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| A Night at Peppers with the Pacers |
So, Loblaw and myself are sitting in a bar, must have been a couple of years ago. Anyway, we used to head
there every Thursday (and on the occasional weekend) to see Great Scott! (link to GreatScottMusic.com), a band
fronted by a friend of ours. The glory part of the Thursday nights was that the bar, Pepper’s in Broadripple
(Indianapolis), had 75¢ Miller Lite drafts up until the band started.
As you can imagine, we always tried to get there as early as time would allow. On this particular Thursday
evening, we got there nearly an hour and a half before the band went on. The waitress knew us well and had 2
beers apiece sitting on our table by the time we had our jackets off. And as if the cheap beer wasn’t good enough,
she always put our first round on her comp tab: $3 saved. By the time Great Scott! took the stage, we had several
Solo cups stacked in front of us and were feeling no pain.
From our vantage point near the back of the bar, we noticed a couple of very large gentlemen ordering
drinks. One was wearing a button-down shirt with a very unique pattern and he looked very familiar. After a
couple of seconds, I realized that it was Scot Pollard, former Jayhawk and current NBA backup center. The other
cat’s identity didn’t immediately register, but when I got a good look at him, I saw that it was David Harrison; at
the time, Harrison was in his first year out of Colorado. He appeared to be reliving his college years, double-fisting
Bud Light bottles in the corner.
Loblaw was quickly consumed by the idea of approaching Pollard and asking him what it was like to play
against Shaq. You see, the Pacers had just finished with the Heat the night before and a Shaq elbow to Pollard’s
head prompted the smaller man to drop an f-bomb right into the local TV camera. So Loblaw approached Pollard
and questioned him about the f-bomb and the intricacies of guarding O’Neal. At that point, Scot asked us if we
wanted beers and told us to order them up since they were on David’s tab. With our second free round of the
night in hand, we mosied over to thank the rookie, who was now up at the front of the bar.
As we drew near, we saw that he was asking for Jager-bomb orders from everyone within earshot. Our
affirmative responses pushed the tally to 12 or 13 and he was soon handing out drinks by the handful. After we
had toasted with free round number 3, I yelled this question: “Hey, did you know Katie Hnida?” Harrison’s
response will be forever etched into the steel trap that is my mind: “I never touched her. But my brother f#*ked
her!”
Later in the season, Harrison was sidelined with a concussion, which one would assume came as a result of
some fantastic NBA action. Word on the street, though, was that the former Buffalo had drained an entire bottle of
Jack and banged his head on a countertop. But I guess I can’t really blame the guy: I’d rather drink a bottle of
Kentucky bourbon than watch an NBA game.