Says here there’s SuperBowl on the near horizon, so I ease on into the Liquor & Rubber Balls Sports Bar and Abortion Clinic to see if I can wheedle any useful information out of Duck Diamonds. A regular at LRB, Duck is a professional gambler who shall we say knows people. You understand.
Turns out Duck isn’t even here. Nobody has seen him for weeks. Odd.
But talk about coincidence: as I sit at the bar savoring a pint of Grolsch my phone rings. It’s my old pal Radicchio R. Peggio, Jr., whom I’ve seen maybe twice seen since SuperBowl 2011, when he enlisted my support and advice for his Superbowl party and pool-side tequila tasting event at the Bingo Arms. Raddy is the only acknowledged offspring of his philandering father of the same name, who made his fortune in the post-WW2 airline industry. He created Air Hellair, which flew both passenger and cargo planes from his base in northern Great Britain to Scandinavia, Greenland, Iceland, and eventually the then-Soviet Union, before he sold out to Aer Lingus of Ireland.
I’m alive, Raddy. I got the aches, pains, and creditors to prove it. But I’m not sure I can handle another one of your tequila bashes.
“You were the star of the show!” he says. “Well, you and Guido — god that girl can swim. She only got out of the pool when you started taking off your clothes to jump in.”
Shit. She stopped me, right?
“You don’t remember? Yeah, she stopped you. Too bad. I lost money on that.”
Yeah, too bad.
“So we’re doing it again and this time I have another dozen different brands. DeLeon, Los Azulejos, Blue Head, Tezon, Voodoo Tiki…..”
Raddy — all I can tell you is I don’t remember a goddam thing about that party, and I really hesitate to say yes to something where I don’t know what will happen based on something I don’t remember doing or saying.
“Oh, hell, you were great! The resident expert! Even my Mexican pals said they were impressed — said people who know and talk as much about tequila as you did are usually unemployed broken-down motor-mouthed ignorant stumbling drunks…..”
Yeah, well I don’t stumble.
“So we’ll see you, what, about noon? The game isn’t until after 6, but we’ll have the bar working and the pool to ourselves all day. You still got your tan, right? Make sure you bring Guido. In fact, bring whoever you want — just tell me ahead of time.” And he’s gone.
Yeah, well, I dunno. I mean, waking up on Monday morning smelling faintly of chlorine and marveling how my brain hurts gets old. As do I.
Then again — Los Azulejos? Anejo? Hmmmmmmmmmmm.