Sixteen
supreme drunks dove into a sea of booze eight months
ago, bent on determining exactly who should wear the
undisputed Crown of Drunkardom. Since then, formerly
unassailable reputations have been elevated and devastated,
unstoppable swillers have clashed with immovable pounders,
and many great men and women have been carried away by
the tide.
And
now, finally, two champions have emerged unbeaten from
the sea for one last climactic battle: Charles Bukowski
and Jackie Gleason. Pour yourself a strong one and keep
the bottle close, because the battle for the title of
the Greatest Boozer of All Time begins.
Table
Side Announcers: Howard Cosell and Sir Laurence
Olivier
Ref: Bill “The Fox” Foster
The
Finals
Charles
“The
Battlin' Barfly”
Bukowski
Vs.
Jackie
“The Jolly Juicer”
Gleason
(Odds: 3 to 2 in favor of Gleason)
Tale
of the Tab
Bukowski
Buk staggered in as an 8-1 long shot to win the tournament,
and the Cinderella story that was his life continues.
His reputed weak stomach, a factor that many thought would
earn him an early exit from the contest, has been subdued
by sheer will. He has used his notorious hot and cold
temper, once thought to be a handicap, to psychologically
demolish several of his opponents. He has teetered on
the edge of defeat, but has always fought his way back
into the game with the tenacity of a junkyard dog. The
question now is: Can the old dog make one final grand
stand for all the chips?
Gleason
Gleason has breezed through the tournament with the same
nonchalance with which he breezed through life. He has
employed a brilliantly shifting strategy, overpowering
weaker livers with sheer drinking might, and clipping
tougher opponents, such as tournament favorite W.C.
Fields, with masterful trickery. He possesses the physical
ability to take the title, but he is also a risk taker:
He would rather gamble on a quick win than grind out
a sure thing.
The
Build Up
Howard Cosell: Gleason
versus Bukowski. Who would have guessed?
Laurence Olivier: Gleason
was a safe bet. Bukowski would be a surprise if we hadn’t
watched him take down, sometimes with impunity, some of the finest boozers
to ever step up to a bar.
HC: Yes, but most of the
smart money bettors assumed W.C. Fields, Hemingway, or Faulkner would
have been sitting at the table.
LO: And their pocketbooks
have paid the price. I don’t think enough attention was paid to
the the psychological side of the contest. Everyone was looking at the
contestants’
bellies, when they should have been looking in their heads.
HC: As they quickly learned.
Their wake-up call was Dorothy Parker ambushing Orson Welles in the first
round.
LO: This pair is nearly
as contrasted. Compare Gleason, nattily dressed in an expensive Italian
suit, and Bukowski, outfitted in an ensemble he probably picked up off
the floor.
HC: Beneath the surface
there are similarities, however. Both were raised by dysfunctional working-class
families. If anything, Gleason grew up poorer than Buk. But
where Charlie sought out and drew inspiration from poverty, Jackie got
out as soon as he could and never looked back. Do you think, had these
two greats ever met, they would have got along?
LO: Not at all. Gleason’s
flamboyancy would have cut Buk to the quick. He despised celebrities,
even after he became one. And Buk’s, shall we say, unusual fashion
sense would not have impressed Jackie.
HC: I expect Gleason to
start probing Buk right off the bat, see if he can find a crack in his
psyche to pry at.
LO: Gleason is crafty.
But Bukowski is wise. I can’t imagine him falling for Jackie’s
shenanigans.
HC: Well, let's find out.
(Gleason
wins the coin toss.)
Round
One
Gleason orders double J&B Scotches on the
rocks.
HC: “Excuse me fella,”
Jackie tells Buk, “but you can’t sit there.
We’re about to have a contest.” Bukowski looks
at Gleason, puzzled.
LO: “Hey, will someone
tell the janitor he can’t sit there?” Gleason continues. “And
where the hell is this Bukowski guy?”
HC: Gleason isn’t
wasting any time.
