FanPost

RRRR: Review of Big Hurt Brewhouse

Ken and I headed over to the Grand Opening of the Big Hurt Brewhouse, Frank Thomas' new sports bar in Berywn. Also along for the ride was Ken's brother, Boomer. It was a packed house. Our experience was generally positive, largely due to the surprising resolution of a long-standing feud.

Ken had been looking forward to this date for months and I let him procure the reservations for us. It was a long trip for both of us, given that Berwyn is far away from both Oak Forest and my horse farm in Barrington Hills. However, we were both more than willing to make the trip, given that the Big Hurt himself would be there.

My driver pulled up to the entrance and I was immediately struck by the outside of the bar. It's located in a former bank so it's a unique setting. Ken had a little trouble with his 1996 Pontiac Firebird Formula and was delayed as he had to switch over to his wife's 2004 Chevy Monte Carlo "Dale Jr." edition - which is totally a chick car. I was embarrassed for him when he finally pulled up to drop Boomer off and let me know they were finally here.

Ken finally walked in after like ten minutes. I asked him why it took him so fucking long to find a parking spot and he just mumbled something about Joe Maddon. As we approached the hostess stand, none other than Frank himself bellowed out a hearty greeting, which immediately perked up Ken. Before we were led to our table, I took a photo of Frank with Ken and his brother. This is probably the 45th picture Ken has with Frank but whatever makes that big ole teddy bear happy.

The hostess took us to our table. It was in a solid location with multiple TVs close by and directly in our line of sight. Unfortunately, at the table behind us, there were a half dozen Cubs fans. Anticipating what was likely to be in store for me if we stayed there, I asked the hostess if there was another table we could have. However, the only other tables were in shit locations so we just stayed put.

Ken and Boomer immediately ordered Big Hurt Beers. Knowing full well that those are horsepiss, I opted to test their bartender and ordered an Old Fashioned.

We then took a look at their menu. It was more limited than I expected - perhaps they're still ramping things up in the kitchen - but it did have a couple interesting options for appetizers that we ordered up: fries smothered with pulled pork, jack cheese and giardiniera and "Meatball Lollipops".

It was at this point that I took a closer look at our Cubs neighbors. There were four guys, mid to late 30s, wearing what I assumed must have been joke jerseys for the day after Halloween or something. One had a Marmol, another had a Paul Bako, the next had a Bryan LaHair and last one had a Prior. And not just the jersey but he had a full Prior away uniform on - pants, hat, socks. The Prior had a really hot girlfriend with him, must have been fifteen years younger than him, and was wearing one of those tight girls Cubs t-shirts. The final member of the party was a woman who looked very similar to the old Winston-Salem Warthogs mascot, though she was instead wearing a Michael Barrett jersey.

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At this point, our drinks arrived, so my attention returned to the table. I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the Old Fashioned and Ken pretended that his beer tasted like something other than warm warthog piss. We chatted about the White Sox offseason and Bray Wyatt until the food arrived.

The smothered fries were quite good. I thought the meatballs were a bit too much on the dry side but Boomer slurped them up like a $50 hooker so obviously they have an audience.

The Cubs fans were becoming a bit more boisterous at this point, finally drawing Ken's attention. His reaction was milder than I expected, just a few typical Cubs bashing comments interspersed between some fittingly off-color but spot-on remarks about the young lady. Our second round of drinks arrive.

Shortly thereafter, another two people join the Cubs party. One was a reasonably attractive for her age woman. The second appeared to be her boyfriend/husband. They didn't seem like they fit with the group, since they weren't wearing random Cubs paraphernalia, but whatever.

Our third round of drinks arrive and we take this opportunity to order dinner. Again, the choices were limited. Ken and I opted for the burger while Boomer ordered the grilled chicken. Appropriately, he received a lot of shit for this.

Ken by this time is pretty lathered up and is in full Kenwo form, regaling us with stories from his 7th grade Little League playoffs. Given that I've heard these stories numerous times, I tuned out a bit in the more boring parts and found myself ogling the ass of the hottie next door. The guy who had just arrived caught me and gave me a cold stare. I was about to just laugh it off but, all of the sudden, I recognized him. I couldn't believe who it was but there was no mistaking him. And I knew Ken would go absolutely apeshit.

At this point, I was faced with a critical decision. Before making that decision, however, our fourth round arrived with our food (Boomer, designated driver, wisely changing over to iced tea - raspberry-flavored, of course, in true Wo family tradition). Knowing how things might be taking a turn quickly, I immediately downed my drink. Ken was just finishing up telling us how he totally could have played for the Windy City Thunderbolts. Finding this a perfect segue, I let Ken in on my startling discovery.

"Ken, there's a former Thunderbolt behind you right now."

"Who? Mark fucking Prior?"

