Competition Time! Ladies and Gentlemen, LET’S PLAY DDDDAAAARRTTTSSSSSS
Posted by Jacko | Filed under Albion Arras, Competition Time, ManChat, The Great British Pub
I am very conscious of the fact that my last two posts have had elongated words in the title, but come on guys, this is darts, or DAAARRTTTTS we are talking about, here.
In last week’s post, I told you all that I will be saving the British pub, and I am a man of my word. I told you about a local dart’s team, and how The Great Right Hope is planning to sponsor them, all true, I shit you not.
Look, it’s all here: http://mark-jackman.com/blog/2009/04/29/iiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn-one/
Therefore, www.mark-jackman.com and www.ll-publications proudly present….
THE ALBION ARRAS
From left to right: Doylie, Matt, Jimmy, Al, Keith (Landlord), Big Ron and Graham. Player bios coming to the website soon.
The official launch party of the Arras was a bit late, but what a crackerjack it still turned out to be. The Arras played the Tap and Mallet, and, in dramatic fashion, the winner of this clash of titans was decided by the last leg, the beer leg, where the whole team plays down from 1001, winner-takes-all, shit-or-bust. The standard of darts was electrifying, which meant it all came down to Madhouse: both teams aiming at double-one, the epitome of accuracy. Between them, both teams managed to miss approximately thirty darts at the desired double until Ian Doyle of the Albion Arras, unleashed hell with a dart that actually went where he was aiming it. The Albion, Loughborough, England, erupted.
It was a fantastic evening. The Albion sells some wonderful beer, and the fans, as well as both teams, took advantage. The atmosphere… words cannot describe the intensity. Well, they probably could, but I don’t know many words. The emotions a man can experience after a night of ale, darts, uncomfortably hot chilli, pool, karaoke and all male company… wow. A picture speaks a thousand words.
Pubs will make you fell, breathe and live:
Passion
Euphoria
Irrational Anger
Constipation
Partial Nudity
Acceptable Manlove
Double-One Finishes
OK, so “acceptable manlove” isn’t an emotion, and nor are a few others, and double-one finishes are just a result of shit darts, but you get the point. One night of darts and a few sociable ales can take you on an emotional rollercoaster through a modern-day gladiatorial arena. I am not advocating binge-drinking here. True, one of the Albion Arras had downed six pints before the start of the match, but that was just to settle his nerves, so was technically a medical necessity
Support your local pub. You don’t have to drink, although it helps - still yet to find an activity that isn’t as fun without beer. That’s a good topic of conversation, actually. Can anyone think of anything that is more enjoyable to do sober (except shaving a ball sack, especially your own)?
Brainwave!
I have been planning to run a competition for a while, now.
CHALLENGE: Apart from shaving pubic areas, can anyone think of something that is more fun to do sober?
PRIZE: The funniest answer will win themselves a genuine set of GREAT RIGHT HOPE DART FLIGHTS! It doesn’t get much better than that! Note: I said funniest answer. Emergency surgery on your faithful dog is not funny, but best done sober. I just upset myself. A death of a dog is the only justification for male tears.
You have until Thursday the 14th, 6pm UK time to enter! Just pop your answer on the bottom of this post.
Back to the blog. So yeah, you don’t have to drink to enjoy darts, pool, etc. They are great social games, unless playing in a rough-arsed pub where every item used to play barsports also doubles up as an exceptionally versatile, violent weapon.
You are going to hear a lot more from me about how much fun pubs are and about the positive aspects of drinking. Together, we can save the British Pub. Calling out to the USA! How are pubs doing over there?
There will be a page devoted to the Albion Arras, on my website. I’ll let you know when it is up and running, so you can meet the team. Ladies, don’t you worry; there WILL be full frontal nudity. Anyone in the Loughborough area, the Albion Arras are at home to the Dew Drop next Thursday. Would be great to see you all there.
H’oway the Arras!
Tags: 180, Albion Arras, ale, CAMRA, Competition, dart slags, darts, dog death tragedy, England, Loughborough, mark jackman, Save the Pub, Steven Segal's Stinkbridge, The Great Right Hope
IIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN One
Posted by Jacko | Filed under Albion Arras, The Great British Pub
What makes me British?
What gave me my sense of humour?
What made me, me?
The answer is the pub, the British pub.
There is no better time, for a man, than that magical couple of hours at the start of the evening where the first four or five pints are supped, and the conversation magically meanders down a stream of wit and immeasurable fun.
You’re going to hear a lot more from me over the next few months about the British pub because they are an endangered species. Did you know that? Thirty-nine (that better be right, Doylie!) are closing every week. It’s a disgrace. A bloody disgrace, and do you know what? I am gonna do something about it!
I’m not advocating binge-drinking, here, but there’s n’owt more fun than a night in a drinking pub. I ain’t talking about shitty bars with chrome/pine furniture, three-quid a pint minging lager and a bunch of pretentious w***ers swanning about like fake cockneys (mockneys), I’m talking about dingy, dirty pubs with pool tables and dart boards, which brings me on to my next topic: darts.
