Brooklyn Hash House Harriers
Run #325
April 25, 2005
Hare: Screaming Orgasm
On In: Freddy’s Back Room aka DDB”s Favorite Brooklyn Hash Bar
Scribe: The Saint
The Scene
What’s with the weather this winter/spring? When will a true spring arrive and some decent climes available to Hash? Why are the Muts playing better than the Yanks? Who knows? If you ask those questions of a fellow hasher perhaps a shoulder shrug is the best answer.
A coldish wind blew into the shadows of the Brooklyn Bridge discouraging some but not all outer borough hashers to form in a close knit group as we waited and waited for the Hare to arrive. Stephen burned up his cell time speaking w/ her as more and more hashers emerged from the subway depths including one chap who seemingly knew about the hash, complied of knee pain and left. Obviously a challenged runner if he knew Hashing as well as the therapeutic power of beer especially Brooklyn-located beer! About a dozen or so as we set off what was one of the most unbalanced trails I’ve ever run. Lots of immediate checks, lots of confusing checks in the first half/part, lots of running and running in the second, sort of like a training session consisting of. Quarters and then a 3-miile jaunt with instructions of stat running and we’ll tell you when to stop. About 45 minutes worth although it did seem much longer.
A Question of Balance
As I’m scribing this at 33,000 ft, it’s dark outside, haven’t had a drop, but perhaps more importantly, it’s February of the Year of the Dog, thereby who knows what I intended except to amplify the prior paragraph. It is funny though how powerful the mind is certainly among Hash scribes from the most populous NY borough that I recall running along some dimly-lit street and composing this in my head. Most likely explanation if I miss a mark or two which I apparently did not at this run else there would of been a hazy Down Down memory this run.
At a Favorite Bar
We’ve been here many times and – here’s a great sense of memory – the first time I got a Down Down for being an FRB and not either calling loudly enough upon finding the trail off a check. Me not loud on trail? Not marking, likely the lame hare didn’t have supplemental chalk! At that On In, the barkeep allowed his or the BarMut (not to be confused with the NY Muts) room the backroom begging for pizza scraps. Also recall, he had only three legs. This time, he was gone either a victim of the Mike’s Health Dept; a speeding motorist or another Barkeep on duty. The usual suspects received a Down Down, the hare and perhaps another for her lack-of-balance, Steva, if they showed up for whatever offence like ordering non-Hash beer that is truly overpriced for such mediocre swill; and after that it’s not precise.
On Out
The Saint