Wednesday, October 27, 2004

Beer Pong - Live and Uninterrupted!!!

Good evening, I'm 'Big' Ron Atkinson, esteemed football pundit and occasional racist. I also consider myself to be 'bling'. Just like P.Diddy. Or Terry 'El Tel' Venables. I'm here to scrutinise, analyse, and basically tear to pieces the latest installment of Robert Hamilton's 'Honestly, I'm Sober!', as seen in top newspaper The Guardian, which used to publish my riveting 'Chalkboard' section every Monday, until some idiot left the microphone running and I lost that privelige. Anyway, enough about me, let's see the action.

Well, Friday Was Pretty Crap But thankfully Saturday was fucking brilliant. Friday was almost a complete washout, saved only by going round to a friend's place to watch a DVD with a load of other people. I hadn't seen Wedding Singer in a while, so it made me laugh. You can't ask for much more from a comedy, I guess. I spent most of Saturday afternoon trying to watch Premiership football on my PC, via ESPN in China, but without success. Unless you count jerky movement every 30 seconds as success. I don't. Most of my usual group of friends were in Mannheim, the next big town from Heidelberg, doing a bit of shopping and mooching around, but I couldn't be arsed with that. I've had enough being dragged round shops by my Mum over the years, so doing the same with 10 girls wasn't for me. Although I did hear that the two guys eventually just said "fuck it" and went into one of the Sex Cinemas. Fair play. They were heading back to Heidelberg when I texted them to see what was planned for the evening. They were all up for going to Bar Drei (see previously for the legend of Bar Drei) at about 9.30, and just drinking the night away. As much as I love Bar Drei, I always see it as an end of night place to go, when all of the other bars in town have closed. I wouldn't like to go there sober and spend all night there! Becks then rang me, since it was easier than texting. I said that I wasn't hugely up for going to Bar Drei, but if we were all doing that, then I'd probably meet them there. I still wasn't hugely enthusiastic, so I texted GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB (I really need to come up with a better name) to see what she was up to that evening. She replied saying that she was having dinner with a few people at her place, having a few drinks and then going into town. She also invited me to come along, an offer which I readily snapped up. Wicked, drinking and getting to see GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB, all in one night. As soon as I'd sent my reply to her, I got another text from Becks, saying that they were coming to mine to play a few drinking games and to then head on to Bar Drei a bit later. I had to tell them sorry, but I've made other plans now, I'll probably see you in Bar Drei later on. I don't think they took that too brilliantly. Well, you shouldn't invite yourself round mine like that. That happens more often than I care for, to be honest. I have a load of DVDs here, as well as a few films on my own burnt DVDs, so everyone tends to invite themselves round to mine when we are at a loss for things to do. The first few times, I didn't mind because generally I initiated the idea. Recently, however, it's been a case of "Let's go to Rob's" whenever we can't think of something to do / are too hungover to drink. I'm too nice to refuse, and I do enjoy the company of my friends, but it'd be nice from time to time to ask, rather than tell me that they're coming over. Mini-rant over. So anyway, I grabbed a bottle of wine from the local shop and headed up to GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB's place. I timed it just right, as they were serving up dinner when I walked in the door. It's a good feeling to be handed a plateful of food as soon as you've taken off your coat. It was tasty too. The food, not the coat. The wine was cracked open, even without a corkscrew. We'll ignore the splashes on the carpet for now (not my fault!) and skip straight to the drinking games. I taught everyone Pyramid, which is my favourite game ever. A description? Well, if I must.
To play Pyramid, you need a pack of cards, lots of booze and a group of willing victims participants. Lay out a triangle of cards on the floor / table, with 5 on the bottom row, 4 on the next and so on. It should look like the arrangement of ten-pin bowling pins, except with 15. You now have 5 rows of cards, with one less on each as you approach the peak of the triangle. Here is where a little bit of maths comes in. Not too much though, since you will be getting pissed. Each card on the bottom row (the one with 5 cards) is worth 2 seconds. The next row has cards worth 4 seconds each, the third 6 seconds, the fourth 8 seconds, and the single card at the peak is worth 10 seconds. The seconds refer to drinking time. You then deal the rest of the cards out to everyone playing. Everyone is allowed to look at their own cards and keep them in their hands. The dealer (or whomever) turns over the bottom-right card (from the row worth 2 seconds each), and counts down from 5 to 1, before saying "OUT". In those 5 seconds, anyone who has a card of the same value (a 2, a Jack, a 9, whatever) can lay their card on top of the card that has been turned over. At the same time, they say "Fuck [Insert Name of Another Player Here]". What this means is that the named person has to drink. However, the countdown goes back to 5 seconds, in which someone else can put another card of the same value down and say "Fuck [Someone Else]". If they're feeling mean, they can say the same person, or they can nominate whomever they want. The nominated person can also defend themselves in this manner. It's great fun to have someone say "Fuck Rob" and then to lay a card whilst saying "No, Fuck YOU [Name]". Grudges also build up quickly, which gets important as you move up the triangle. When the countdown reaches OUT, the last person to be "Fucked" must drink. The time they have to drink for is equal to the value of the card turned over, times the number of cards there. This sounds complicated, but isn't. For instance, if the first card is turned over on the bottom row (worth 2 seconds, remember), and 2 people lay the same value card on top, the last nominated person has to drink for 6 seconds. 