There is no better drinking sport than darts. Snooker is a sport that makes men commit suicide, and is the hardest game in the western world (pipped by kabaddi in the eastern hemisphere). Pool is a class game, but you have to pay money, and some of the balls get stuck and when you play winner-stays-on, some smarmy little bastard with his own queue cleans up. That leaves dominoes, back gammon, blah-di-blah; they’re for pensioners (any other good bar games that deserve a shout?). So darts is the best. Fact.
It is a game of skill, precision, maths and nerves. It is the ultimate sport.
Historically, this beautiful past-time gave rise to the finest gameshow ever to grace British TV: Bullseye (not the US gameshow presented by Jim Lange). Bullseye was amazing. I can’t be arsed to go into the details, but check this link out if you have never heard of this TV giant. The Bullseye Format Just to put into the context the enormity of Bullseye, it ran for thirteen years and drew in about fifteen million viewers, every Sunday night. That was over a quarter of the population!!
Here you go, enjoy …
DON, YOU F***ING IDIOT! YOU F***ING IDIOT! YOU NEEDED 40, YOU USELESS T**T! YOU ARE THE DART PLAYER! YOU ARE THE F***ING DART PLAYER!
Left side of the board for f**k’s sake.
Sorry.
Up north, Don would have lived out the rest of the days in hell. He would have been shunned by his family, friends, workmates and neighbours, and, to be fair, that would have been the least he deserved.
That’s darts, or arras (arrows) as we like to call them.
I said earilier that I wanted to save British pubs, and I do. Hopefully, as I grow into a famous, powerful, impotent author, I will be able to make a big difference to the pub industry. As an unknown, slightly out-of shape, nearly impotent author, I can help a little.
www.mark-jackman.com and www.ll-publications.com are now proud sponsors of a darts team, The Albion Arras, Loughborough, England.
We are having a night out on the oche to celebrate, and I will report back on the festivities. There will be a chance for you to meet the team, and a chance to win Albion Arras/Great Right Hope merchandise.
H’oway the Albion Arras! Wish them luck, friends!
“Wake up to a nice hot cuppa with this Goblin tea’s maid!” Jim Bowen, Bullseye Host.
Pic courtesy of Wikipedia (Mudhappy)
Tags: 180, 80s, Albion Arras, ale, beer, Britain, Bullseye, Jim Bowen, Jockey Wilson, LL-Publications, mark jackman, Pub, Quiz, ringpiece, The Great Right Hope, Tony Green, You can't beat a bit of bulley
Hail To The King, Baby!
Posted by Jacko | Filed under Chewing of Fat
I don’t feel very good, right now. There are no illnesses, that I know of, coursing through my body. I am not hungover. I am not depressed. So, how come I am feeling rough, you ask. The answer is cheeseburgers.
I ate five cheeseburgers in a twenty-four hour period, from Friday night to Saturday night. Now I’m a healthy guy; I really am. I go to the gym four times a week and eat well. Yeah, I like a few beers. Who doesn’t? I haven’t got to justify myself to you. Shut up. However, I was celebrating the birthday of a friend and we had a couple of nights on the ale. I had a great time, but I didn’t eat anything through the day and we survived the night’s drinking by grabbing a quick McDonalds on each of the nights.
Not wanting to piss about, I always order what I can see is ready, and it was cheeseburgers on both nights. Cheeseburgers are lovely, but their effects on the human body are physiologically similar to that of heroin (well, they are both bad for you).
Two days on, and these cheeseburgers are still in my system. How far they have descended is something that I do not know. I feel discomfort from the top of my stomach all the way through to daylight. Those five intestine wreckers are on their way south and are moving like a continental plate, slow, steady and with the momentum that will break things in two, resulting in an eruption of magma.
Now, the reason for this blog is to pay homage to a great man: Elvis Aaron Presley.
Now, most people who know me, know I love the King and I mention him as a hero on my website. The King had the greatest voice of his generation, and, arguably, of all time. I am not here to discuss that. What I am here to say is that there is no-one, other than the great man himself, who could perform, to that standard, with that many cheeseburgers inside him.
The King, in his twenties, could eat eight cheeseburgers in a sitting, so I hate to think what he could have done in his later years. EIGHT! The guy must have felt terrible all the time, yet he still managed to pull off some of the most amazing performances in music history. Even before his death, he still had his voice. Yes, he was a large shadow of his former self, but the voice was still there.
What could he have achieved if he hadn’t ate cheeseburgers. How great could he have become? Elvis was a Karate master, can you imagine if the King had challenged the fitness DVD franchise of Billy Blanks’ Tae-Bo series. Elvis singing a track, whilst busting out moves at the speed of lightning would be number one, every January, after we indulge at Xmas.
Would he have become the President of the United States? Would he have evaded Iraq? Would he have needed to?
“Hey, Saddam, have you got any of them big mamma weapons, man?”
“Well, yes, we have, King.”
“You get rid of them, man, or I am going to come over and take care of business. You understand me? You get rid of them, and I’ll come over and play to your troops, as a thank-you. Heck, I’ll even throw in one of my “Karate with the King” fitness DVDs.”
“OK, King, I’ll tell the boys down the plant to get rid of them. Sorry about that. You know I get a little adventurous around my birthday. My Mrs loves them DVDs!”
Cheeseburgers: The devil’s work. If they can do what they did to the King, what are they going to do to a mere mortal like you or I?
Stay healthy, people.
Jacko
Tags: ale, Cheesburgers, drinking, Elvis, health
