The Haters Ball

A year ago, G-man and Danny and I sat in the bar at Max’s and conceived The Haters Ball. Chuck had come to Rochester, bringing a bottle of Macallan 17, which was in payment of our 2007 baseball bet, because the Sox had bested the Yankees during the 2007 regular season. As always, Danny was talking shit on the Sox, predicting their demise in 2008, or at least promising that the Yankees would return to superiority. And to back up his talk, Danny suggested we re-up the bet for 2008, with higher stakes. (Always the gambler.) By the end of the evening, it was decided that next year’s stakes would be dinner at Keen’s, with the losers picking up the tab for the winners. Danny and G-man backed the Evil Empire, and John and I got behind the RedSox. The winner is the team with the better regualr season record.

So Saturday night, I was walking down Sixth Avenue, a few feet from the intersection of Sixth and 36th. There on the corner, on the northwest corner of the intersection, in huge letters for everyone to see, was the following inscription carved into the façade of some otherwise inconspicuous building: “THE HATER BUILDING” How perfectly appropriate, as we were standing no more than fifty feet from Keen’s, about to attend the first annual Haters Ball. Now every part of this story is true, but some of those in attendance that night suggested that the inscription really referred to the Haier Building. I don’t think so, first of all because what does that mean? Haier? Who’s ever heard of a Haier? And why would they name a building after such a non-sensical term? Secondly, this was clearly an omen, a sign, an indication that the evening was on for all the haters. Sort of like finding that all the planets were in alignment.

We’ll get to the whisky in another posting, but let’s just say for now that we had an amazing array of malts at the Haters Ball, including three malts from distilleries that have been mothballed for many years. Bladnoch, Rosebank, and Port Ellen – how many more times will we have the chance to imbibe these wonderful malts, whose stock is fast disappearing from the face of the earth? And those huge porterhouse steaks that Keen’s serves; not only were they delicious, but for those of us in the Nation, they were free. How great was that?

Now I know that not all readers of this blog were in attendance, and I want to make it clear that it’s our preference to make the ball inclusive, not exclusive. So other readers should feel free to express their interest. There are a couple requirements. One, everyone needs to declare before spring training starts. We can’t have anyone waiting until the all-star break and then trying to jump on the bandwagon belatedly. After all, haters or not, we’re all honorable people. Two, we need to stay paired up evenly between Yankee fans and Sox fans. Third and finally, we prefer like to keep it within the orbit of friends and family. I know that’s somewhat contrary to the policy of inclusiveness, but already we had this huge table at Keen’s, and it was crowded and loud in the dining room, and we need everyone to hear the various toasts and occasional insults that flavor the conversation. So if others are interested, they need to declare, and we can try to locate a corresponding fan of equal and opposite affiliation.

Notwithstanding the title for this occasion, it was an evening of great food and fellowship. Uncle Rico termed it – Love, Masquerading as Hate. I know I felt the love, especially as we finished up the second flight of whiskies after the dinner, and the check was picked up by the Yankee lovers. That‘s what Yankee lovers are good at, buying dinner for citizens of RedSox nation. Let’s do it again next year, the exact same way.