Wednesday August 19th 2009 – 25th Anniversary Hash AKA NYC #1333
Hares: Dog Face & Dana
Bag Hags: Hot Rod, Hoboken Dave, Just Brittany, et al
Drink Check: Splat!
Start: 96th St. & Lexington Avenue – (Pre-Lube at Kinsale Tavern on 94th & 3rd from 6pm)
On-In: 86th & Broadway – The Parlour
Scribe: Just Richard
On August 11, 1984, United States President Ronald Reagan, during a voice check for a radio broadcast remarks, "My fellow Americans, I’m pleased to tell you today that I’ve signed legislation that will outlaw Russia forever. We begin bombing in five minutes". In response to the impending end of the world a group of drinkers decided to set trail in search of more beer. The NYC Hash House Harriers were born.
So as only a group born out of such adversity can do we dutifully milled about on the corner of 96th and Lex. Hashers old and new from far and wide made an appearance and once Yank It! started referring to some old timers you knew that they’d be old…the pack grapevine told me that one of these old timers started the Singapore hash.
Dogface did his best to gather his vestal virgins together and took them away to show them the one true way to Hash. With that out of the way he stood on a wall and shouted instructions to a pack of over 100. *Insert instructions here if you heard them for I did not*. The pack got restless and dumped their loads on the corner, and in a tradition dating back to 1984 headed off in search of beers following a hazy trail of chalk and flour.
We soon entered Central Park and were faced with much carnage courtesy of Mother Nature – our hares made much use of this and introduced some shiggy into our normally urban hash. So over felled trees and down dale did we head – slipping and sliding between Lasker Pool and Harlem Meer. Cursing the heat and the hares we then clambered up Great Hill. In a single file we came down it cursing the hares and the heat. We then headed south down the park to the chicken/eagle split. This chicken had brought his virgin wife to experience the Hash so I can’t tell you where the eagles soared.
In a strung out group now resembling the French retreating from Moscow we hobbled to Splat’s drinks near the W86th street exit. We all had some of Dr Splat’s Miracle Brew; “it’ll cure what ails ya”; and set off refreshed. Twas a mere skip; hop and jump until we felt The Parlour’s air-conditioned embrace. Unfortunately this was soon replaced by the funky heat of an overcrowded basement bar with over a 100 sweaty hashers. Ripe was the most printable description.
Hot Rod and Ow! My Balls opened in impromptu street market selling many wonderful articles of haberdashery the likes that had never been seen before, in the last 2 years.
Once everyone had a beer – not an easy task for one bar tender – the circle was called to order. After many a shout from the JM’s to hash hush Down-Downs were delivered as follows:
· The Hares – Dana, Dog Face & Splat
· Visitors – from a land far far away
· Virgins – to many to mention
· Smashmouth – for cursing at the homeless
· Ewa – for being an FRB in the woods
· Gabe – for insisting his hand gets marked for paying hash cash because there was more than one black person about
The circle then become a testosterone filled competition about had hashed the longest, who had the oldest t-shirt etc etc. We then toasted Hot Rod and Geoff Connor for their birthdays.
Pasta was served the now ravenous pack descended on the food and then we drank beer until the early hours!