"No. It's your boy Rob Mackowiak."

Ken's eyes immediately darkened and he ejaculated "What?!?!" as he turned around. "Which one?"

"The guy in the leather jacket."

Ken looks at him and yells: "Rob Mackowiak! You piece of shit."

I had thought Ken might opt for a more measured opening but, in true KenWo fashion, he went for it all.

Mackowiak also surprised me with his response. Instead of laughing it off and ignoring Ken, he immediately rose to his feet. Getting my first clear look at his frame, I noticed he wasn't one of those athletes who stayed in excellent shape after retirement - Ken definitely had the height advantage and probably the weight advantage, too. Mackowiak interrupted my ruminations, however, by saying to Ken, "Who the fuck are you? You don't want any part of this!"

Mackowiak then started to move around his table but stumbled briefly as he appeared to get his feet tangled in a knockoff Coach purse on the floor. Ken immediately seized on this.

"Just like when you played center field, Rob, prancing around like one of my daughter's My Little Pony, tripping over yourself. You're a fucking embarrassment to the South Suburbs. I don't give a shit that you're from Oak Lawn, you sucked ass."

I was thinking this all must be quite cathartic for Ken, venting years of frustration and pain about Mackowiak. However, Mackowiak can't have any clue where all of this is coming from. But he kept moving around the table and finally got in Ken's face. It was at this point that I sent a text to my driver with the word "paniagua" - our code for "Ken is about to get us into a bar fight. Again. Pull up out front with the passenger doors open and the engine running."

Boomer is trying to calm his brother down but I don't even bother. This has been building for more than eight years. Ken isn't going to back down.

Mackowiak is just giving Ken the cold stare and Ken is laughing in his face. "What are you going to do, Rob? You ruined the 2006 White Sox!" Ken then gave Mackowiak a solid shove. Mackowiak just gets right back in Ken's face, asking him "You really want to do this? I'll beat your flabby ass to a pulp."

At this point, I'm wondering why bar security is nowhere in sight because we're in the middle of the place, making quite the scene.

And then, out of nowhere, the Big Hurt himself appears - with that same menacing look he had at the plate - and separates the two of them with his massive paws. They're still both trying to get at one another but Thomas is a massive human being. He's got his hands stretched out all the way to keep them separate and it seems like Mackowiak and Ken are now fifteen feet apart. Thomas, in an extremely calm and measured voice, asks "What's the problem here?" At this time, I notice that Boomer has pissed his pants.

Ken pipes up immediately, saying, "Big Hurt, that's Rob Mackowiak! He sucked for the White Sox - Kenny traded Damaso Marte for him! What the fuck?"

Thomas is plenty confused by this, as I think just about everyone else crowded around the situation was, too. I'm pretty sure that Thomas has no idea who Rob Mackowiak is. I'm also back in my seat, enjoying my delicious burger - cooked medium-rare, excellent condiments, bun toasted perfectly. I recommend it.

Mackowiak says, "I have no idea what this guy is talking about. I'm just having drinks with some friends and this guy starts talking shit."

Ken replies, "You know exactly what I'm talking about! You're the worst center fielder the White Sox ever had! And considering who they've played out there, that's a pretty fucking big accomplishment!"

"I just played where the manager told me to play. I don't fill out the lineup card. No shit I'm not a good center fielder.My career UZR there was 16.0 runs below average."

Mackowiak dropping UZR? My estimation of the man immediately increased ten fold. Thomas, however, is still very confused. And Ken, true to form, isn't backing down.

"Yeah, no shit you're not a good center fielder. You cost the White Sox the playoffs in 2006!"

"I'm glad that we have no disagreement over how bad I was in center. However, I take issue with your assertion that I cost the team the playoffs. We finished five games behind Detroit. Despite having to play out of position for much of the season, I still was above replacement level as measured by both fWAR and rWAR."

"Well, your KenWAR was negative 10."

"I'm not familiar with the components of KenWAR. However, even assuming that your calculation is remotely correct, your blame should be with Kenny Williams for constructing a roster that depended upon Brian Anderson - a fine young man but an obviously flawed baseball player - playing center field or with Ozzie Guillen for playing me out of position."

"There's something we can agree upon. Ozzie Guillen was a terrible manager! I've been saying that for years. You're right, Rob Mackowiak, my anger towards you was misdirected. I apologize for my behavior both today and in the past. While you were not a good player, you were not the problem."

Thomas still has no goddamn clue what is happening. The silence is awkward for a few moments. Then he says, "No doubt about it. Everybody, a round of Big Hurt Beer is on the house!"

Mackowiak and Ken embrace one another and shake hands. Boomer excuses himself, muttering something about taking a shit. Thomas delivers our Big Hurt Beers. My god did it taste terrible.

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