LO: “I’m Bukowski,”
Buk answers.
HC: “Sure you are,
bub,”
Gleason says, reaching into his pocket. “Here, here’s
twenty bucks. Go get yourself a bowl of soup and a shave.”
LO: Bukowski strikes a
match, lights the twenty on fire, then uses the lit bill to light what
smells like a cheap cigar.
HC: “Okay, Hobo Joe,
we’ll have a drink, then you gotta go.” With that, Jackie
knocks down his scotch.
LO: Bukowski picks up his
glass and lays it back. He’s not even attempting to defend himself
against Gleason’s jabs.
HC: He’s like an
old V-8 engine. He always starts slow. But when he gets going, watch
out.
Round
Two
Bukowski orders double shots of Juarez tequila.
HC: There’s some
starter fluid.
LO: “The nerve of
the hobos in this joint,” Jackie says, watching Buk put down half
his shot. “He’s drinking up Bukowski’s tab!” Gleason
stands up and yells, “Bukowski! BUKOWSKI! Where is that bum? No
offense, bub.”
LO: How long is he going
to play this game?
HC: Until he gets a rise
out of Buk, I think. Gleason has bullied almost every opponent he’s
been up against, with great success.
LO: Gleason absent-mindedly
picks up his double and knocks it back, still looking around for what
he pretends to be his missing opponent.
HC: Buk blinks at Jackie,
then downs his shot. I think he was probing Gleason with that double
tequila.
LO: The cactus juice has
served him well. He used it to great effect against Faulkner. But if
I remember right, Gleason ordered triples of tequila against Fields,
so Buk might have to reconsider that choice of weapon.
Round
Three
Gleason orders double J&B Scotches on the
rocks.
HC: “I think I see
that Bukowski asshole over at the bar,” Buk says. “Where?”
replies Gleason, looking over his shoulder.
LO: As Buk promptly drinks
down his entire glass of scotch!
HC: Gleason turns back
around, glances at Buk’s smile and empty glass. “Take your
time,”
Buk says. “I’m sure he’ll be by in
a minute.”
LO: Gleason casually picks
up his glass on the seven count and knocks it back on the nine.
HC: “All right, you
son of a bitch,” Gleason says, smiling. “Now we got a show.”
Round
Four
Bukowski orders bottles of Miller Genuine Draft.
LO: I don’t get it.
They both know each other’s weakness, their earlier matches revealed
as much. So why isn’t Buk ordering absinthe?
HC: We know why Gleason
isn’t ordering vermouth. Between the Burton and Faulkner match
ups Charlie went out and immuned himself to the stuff.
LO: Which leaves Jackie
completely in the dark. He could try sweet drinks designed to upset Buk’s
stomach—
HC: All of his opponents
tried that tactic and they all failed.
LO: “Taking a little
breather?” Jackie says, holding up the bottle of beer.
HC: “Relax, fat man,”
Buk replies. “We’re going to be here all
night.”
LO: “Don’t
count on it,” Gleason replies. “I have to meet someone for
cocktails in an hour.”
HC: Jackie chugs his beer
and sets it down. Buk follows, finishing on the seven count.
LO: That was quite a boast
Jackie made. If he wants to make that appointment, he’d better
crank it up.
Rounds
Five Through Ten
Gleason orders three rounds of triple Stoli screwdrivers. Bukowski
orders three rounds of Miller Genuine Draft.
HC: Gleason charges ahead
and Bukowski seems content to hang back in the weeds.
LO: He may be onto something.
Gleason was never a big beer drinker.
HC: He always said it was
too slow a ride.
LO: He’s certainly
setting a fast pace now. He’s knocking back the beer and triples
like he really plans on making that appointment.
HC: “Are you meeting
a lady?” Bukowski asks.
LO: “Well, I wouldn’t
call her a lady,” Gleason replies. “But that doesn’t
mean she should be kept waiting.”
HC: “Don’t
sweat it,” Buk says. “She’ll find someone else. They
always do.”
