"The Cider of the Century"

Date: 31 Aug 97

I think that now is the time to tell the story of "The Cider of the Century." When planning for such a momentous as Vegas DBFest '97, I wasn't sure what kind of booze to bring. Sully was to bring Big Blue (aka "My Samoan Client"), his big fucking beer barrel with multiple home brew half-kegs inside. Gonz had an arsenal of hard-liquor (everything from JD to Tequila) that promised to kick everyone's BAC up a few notches. What could I bring that would kick everyone in the mouth and say, "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT? I LOVE IT!!!"

Then, in a moment of clarity, it came to me: why not bring cider? Of course! I knew Jaz was "The Cider-Quaffing Knight" and that J&N Lombardo had been known to swill a cider or two in New Jersey. I trotted down to my local wholesaler and asked them how much cider it would take to get Las Vegas drunk. The consensus was that a 13 gallon keg would do the trick and, for around $100, would be quite cost-efficient.

But through prolonged conversations with my legal counsel (none other than Sir Sully at Il Vino Pschiziphreno), I realized that such a large keg might present logistical problems. Besides having to sneak it through the casino and up to the room ("Can we please get a wheelchair for my Samoan client, bellhop!"), what would we do about doling it out? First off, too keep a big keg like that from going flat over the weekend, it would have to be pushed with CO2. CHA CHING! And with as much cider as Jaz and I would be drinking, we would be spending all of our time running between my hotel room and wherever we planned to drink it. Unless we had the balls to pull a Sully and wheel the big bastard around the casino in a wheelchair ("My Samoan client is very camera-shy and prefers to hide under this sheet. Hmm? What's that hose dripping yellow liquid? It's his colostomy bag, ya fucking no-necked Italian motherfucker!"

I went back to the purveyor of fine spirits and inquired as to my options. Turns out, you can get cider in 32oz bottles (in England, they sell 'em in 3 liter sizes! I'm ALL over that, d00d!). I ordered a 12er each of Woodchuck Amber and Dark and another 12 of Bulmer's Woodpecker, an English import. Owing to American liquor laws or some such bullshit, the Woodpecker came in at a piss-water weak 2.9 percent, while the Woodchuck was over twice that!

The day Gonz and I departed for Vegas, I ran over to the liquor store and gingerly loaded the precious cargo into my trunk. Believe you me, the sight of that much cider in my trunk almost made me want to fuck-off Vegas, head out into the desert, and get drunk off my ass. It was only through sheer force-of-will that I headed over to Gonz's instead, off loading part of the booze into a big ice chest, and placing the rest in the backseat. The Quest for Vegas was underway!

Upon arriving at Binion's, Gonz and I headed into the hotel in search of a trolley with which to transport the cider. Unfortunately, there wasn't anyone around to lend us assistance. We headed up to our rooms, off loaded our belongings, and returned to the lobby with our empty suitcases, a fiendish plot in mind. We would smuggle the cider right past the guidos (just think how much more cider there would have been if we had snuck it past Don Guido ;-) ) and into the room.

Fortunately for both our backs, Jaz and Leaf mysteriously appeared. Destiny? Coincidence? Or did the God of Cider direct them towards us? Whatever the reason, I was glad to have two more people to help with "The Vegas Airlift" as I deem it, as worthy a feet as that little operation in Berlin during the War.

We popped back up to Gonz's car to begin the process. I knew that Jaz and I would need some of the liquid courage to strengthen us for the trip. We cracked open a bottle of the Woodchuck Amber and proceeded to kill it right there in the parking garage. We were so afraid of being busted that we measured all the camera angles and made sure that we weren't being watched by one of the hundreds of cameras at Binion's.

The 3 cases of cider were loaded into duffel bags and suitcases, and we began the perilous journey. Only a few meters into the trip, we had our first casualty! Precious cider drained out the bottom of my duffel bag. We found a secluded spot, opened up the bag, and, HORROR OF HORRORS, one of the bottles had kicked the bucket and was peeing out precious alcohol. We contemplated drinking it, but with the thought of glass in our stomachs ruining the whole weekend, we chalked up the loss and tossed it (with an obligatory bowing of heads and moment of silence for our fallen comrade).

Straining like a DB passing a kidney stone, we hurried through the lobby, the weight of the cider and of our responsibility to DBkind weighing heavily upon us. At last, we reached room 219 and could relax. At least they could. Luckily for me, the ice machine was located 5 feet from my door. I filled up the old blue ice chest with the stuff, jammed in about 9 of the liter bottles, and put the fucker back in my room.

For the rest of the weekend, security cameras at Binion's recorded the cider's progress. Drunken Bastards loudly running amok in the casino, in the restaurant, on the street, and all over the fucking city. When we realized that no-one in Vegas cares what or where you drink, we were released of any moral burdens. DBs could be found in any corner of the casino, drinking sweaty liter bottles and yelling "ARRGH!" or "DRINK UP YA BASTARDS!!".

The best part about the cider was all the attention that it attracted. Complete strangers would come up to us and ask, "Where in the hell do I get a bottle of that stuff? WAITRESS! I'll have what HE'S having." Binion's personnel would ask, "Do we sell that here?!?!?" Most of the tourists had never partaken of fermented-apple and gladly sampled the stuff when offered. I noticed lots of the floor-managers giving me a wary eye when 3 or 4 drunken bastards would belly up to a table and place these HUGE bottles on the green felt. Sure, they were cool with us DRINKING the stuff, but if we had spilled it all over the felt, the other players, and the gambling chips, I think you would have never heard from us again.

Unfortunately for the DBs, I VASTLY underestimated how much cider it would take from Thursday to Monday. Sometime early on Saturday, we were down to our last 9 bottles. Don Guido Cruise, Nips (Jeremiah), Brad Warren, Jaz, and myself locked ourselves in my room, dedicated to finishing off that cider before we departed. It took lots of effort, but we did it, even before hotel security had to kick down the door
(check out pix 32-44a)

For Jaz and I, there was a certain sadness in being ciderless for the rest of DBFest. We tried drinking the free booze they give you for gambling, but it just wasn't the same. Even if you have to pay for it, cider beats well-drinks any day.

Next time, I'm hijacking a cider truck and bringing THAT fucker with me. Only then will I out-cider the bastards...