Washed Weekly: Cooper Flagg & Eight Great Scumbags
The boys were buzzing.
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Does Cooper Flagg Party?
by Dave
Did social media kill the professional athlete getting out there and mixing it up with the people? I think it did. As I continue to process the fact that Cooper Flagg, consensus stud and unlikely savior of the worst front office in sports, will be a Mav, it got me thinking about Dallas sports legends of old.
In the late nineties, you could almost count on seeing the new boys on the block, the Dallas Stars, shutting down bars on lower Greenville or Uptown Dallas. While I wasn’t out there in the bar scene as I was still a wee lad listening to Blink 182 in headphones on Friday night, I’d hear stories from my older sister about Mikey Modano and co. running rampant across town. Nothing bad. Just guys being dudes.
I remember hitting the Jack Daniels Bar and Grill after a Stars game in college and seeing ol’ Billy Guerin carrying four longnecks in each hand as he navigated fans back to his table. This was like an hour after the game at the bar inside the arena. I really think it’s safe to say that no one is doing that anymore. Not a phone in sight- just vibes. It was 2004. I seem to remember that Sherlocks across the street from the old Ballpark in Arlington being a go-to for players postgame for some reason. When Ruben Sierra came back to play the Rangers with the Yankees, I randomly saw him there by himself. That dude was a mythical being in my childhood. And there he was, just standing by the bar looking way too jacked to be 40. I’m pretty sure I gave him a hug.
But of course, no discussion of DFW athletes getting into one with the common folks would be complete without the greatest of all time:
The boys were buzzing. I think this was a bar in Fort Worth. My guys had range.
Those were the days. Imagine if these hit in the Twitter era. I think this was 2002 or 2003, and they almost certainly circulated Dallas via email threads. Back in those early Cuban-Dirk years, you could count on seeing someone of note at The Loon. “Oh shit! Is that Raef LaFrentz?? Can I get a pic with my one megapixel cameraphone?”
I know there have been some misses. If you were DJing a bar in Dallas in 2017, you probably didn’t want to see Zeke Elliott walk through those doors. And to be clear, I don’t want Cooper Flagg to become some kind of supreme Dallas playboy. I want all of the text on his hats to be rightside up. Based on everything I know about him (I watched a handful of Duke games and listened to an interview with Jay Bilas), he’s just a kid who loves ball. But it did get me thinking about how you almost never heard any stories about his predecessor from Slovenia. It’s almost like he was a model citizen and generational talent who was beloved by all of his teammates. Probably because he made them all better. And went to the Finals last year. Cool. Fire Nico.
Frat Guys & The Fat Drug
The boys recap their Weekends in Fun, Dave is back in on basketball, Trump's overweight friend who takes the "fat drug," Shrink the Game: Frat Edition, and NYT Zyn quitting column.
The Eight Great Scumbags Bachelor Party
by
Enough talk of the Eight Great Men Bachelor Party nerds with their deep talk chat circles, lakeside hikes, afternoon pickleball, picnic table lunches, and nary a drop of alcohol. Some of that stuff is fine for a laid back weekend in the spring, but it’s no way to celebrate your last hoorah as a single man with your best friends.
Just flatline BACs and mature conversation. Clean jokes and supportive friendship. Square meals and light cardio. Good natured ribbing and general encouragement. Sharing workout regimens and optimal hydration levels. No thanks!
Imagine waking up the first morning of an out-of-town bachelor party with guys you grew up with and trying to piece together the night before – wondering why the sheets are in the washer, why Kyle is still sleeping in the rocking chair on the front porch, where Garrett’s credit card is, and why Eric has 72 missed calls from his girlfriend.
Now imagine the previous night’s activities are crystal clear in your memory, you don’t have even a hint of a headache, and everyone behaved like perfect gentlemen. You’re gearing up for a two-hour hike while Paul is slicing fresh watermelon and new guy Nick is firing up some Denver omelettes. Which morning are you choosing? Uh h’yeah…
Do you have to get your hands on an eightball, pull an all-nighter at the strip club, and do anything you can to take home trim each night to have a successful bachelor party? That’s not for me to say. But if you’re a scumbag and you’re going away for a bachelor party weekend with other scumbags, yeah probably.
Night 1
Derek brought an excessive amount of molly and 16 grams of shrooms that he included in a welcome gift for each member of the squad, alongside 12 mini bottles of Fireball that were to last the weekend.
They wouldn’t, as the boys got abundantly tuned up before their 9:30 rez at STK. After an unspoken game of “who can order the most expensive entree” parlays into a game of “how many espresso martinis can we order before we’re ushered out of the restaurant,” the boys meander into the first club they find that offers bottle service.
Two bottles of Cîroc, 45 cigarettes, and 15 harassed women later, they stumble out of the bar at 2 am and order Ubers back to the Airbnb. A desperate ploy by a couple of them to hit the strip club fall on tired ears as the group compromises with a plan to order strippers to the house.
The next morning, Connor wakes up to a banking alert due to a suspicious $2,400 charge on his Chase Reserve from something called “Velvet Desire.” Panic overtakes him as he blows chunks off the back deck into a blooming rose bush.
The rest of the day would be spent napping, laughing over last night’s festivities, taking down some cold domestics, and trying to line up skirts for the second and last night.
Night 2
Connor stays home as the combination of a violent hangover and unanswered Venmo requests send him into a pit of anxiety, despair, and end-of-life ideation.
The rest of the crew pull it together with the help of Derek’s party favors and they start the night at a nearby pool hall to enjoy some longnecks and ease into the night. They’d quickly sidestep that plan when Josh is spotted making out with a local 4 against a pool table with his hand wandering dangerously up her midsection. This rallies the team as they pull Josh away and line up well tequila shots using Connor's credit card that Derek had just realized he was holding from the night before.
With elevated BACs and various chemicals coursing through their veins, the squad would head to a part of town known for cheap drinks, 18-and-up bars, and easy access to street drugs. After a short delay on the sidewalk as Ben procured unidentified pills from a guy in three-inch nuthuggers and a combover, they’d window shop bars before choosing the one with the sweatiest dance floor.
The guys are quickly ejected from the bar after a bouncer spots Carl openly doing key bumps with a college freshman in a Delta Zeta t-shirt.
The guys head for home and call in a Gumby’s pizza to arrive at the house just after they do. The Delta Zeta and her friends were invited over but the sight of seven thirty-somethings with sweaty button downs and receding hairlines scared them off.
They’d close the night down with a game of strip beer pong, 10mg gummies, and inappropriate texts to significant others back home before tapping out, one after another.
They’d wake up the last morning to realize Connor flew home early, Ben got a tattoo on his ass, and Carl didn’t sleep at the house last night.
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