Zack assured me that my brief visit to California wouldn’t be complete without a visit to Sonny McClanes on Wilshire in Santa Monica. I thought that I had fulfilled all the obligations for an “LA Badge” by hitting an In and Out Burger. But the way that I look it… now that I have been to Sonny McClanes I’m at least half way to California Eagle Scout.
When Zack suggested that we hit this saloon, and that the saloon had an “everything Boston” motif… Red Sox, Patriots, Celtics and Bruins, I nearly fainted… I mean LA is neutral turf, no? Why are we heading behind enemy lines? There can only be one reason… this place has to be good.
Now… I don’t know LA… and there have been citizens that have pointed out that places I “know”, I don’t really know. But my initial read on Sonny McClanes was that it was closest LA had to offer to the dart and beer joints that Zack had at his beck and call in the Village (that’s New York, for those of you who don’t know).
So after a splendid dinner at Il Moro, we picked up Anders and headed to Santa Monica for a “night cap”. I do not love beer, nor do I throw darts (or is the correct verb “shoot” or “hurl” or “fling”?)… so the service of beer and the quality of the “dart lanes”, or is it “dart pitch”, or maybe “dart venue”, is lost on me.
I drink beer only to slake a thirst, not for enjoyment.
Darts? Not permitted when I was growing up… you could put out an eye… or if you slipped and fell you could break your neck. In either case, my parents and Mommie Soph in particular, regarded this activity as highly dangerous. Only ill behaved boys, who probably had BB guns, too (and didn’t do well in their homework) fooled around with darts. Mommie Soph also didn’t approve of archery.
So here we are at Sonny McClanes… a pitcher of Bud, karioke going full tilt (why do people who are “three sheets to the wind” think they can carry a tune?), a game of 8 Ball in progress… and two dart boards currently in use.
Beth has brought her own set of darts. I guess this is the norm among dart enthusiasts… it’s like having your own bowling ball or pool cue. Hers were in a simple case; but I can imagine that the “fancy Dan’s” sport their darts in cases of Corinthian leather with a handle.
Meanwhile, the mere fact that Beth has her own darts I find a bit intimidating. Zack would tell me later that between the two, Beth is the superior player (or maybe Beth told me that).
While Zack and Anders arrange their game with a pair of contestants, Beth and I talk… she tries to explain the scoring, which I think I understood (my Mother tried to explain scoring in Mah Jong to me once… I think I threw up).
On this night, Beth was not involved in the competition, although the boys used her darts (which I assume is not as bad as using someone else’s toothbrush). Our responsibility this evening was to consume beer and watch. During a lull in the action, Beth mentions that she is a better player if she’s had a “few”. Apparently, inhibitions drop, you throw your darts pure and clean, without secondary thoughts. But there is a critical point when too much hops impede accuracy.
I can relate to that. When I am at Ash Creek, scribbling a few lines, my best words… colourful adjectives, snappy verbs and funny nouns come to me a third of the way into Wild Turkey number two. By number three my ideas begin to fade and my penmanship suffers.
Our attention is back to the contest. Maybe Zack and Anders didn’t bring their “A” game on this night… or maybe these guys were just better. Granted, I don’t know the nuances but it looked like the guys from NYU were getting pasted.
It was nice to see that their opponents were gracious in victory. It turns out that it was a father and son team. We were introduced and it was handshakes all around.
We finish our beers and I look about the room.
The folks seemed to be there for the beer, for the karioke, for pool and darts… and not as an endorsement of Boston sports.
And then again… nothing “Boston” was happening that night so that the “Nation” was not out in force… or maybe this is a very lonely out post of the “Nation”… confined to the saloon keeper.
Yeah. That must be it. Screw him.
Still… I’m going to claim my LA Badge for “Drinking Behind Enemy Lines.”