particular.

   This brings us around to the Friday night portion of the bookend.  Lately, Jimmy and I have been making Sport’s Haven our last call.  It is close to home, and we usually get in a game or two of pool.  Sometimes the games go a bit longer and we are asked to leave so a tired barmaid can go home.  So off we go, Jimmy dropping me off, me trying to push eggs and pizza on him, a bit of soft porn on HBO or Sports Center, then time to go home.  

   All in all, I give Sport’s Haven my highest marks for fulfilling it’s duty as a neighborhood bar. 

Cheers! Tony