LO: “She’ll
wait,”
Jackie assures. “All right, pally. “Looks
like I’m going to have to get this party started
by myself.”
Round
Eleven
Gleason orders triples of Wild Turkey 101.
LO: Looks like Jackie’s
been doing a little experimenting off duty. 101 wasn’t around when
he was alive.
HC: “Here’s
to your new home,” Gleason says, lifting his glass.
LO: “Where’s
that?”
Bukowski asks.
HC: “Look under your
feet,” Jackie says and knocks back a very hard triple. Buk smiles
faintly and follows.
Round
Twelve
Bukowski orders two glasses of Wild Irish Rose fortified wine.
HC: Buk cranks up his wino-style
attack.
LO: Wild Turkey 101, then
Wild Irish Rose. I don’t envy either of them.
HC: Gleason has a taste
and says, “Now we’re on the Kool-Aid. Where’d you learn
to drink? Grade school?”
LO: “As a matter
of fact, I did,” Bukowski replies.
HC: “Let me take
you back then,” Gleason says.
Round
Thirteen
Gleason orders Merry-Go-Round cocktails.
LO: Jackie knows his odd
drinks. I believe that’s a rum and vodka combo.
HC: About two ounces each.
With a lot of sweetener.
LO: “This will get
you spinning,” Jackie says, tilting his glass. He takes down about
half of it.
HC: Buk has a taste. Was
that a flinch?
LO: It’s a sweet
drink. On the heels of the two Wild rounds, it must be playing hell with
his stomach.
HC: “Come on, pally,”
Gleason rails. “Get on the Merry-Go-Round! Weeeeee!” Jack
takes down the rest of his drink.
LO: Buk starts drinking —
slowly — and finishes on the eight count.
HC: “What’s
wrong, old chum, getting dizzy?” Gleason asks.
Round
Fourteen Through Twenty
Bukowski orders four rounds of Self-Solving Solutions, Gleason
orders three rounds of Merry-Go-Rounds.
LO: A brilliant counter
on Bukowski’s part.
HC: I agree. The Self-Solving
Solution is half Jager and half Pepto-Bismol, and is probably doing wonders
for his gastronomy. But it is a defensive selection, and Jackie
knows that.
LO: “Are you spinning
yet?” Gleason laughs. “Want me to slow the ride down?”
HC: Bukowski picks up his
Solution and knocks it back. “You keep pitching ‘em and I’ll
keep knocking ‘em out of the park,” he says.
LO: “Yeah?” Jackie
says. “Here comes my spit ball.”
Round
Twenty-One
Bukowski orders Cherry Spitfire cocktails.
LO: Now, that’s a
nasty pitch.
HC: I’ll say. Rum,
tequila, peach schnapps, triple sec, grenadine topped with Bacardi 151.
LO: “Batter up!”
Gleason says, and — incredible! — sinks the
tall drink in three great swallows.
HC: Buk dives in. He takes
down about a third of the cocktail and comes up for air.
LO: “Strike one!”
Jackie says.
HC: Buk takes another swing.
He gets down another third on the six count.
LO: “Strike two!”
Jackie bellows, rising to his feet. “Hey batter-batter!
Hey batter-batter!
HC: On the eight count,
Buk tips it up!
LO: Gleason yells, “Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!”
HC: Buk gets it down on
the nine! Barely!
LO: He’s safe at
first!
HC: But it’s a hell
of a long way to home plate. And Gleason will definitely try to pick
him off.
Round
Twenty-Two
Bukowski orders forties of Colt .45 Malt Liquor.
LO: Buk isn’t straying
too far from base.
HC: He’s trying to
buy time with that forty. Gleason is in charge now and he knows it.
LO: Both men are starting
to show their cups, to be sure, but Jackie seems positively elated. Buk,
on the other hand, seems to be sinking into a dark funk. And it’s
spreading to the crowd: You can tell who has their money on Buk.
HC: While Jackie’s
gang cracks up at his jokes. They’re already counting their winnings,
while Jackie makes arrangements to meet his date.