2 + 2 + 2 = 6. Thus, when you get to the upper echelons of the triangle, the time adds up dramatically. The final card, being worth 10 seconds by itself, could result in someone having to drink for 40 seconds if the other 3 cards of that value are placed on top of it. I know because I have done it. I got through about 3 bottles of beer doing that damn 40 seconds.Phew, that turned into a bit of a lengthy aside, but it was worth it. This game needs to be spread around the world, because it's fucking brilliant. You get so drunk playing it, and it's hilarious fun. As I said, you remember who stitched you up in the last game you played and then fuck them over in another game. Great fun! Anyway, getting back to the subject at hand, we played a couple of games of Pyramid, which ended up in all of us having to do some fairly lenghty stints of drinking. Sorry, I've said all of us, but haven't mentioned how many were there. There was myself, GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB, Helen, Rachel (all English, and whom I already knew), Pete, David (American guys, new to me) and Martin (an Hungarian guy who was great fun. Turns out he's in a number of my law classes, as it happens). We polished off numerous bottles of wine, including their attempts at Pink Stuff. I think I've mentioned what Pink Stuff is here, but I'll just refresh your memory. It's strawberry fizzy wine, only 99c per bottle, and it gets you very drunk. We call it Pink Stuff, GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB, Helen and Rachel call it Giggle Juice. They'd also found other flavours, which I ended up having to try. It'd have been rude not to. So take note and learn that the Pineapple flavour is disgusting (especially after 24 seconds of it), whereas the Raspberry / Blackcurrant one is rather tasty, perhaps even preferable to the strawberry stuff. But give me a beer any day. The girls were starting to worry about getting ready to go out, what with it already getting late and them being quite tipsy. Helen and Rachel disappeared back to their rooms to get changed, but as we were in GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB's room, she had to take her stuff into her bathroom. She was really uncertain what to wear, and kept asking us if she should wear a skirt or not. She's really tall, and looks great in a skirt, so we all (including the girls) told her that she should. As she was on her way out of the room, she said something like we should tell her if she looked terrible. I called out after her that of course I would, to which she came back to the doorway. The other guys were talking about something else, so she was able to ask me directly what I meant. I told her that I'd be completely honest, and that if I thought she didn't look right, I'd let her know. In a nice way. Correspondingly, if she looked fantastic, I'd tell her that too. I don't know if I'm reading into her facial expression something that wasn't there, but I swear she appreciated that sentiment a lot. Her face just seemed to light up. It could have been wine flushes though, I guess. When she came back into the room, she did indeed look amazing, which I made a point of telling her. At least I'm slowly making my way into her good books. Perhaps a little too slowly, but that's always been my style / shortcoming. As you all know, I'm thoroughly inept around women, and there's been no miraculous change since that night at the end of August. Long-term readers know what I'm on about. We were finally all ready to go into town, so we grabbed our coats, the last bottle of wine (white, eurrgh) and walked to the bus stop. I'm pretty sure I was arm-in-arm with GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB for that little walk, but that's meaningless. Isn't it? Damn it, now I'm putting thoughts into my head. Dangerous, over-confident type thoughts. Out, out damned spot. At the other end, we wandered up to the door to Billy Blue's, which the girls had told me is "really good" (put a Leeds accent on to get the full effect) on a weekend. We were still all swigging from the bottle of wine, as well as being loud and English, due to the drunkenness, which I think was the reasoning the bouncer had for not letting us in. The bastard. He said something in German, then repeated it as "Regulars only on the weekend" in English. I said "Honestly?" back to him in German, and he just repeated it back to me: "Honestly." I was definitely up for having words, such as asking how exactly you become 'regular' if you can't get in in the first place, but I bit my tongue. There were ladies present, after all, and I didn't want to make a tit of myself. Instead, we went over the road to a bar called Gecko's (after I disposed of the wine bottle round the corner. It's still there, I checked as I walked past last night) for a quick drink and to make a decision as to where to go. GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB and I both had Mai Tais, which are great little cocktails, if a little strong. We were chatting for ages, although I'll be damned if I can remember what about. The alcohol from playing Pyramid was starting to kick in. We then headed up to a place called Amadeus, which is the usual Tuesday-night hangout for all of the European students here. It's not a bad little bar, but it wouldn't have been my first choice for a Saturday night out. Nevertheless, I was 100% behind the decision to go. Ulterior motives? Moi? Oh do be quiet at the back. There were a load of other people waiting for us at Amadeus, again not from the usual crowd that I hang out with. I knew them all, but they weren't part of my everyday group of friends. Sometimes I feel like a bridge of some sort between my group of friends and a few other people. They're perfectly nice and civil to everyone (well, except maybe The Features. I might explain that one some time, but probably not. Aren't I the tease?), but they don't seem to make a huge amount of effort to be friendly with them. I do. I like making new friends, I like meeting friends of friends and so on and so forth. I can't be doing with confining myself to one group of people all of the time. I was the same back in Melksham, a situation I have explained before. I have my mates, my drinking and footballing guy friends, and then I have my friends, the people I'm really close to. I'm the only one that ever crossed that divide, and it's almost the same here. I love my group of friends to bits, but I also have other friends that I want to do things with. And no, not like that, those of you who are sniggering in a dirty way. I don't remember drinking a huge amount at Amadeus, because I was dancing quite a lot. Yes, with GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB, but also with other people. I seem to remember being handed a tequila shot to do, which I did, but also almost promptly threw up. I fucking hate tequila, and I've no idea why I did it that night. Probably because I didn't have to pay for it, and was just handed it off of a tray. Does me. I've no idea what time we left Amadeus, or how we got back to Bar Drei. I'm assuming either a taxi or bus, because we couldn't have walked that far. Definitely not. To be honest, I don't even know who went to Bar Drei with me. I bumped into Helen and Rachel on Sunday night, and they told me that they hadn't gone. I think it might just have been me and GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB. Can't be sure though. They told me that I'd walked her home, but I have no idea what time that could have been. I reckon it was sometime around 5, but it may have been half an hour either way. I distinctly remember only getting a goodnight kiss on the cheek, no more, but I truly cannot dredge up from the old archives what we spoke about in Bar Drei. For an hour. Hmm. All in all, I had a fucking great night. I was out with a load of wicked people, went to a couple of great bars, had a dance, had a load of drinks, and possibly put some groundwork in with GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB. You never know when that might pay off. Christ, I'm worrying that I'm beginning to sound obsessed. I think it's just because all of my friends keep asking what's going on with me and her, and if I really like her or not. I keep denying everything, but then at least one of them reads this blog, which kinda screws up my keeping shtum. Oh well, this kind of thing has always happened with my blog. Meh.


