Not that I’m any judge of them, but Ivy and Coney, in “the Shaw” in DC, is a great dive bar.
That door to the left of the pizza place, right below the pride flag, is how you get in. You walk up a flight of stairs because it’s above the pizza place. Here’s exactly how it felt inside, maybe a bit more crowded.
It has a Chicago/Detroit vibe and is a magnet for folks from those parts of the Midwest. They bill themselves as “your home for cheap drinks, cheap food, and even cheaper company.”
When we got to our hotel on Saturday, the weather was a bit iffy, so we planned to watch the Michigan-Iowa game in our room and head out for dinner afterwards. But as nice as our hotel was (more on that later), it lacked cable TV, and so we couldn’t get the game. Oh, no! The obvious move was Ivy and Coney. It would’ve been about a 35-minute walk, but with the weather shaky we drove (a fateful decision, more on which, also, later).
When we arrived, there was a line out the door, but only about six people long so we decided to join it. The deal was the bar was packed and they would only allow new people in as old people left. It was almost halftime by then, so we hoped some spots would open. And they did. It was our first time in the place and when we climbed the stairs we were hit by quite a scene. I scoped out the various areas and we got lucky to find two empty stools near a shelf on the wall. The beertender gave me (or my Michigan cap) a big smile and took my order: One water, one Old Style, and two Chicago dogs.
They have a decent selection of canned beers, but only Bell’s (Michigan) and Old Style on draft, the former $9 a pint and the latter $6, so the choice was obvious. Old Style is your basic cheap Chicago beer and I loved it. The dogs were top notch at $6 each. Hey, there’s one on the left! Look at all the great stuff they pile on it — good job Chicago!
Michigan had the game well in hand and the crowd roared with each first down and sang Hail to the Victors with each score. But we failed to drive a stake through the Iowa heart and stupid bad plays on our part kept them alive. With two seconds to go, they got the miracle they were working towards and the crowd grew immediately silent, stunned. We filtered out down the steps, walked a few blocks to our car, and got into an accident.
Wait, what? What accident? Like a car accident?
Yup. As I was turning left, a car blew a stop sign and clipped me. Much damage was caused on the other car’s driver’s side via scraping and denting. I just got a small dent in front, on the right. Pretty minimal. It’s all in the hands of the insurance people now.
The driver of the other vehicle was an older (yes, even older than me, albeit just by three months), Black woman, whom I took a liking to immediately. As I approached her, she was fumbling through her paperwork to find stuff and apologized for taking so long. I said, “Take your time, I’m retired and in no rush.” She smiled and said she’s been retired for 12 years. She thanked me when I said I’d call the police for us, but when I called they said all we needed to do was exchange info. DC is a no-fault jurisdiction so the cops only come if there’s an injury or a vehicle that cannot be driven away. Fine. We were done pretty quickly.
Here’s our little baby.
We were staying at the Hotel Nell. Pretty chic, certainly by our usual dumpy standards. It’s in a wonderful neighborhood that’s on the way up: Union Market.
Our room was fine, but could have had a better layout. Here’s the lobby, where we enjoyed our breakfast each morning.
This was the second time we stayed in a relatively upscale place and discovered they only had streaming services for the TV and not the usual cable channels. Is that a thing now? It worked out because we loved Ivy and Coney. What else about the weekend? Oh, yeah, the ballgame.
In deference to the weather, the Gnats moved the game up to 1 pm from 4, so we arrived via the Metro a little after noon, Potbelly sandwich in hand. Things were a bit damp and the crowd pretty sparse, but it’s always great to be at the ballpark. As it happened, the game was delayed an hour, but did start at 2 and we got to watch the grounds crew work its magic with the big tarp. Well done, fellas (and one girl). Hey, here she is!
The game got off to a dreadful start. DJ Herz seemed to be throwing batting practice and back-to-back dingers by the Mets put them in front 4-1 after two. And it was cold and wet and little feelings of misery started making themselves known. Could we last two more hours? Imperceptibly, however, the momentum switched. The Gnats pen took over in the fourth and tamped down the Mets bats. Meanwhile Andres Chaparro hit an enormous homerun and then another! We were all tied up and then ahead 5-4. Could we hold on? Brady House poked across an insurance run for us in the seventh, but put a Met on via an error in the eighth. Brady giveth, and Brady taketh away. Jack Sinclair kept the run from scoring and we entered the ninth up 6-4 with new closer Erik Tolman on the mound facing Lindor and Soto: two of the best hitters in the game. It wasn’t going to be easy. Both batters drove the ball well, but into Gnat gloves for two outs. Of course, Bichette followed with a single to bring the tying run to the plate. Then — strike three! It’s over! Gnats win! Gnats win!
By all of the usual metrics it was a meaningless game. But it was joyful to the Gnat players and fans, and to us! It put a big smile on the end of the season, which saw the Gnats winning their last three series. There’s a hopeful ringing in the air.
Pretty Alexa Datt interviewed Andres Chaparro for his two homers (and key single) but she could have interviewed any number of guys for their roles in the win: CJ Abrams, who got his 106th RBI of the season; Nasim Nunez, whose incredible diving stab of a grounder at short with the infield drawn in saved two runs; Brady House; half the bullpen that shut out the Mets for the final seven innings; Eric Tolman for the save. There was no shortage of heroes.
Where have the likes of Bob Dole, John McCain, and Mitt Romney gone? Instead the GOP has come up with Eric Schmitt of Missouri, an utterly worthless human being. In a Senate hearing yesterday, Schmitt charged Jack Smith with perjury for lying about his attendance at an Atlanta Hawks game. For good measure he called Smith a “dirtbag.”
It soon emerged that Schmitt’s big smoking gun was a dud. Smith had attended a “Hawkeye” game (Iowa vs Maryland, showcasing Caitlin Clark) and in fact was truthful about not attending the Hawks game. Schmitt had his head up his ass and left the hearing embarrassed, but not before repeating that Smith was a dirtbag anyway. It’s that second dirtbag that sets Schmitt apart from the rest of the GOP morons in the Senate.
You proud of your Senator, Missouri? Phil is refusing to waste film on the schmuck. Here’s CC instead.
I’ve been having a lot of fun with the puzzles lately. Here’s some of the nonsense I came up with for Rex’s gang. For the answer ACID:
Conversation overheard in Eleventh Century Spain:
Was that El Cid?
No.
It sure looked like him.
It wasn’t him.
It sure looked like him.
It was ACID, but not El Cid.
Oh, OK.
How about this for ASPECT: If you don’t want your ASPECT, keep your pants on in the chicken coop.
For GO PLACES:
What Republicans use
To tie their shoes
Did you hear about the poet who liked to work the minute he woke up? He went from bed to verse.
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On the Yankee win last night: Not only was Cam Schlittler brilliant against Boston last night, he is sure to win both the AL Cy Young award this year and the award for Pitcher With The Most Carefully Pronounced Last Name.
We’ll see how Max does tonight.
See you tomorrow, Chatterheads! Thanks for popping by.