LO: Gleason’s taking
his time with that forty. And so is Buk.
Round
Twenty-Three
Jackie orders So Long Sucker cocktails.
HC: I think it was Bogart
who said, “I let my drinking do the talking.”
LO: And Jackie’s
selections are speaking volumes, if a bit presumptuously. It’s
not exactly a knock-out drink.
LO: Strong, no. Sweet,
yes. It’s mostly Pucker liqueur.
HC: “Call it off,”
Bukowski says.
LO: “The match?”
Gleason asks, reaching for his top coat.
LO: Your date,” Buk
says. “You’re not going to make it.”
HC: And with that, he knocks
back the Sucker. Gleason, deflated a bit, follows.
Round
Twenty-Four
Bukowski orders glasses of absinthe.
LO: Buk is back on the
attack!
HC: He’s trying to
mount an offensive, that’s plain. And finally he goes after Jackie’s
weak spot. Hemingway did considerable damage with the Green Faerie in
his bout with Gleason. But is it too little, too late?
LO: Bukowski seems to have
steeled himself. Do you notice how he’s gritting his teeth? His
stomach must be giving him hell.
HC: He isn’t the
only one gritting his teeth. Gleason is looking at his absinthe like
he’s been served alimony papers.
LO: “Let’s
see if I can remember how to do this,” Gleason says, putting the
perforated spoon up one nostril and the sugar cube up the other. “Is
this how you do it, Bukky?”
HC: “It’s like
this,” Bukowski, says, drinking down the glass of absinthe straight.
LO: Gleason pulls out the
cube and spoon, sighs, then, holding his nose -- as he does -- downs
the glass, chews the sugar cube and chases it with a long pull from the
pitcher of chilled water.
HC: Well, it’s not
how they do it in Prague, but it seems to work for the Great One.
Round
Twenty-Five
Gleason orders double J&B Scotch and sodas.
LO: I expected him to order
a Guinness, which was effective in countering Hemingway’s absinthe
attack.
HC: I don’t think
he’s ready to surrender the reins just yet. He was so close to
victory, only to squander it by taking his time with the forty and ordering
that smart-alec So Long Sucker.
LO: I’d say the scotch
and soda can be qualified as neither offensive nor defensive at this
point. He seems to be waiting to see which way Bukowski’s going
to go.
Round
Twenty-Six
Bukowski orders glasses of absinthe, neat.
LO: He’s going to
Prague.
HC: And he’s ditched
the sugar and water. Hem did the same thing.
LO: “This looks awfully
familiar,” Jackie says. He looks to his corner. “Hey, Toots,
how’d I get out of this last time?”
HC: His corner man, Toots
Shor, deadpans, “I think you put the puke bucket on your head.”
LO: “That’s
right,”
Jackie says, snapping his fingers. He reaches for the
bucket and the ref pulls it out of reach.
HC: “Got any other
bright ideas?” Jackie asks Toots.
LO: “Yeah,” Toots
says, “Why don’t you try drinking up.”
HC: Which is a good call,
because Buk snuck his drink down while Jackie and Toots were reparteeing!
LO: The ref is already
on the five count. Jackie holds his nose and downs half his glass. Seven!
Eight! Jackie tries again! And — gets it down. He shakes his head
violently, signals for the bucket!
HC: The ref hands it over
and —
LO: Jackie puts it on his
head.
HC: “Toots, it ain’t
workin’,” Jackie says.
Round
Twenty-Seven
Gleason orders pints of Guinness.
HC: Okay, now Jackie is
on the defensive.
LO: What’s this?
A messenger is approaching the table.
HC: “Telegram!”
the messenger says.
LO: “It must be from
my date,” Gleason slurs. He suddenly seems very, very drunk.
HC: “Telegram for
Mr. Bukowski,” the messenger corrects.
LO: “That dirty gold-digging
whore!” Gleason snarls. “She must think the hobo is going
to win!”
