I’ve covered my share of booze-related sports in the course of writing this column. From Beer Pong to Rock, Paper, Scissors, I have experienced the thrill of victory, the sting of defeat and some of the world’s all-time worst hangovers. But nothing could have prepared me for the Vegas Nine: the drinking man’s version of a nine-hole golf course.
The game is the brainchild of local comedian Matt Markman and his motley crew of experienced imbibers, who can frequently be found guzzling beer from each hose on Matt’s eight-man “Octo-Bong.” Blurring the line between drinking and art (thanks to the blurring effects of alcohol), this is also the creative group that invented the “Porta-Party”—a trek down the Strip with a cooler full of booze in tow. Their latest mobile bender involves nine casinos, nine bars, nine cocktails and, for the victor, a score of nine strokes.
Appropriately, I arrive under the bright canopy of the Fremont Street Experience at 9 p.m., and am met by eight competitors, all decked out in sweater vests, plaid pants, visors, golf caps, single gloves and knickers. An impressive amount of effort went into each ensemble. As a guy in a tank top and Viking helmet strolls by, Matt says to me, “I bet he thought he was going to be the weirdest-looking guy on Fremont Street. Not tonight, buddy.”
While the group waits for its ninth player to arrive, I peruse the rules. Simple enough: Each drink must be consumed within 15 minutes; there’s a one-stroke penalty for not drinking the hole’s predetermined beverage, and there’s a five-stroke penalty for barfing. There’s an eight-stroke penalty for failing to finish a drink, and if a player goes for a hole-in-one (one continuous chug), he must have three witnesses. Each player throws in $5 for a $45 pot. The prize money will barely cover the cost of a single player’s drinks, but it’s the bragging rights that are most important to this competitive bunch.
With the arrival of the final player—who is forced to sing “I’m a Little Teacup” for making the others wait—the game begins. After a Carbomb at Fitzgerald’s, the First Annual Vegas Nine is underway with a nine-way tie.
Between the second and third holes—a Long Island at the Four Queens, a Screwdriver at the Golden Nugget—we quickly discover that the alcohol is easy, but it’s the ice that’s hard. After a couple of painfully brain-freezing holes-in-one, everyone begins to request a second cup with each beverage, in order to filter the liquid from the ice.
Several players object to the fourth hole’s White Russian and its stomach-upsetting milk and vote to change to another cocktail. But they’re narrowly outvoted by the other players, who have already accepted that there will be vomit in their futures.
Most of the golfers maintain perfect scores through the fifth hole’s Jack & Coke and the sixth’s Sex on the Beach. But the seventh hole separates the pros from the amateurs. With an explosive combination of alcoholic beverages already stretching our stomachs to capacity, a 16-ounce domestic beer is a trial requiring the competitive drive of a Tiger Woods and the drinking skills of a lifelong alcoholic.
Though not officially playing, I’ve been keeping pace up to this point. But along with a couple of other players, I quickly fall a stroke behind. Since I’ve already fallen out of the running, I finish my 12-ounce import at Binion’s with a leisurely two strokes.
After the final hole’s tequila shot, the game hits a snag. Having underestimated the competitive nature of this group’s players, we’ve wound up with a six-way tie. There are a number of suggestions for tie-breakers, but with die-hards like these, most of those suggestions seem like surefire bets for alcohol poisoning. Ultimately, we decide to make it a single beverage, sudden-death speed round.
With 52-ounce Miller Light football beers in hand, the six finalists gather in a circle under the bright lights of Fremont Street, all looking like they’d rather be facing golf ball-sized drinks instead. Whoever finishes first is the winner.
And they’re off! About 20 seconds into the race, it’s clear that everyone’s already given up except for Matt’s brother-in-law Josh and fellow comedian Honour Pillow.
Honour uncaps her football and begins to down it in large gulps. Josh drinks steadily from the straw. Two minutes in, they’re neck and neck and nearing the bottom of their footballs. The other players cheer as Honour finishes the last drop! Victory goes to Honour, one of the Weekly’s Most Beautiful People of 2007 and one hell of a drinker. Staggering to a nearby garbage can, she promptly dumps the evening’s nine previous holes-in-one, foreshadowing the fates of the other players.
And that concludes the First Annual Vegas Nine. Possibly a new sporting event to take the nation by storm. Or a cautionary tale to be told at AA meetings.
For more info, and the chance to don your plaid and punish your liver, head to Vegas Nine's Myspace page.