Rob, you really need some no-nonsence man-management young man! Give it the full gun, you've got to attack to the sound of the trumpets! This girl, who let's face it has a ridiculous name, obviously lacks that extra yard. Ever since your bar work in the summer you've had those extra gears in the locker. Basically, she's waiting for you to come on and do your trick. It's a crowd scene out there, beer pong always is, but the only way you're going to get the better of what is clearly a pressure cooker atmosphere is to get out your top gun and blow them off with a maxi performance.

Spotter's badge for staking her out early doors, but you've got to get in the mixer and give her the treatment. The kitchen sink. The executive gun. I've been chosen to analyse this particular blog cos I've been there, on the second post, in a similar situation. Boy did I give it the gun. You're attacking in installments right now my son, and I'm afraid you must have been watching cartoons if you think you can score from there. you can't. You've got to be the fox in the box. The Jeffers. The Van Nilstelhorse. The Shearer. The Ricketts. You can add your name to the list with the confidence of those luminaries.

Just work out your role. You're no amusement arcade, you're not a street dribbler. But I'd put my mortgage on you scoring if you put your mind to it. Just give it the full gun. Next time you see this bint you should lay down a few reducers early doors, its the only way to separate the men from the chaff.

Take my advice.

Next time, I might not be here. Analysis might be from a lesser mortal, like Andy Townsend.

I look forward to your progress.

Big Ron.