LO: Bukowski smiles drunkenly
and signs for the telegram. He fumbles his reading glasses onto his face.
HC: “Go ahead and
read it,” Jackie mutters. “Let’s see what she has to
say.”
LO: Buk holds up the telegram,
clears his throat and reads, “Confucius say, ‘A fool reads
telegrams when he should be watching the guy on the other side of the
table.’”
HC: Buk lowers the telegram
to see Gleason smiling over a drained pint glass. Classic Gleason trickery!
LO: Buk drops the paper
and starts in, dropping his glasses in the pint! He fishes them out on
the seven count.
HC: Eight! Bukowski tips
it up and —
LO: Ten! The ref wavers,
then signals that Buk beat the count. Gleason’s corner is in an
uproar! They’re saying he didn’t make it!
HC: The ref has the final
say, however, and he says he did. This is when the arguments for instant
replay make sense.
Round
Twenty-Eight
Bukowski orders Flaming Asshole shots.
LO: Now it’s Bukowski
who’s letting his drinks do the talking.
HC: Both men light cigarettes
from the flaming shots, then blow them out.
LO: They’re both
in pretty rough shape.
HC: Buk picks up his glass
and says, “A toast. To the biggest asshole in the world.”
LO: “To you,”
Jackie says, and they knock them back. The men lean back
in their chairs and stare at each other.
HC: “The Great One,”
Bukowski slurs cynically.
LO: “The Great Bum,”
Gleason replies. For all their words, I think these men
have learned to respect each other.
HC: “All right, pally,”
Jackie says. “Let’s bet the whole wad on
one horse.”
Round
Twenty-Nine
Gleason orders triple 151 Ways to Die cocktails.
HC: Mother of God.
LO: “Bacardi 151,
Wild Turkey 101 and brandy times three. Quite possibly the wickedest
mix on the planet.
HC: It’s a last-ditch
tactic. He’s essentially calling in an air strike on his own position
in hopes of killing the enemy.
LO: “You ready, pal?”
Gleason sighs.
HC: “Why not?”
Buk says.
LO: “Better put out
your smoke,” Jackie says, “or we’ll burn this whole
joint down.” Both snuff their cigarettes, wrap their hands around
the tall triples and stand up.
LO: “See you on the
other side,” Buk says. This has got to be it. The shape they’re
in, both can’t make it through.
LO: They lift their drinks
and, eyes locked, they tip them up.
HC: Both men wince as the
harsh liquor bites.
LO: Yet they continue!
This is magnificent!
HC: They’re halfway
through and still —
LO: They drink! Gleason’s
face twists with pain, his eyes are tearing! Can he take much more?
HC: They reach the three
quarters point! Amazing! Bukowski’s face is frozen, pale, his eyes —
LO: Roll back into his
head! And still he — they both —
HC: Gleason’s body
is shaking like a broken machine! Bukowski’s knees are buckling,
he —
LO: Finishes his drink!
Buk has finished his drink! The crowd is roaring! Gleason keeps at it,
he—
HC: He goes down! Bukowski
goes down! He falls face first onto the table, smashing it flat! He finished
his drink but —
LO: Gleason loses his balance
and crashes into his corner! He appears to have finished his drink on
the way to the floor! Toots tries to help, but the ref waves him away.
HC: Jackie is stirring,
but I think he’s done! Buk went down first, but if he can get up,
he wins.
LO: Buk rolls onto his
stomach, takes a deep breath, shakes his shaggy head, then reaches for
his chair.
HC: He’s trying to
pull himself up! He must feel like a thousand cold pounds, yet he —
LO: Yes! He’s going
to do it! He’s going to make —
HC: He loses his grip!
Buk crumples to the floor!
LO: “Don’t
touch my drink,” he mumbles and goes out.
HC: That’s it! Jackie
Gleason has won! The Great One is the Greatest Boozer of All Time!
Gleason
wins by PO.
Jackie
Gleason is crowned the Greatest Boozer of All Time.
