TDL’s Sports, Wrestling, & Otherwise

Two years ago, I made tentative bar-hopping plans coinciding with the New York City Marathon. The general idea was to start at the bottom of First Ave and work our way up the street until it started feeling a little too close to East Harlem, then work our way back down. For whatever reason, this fell through and I ended up staying in my apartment to watch football. Last year, we didn’t really even attempt plans.

This year, however, forces aligned properly. A friend of a friend (conveniently, the same one whose apartment I looked at, decided to throw a marathon party. His apartment overlooks First Ave, which means we had a great view of the runners from the third floor. He also had a fire escape and a refrigerator full of beer.

I headed out about 11:00 am to try and get there by noon. I figured that most of the normal, human runners would be passing by there about then. I got to his apartment about 12:15 pm (after having to let three 6 trains pass by the 59th street station because they were too packed to get on. The irony that, in the time it took me to take the subway from my apartment uptown, some runners had already finished 3/4ths of a marathon was not lost on me). If I was remotely athletic or cared about running, it might bother me. As it was, I got out to a packed First Avenue just as the bulk of the normal runners were coming through. After shoving through the crowd and reaching the blessed front door of the apartment, I went upstairs.

The host had a full spread of snacks and beers and his windows were wide open allowing easy access to the fire escape. This, my friends, was the way to watch the marathon. No crowd, no shoulder to shoulder, and only drunks that I wanted to associate with bumping into me. So, after having some bagels and cheese and such, I stepped out onto the fire escape and proceeded to shout encouragement to people who had their names on their shirts. This was incredibly more fun than it had any right to be. Just random name shouting followed by “WHOOOOOO!!!!” and “LEG IT OUT!”. I will say, if I was seventeen miles deep and was being told to “leg it out” or “dig for it” by someone with a mouthful of bagel with a double-fist of beer, I’d probably want to spit in their eye. As it was, it got progressively more fun to shout names and then try to figure out the correct ethnic pronunciations. Carrrrrrrrrrlos, Pedrrrrrrrrooooooooo, Helmut, Jedvic, Guuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuy, and Aaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaa were amongst the favorites. This shortly devolved into random things the person was wearing if a name was not available… such “yeah, balloon tied to your back guy!” and “go, shameless promo for Dunkin Donuts dude!”.

There’s something to be said for cheering people on and not being forced to associate with the masses on the side of the street. I’ve decided that, if I ever do Times Square for New Year’s, this is how I’ll have to do it. I need a balcony, a constant source of alcohol and food, a bathroom, and a distinct separation line between me and everyone else. That’s the way to do it.

Of course, after this party, I’m even MORE disappointed that we couldn’t work out a sublet for this place. I’d have been excited to host this party for the next couple of years. On the bright side, I’ve checked something else off my “things to do in New York” list. Hopefully I’ll also be able to finish up “go to a Knicks game” and “go to a Rangers game”.