It was 11 p.m., and I was jonesing for some buffalo wings. So I strolled over to my favorite neighborhood bar, The Tilted Stick. Once there, I ran into an old bartender friend, Teddy Ballgame. I hadn’t seen Teddy in a long time, so I delayed ordering the wings, bought a round and started chatting. At one point in the conversation, I joked about a poster that hangs on the wall titled “Tilted Stick Rules,” which I began reading out loud to Teddy and doing a little comedy shtick on the rules I thought were silly. That’s when a stranger interrupted and said, “If you don’t like the rules, you can get out.”
Naturally, this took me by surprise. I was just joking around with Teddy and hadn’t intended to offend anyone, so I pondered his statement, then informed the guy—whose name (I later learned) rhymes with “snotty”—that we were having a private conversation, but “thanks for the advice anyway.”
“This is a locals bar,” Snotty insisted. “You need to leave,” at which point I thought I was at the Improv because this guy—this apparent victim of fetal-alcohol syndrome—was delivering what I considered to be pure comedy gold.
I mean, it’s hilarious that he was pulling this “locals only” nonsense at all, but what made it an absolute scream is the fact that I am an Ocean Beach local. I do live here—I live here a lot! The Tilted Stick is around the corner from my house. I’m friends with all the bartenders, the manager, the owner, the previous owner, and I even know the previous-previous owner—Henry—who owned it back when it was called The Texas Teahouse (an awesome dive punk-blues bar where The Jacks and Tomcat Courtney used to play), where I easily dropped a thousand quarters into the Missile Command game and drank a thousand Genny Screamers at a dollar per can. I’ve been boozing in that building since before Snotty was sucking on his mama’s scotch-sopped titty-milk, and the fact that he’s telling me I have to go because I’m not local enough is making little droplets of beer spurt from my nose and eyeballs.
“This is a locals bar?!” I asked, trying with all my might not to burst into open laughter. “Well, dang, I guess I’ll be moving along then—just as soon as you go fuh-fuh-fuck yourself.”
And so it went, back and forth, nose to nose, until bartender Jesse separated us, which didn’t matter much because Snotty and his snotnose friends continued talking smack, flipping the bird and basically mad-dogging my ass like I was the bastard child of a Klingon crack whore trying to get a drink in the Star Wars Cantina.
“We’re from here,” they kept saying. “Where are you from?”
I should have said, “I’m from Planet Earth, shit-smoker,” because, really, where the hell is “here”? Which arbitrary border defines you as an insider and somebody else as an outsider? Do they have to live on the same block as you to be local? The same borough? The same city, state, country or continent?
Not to mention—and I want all you “locals only” blowhards to pay close attention—you are not doing your neighborhood bar any favors by running off tourists and other non-locals. Newsflash: The bar wants their patronage, and you hurt the business when you roam in packs and start shit with tourists. But isn’t that how it usually is with these territorial “We’re From Here” queers? It’s this chickenshit mob mentality that says “We’re the insiders, you’re an outsider and we will mess you up because we have numbers.”
Anyway, after giving them several opportunities to cut the crap, Jesse and Jimmy, another bartender, kicked them out of the bar. However, instead of going home and being, you know, normal human beings and shit, they found a hiding place and waited—for an hour! So, Jesse snuck Teddy Ballgame and me out the back door and up the alley to another bar, Lucy’s, where we stayed for quite a while, until Teddy decided to go home and I figured it was safe to return to the Stick and order those chicken wings I still craved.
But it was not safe.
As I arrived at the Stick’s front door, Snotty lurched from hiding and connected a punch to my forehead. I charged full steam, took him down to the pavement with me on top, and repeatedly boxed his torso and neck while his crew kicked and punched my head, stomach and back. When Jesse rushed outside to help, one of the guys pinned him against the wall so he couldn’t break it up. Jesse broke the hold, and he and Jimmy pulled us apart. Jesse shoved me back inside the bar and told me to stay there, which I did. But, get this: They waited again, hiding, again, so they could bushwack me, AGAIN!
At this point, I just wanted to go home, but the bartenders, wisely, blocked me from leaving. It was another hour or so later when Snotty and his ignoramonauts went around to the back door to catch me sneaking out that way, and Jimmy whisked me out the front and walked me home, where I vomited, cleaned it up, then fried some eggs, having never received my goddamn wings.
Epilogue: Snotty and his comedy troupe, were 86’ed from The Stick. The next day, he returned to argue that I had started everything. Good one, Dangerfield! Because everyone who was there knows you started that fight. We also know you’re “from” New Mexico and have only lived “here” a couple of years. But, best of all, we know you cried when they wouldn’t let you back in the bar. You actually, literally, bawled actual, literal tears, which didn’t change their minds, so you said, “Fine! I didn’t want to come in here anyway,” which is pure comedy gold, baby. Thanks for the laughs.
Read about my second encounter with our boy Snotty.
Ed Decker
06.23.10
Thanks, also, to everyone at The Tilted Stick (4970 Voltaire St.) for their support, especially Jesse, Jimmy and Teddy Ballgame, who put themselves at bodily risk to cover my back. Respect! Write to ed@sdcitybeat.com and editor@sdcitybeat.com.
Well… didn’t know there was a round 2! Too bad you didn’t get the whole shtick on video. Sounds like a true comedy. Perhaps we could take them down to just south of the Arizona border without papers and let them come back across the U.S. there! Can’t you just see it? “But we’re locals!”
Hope you get those wings soon Ed. Kudos to Jesse, Jimmy and Teddy! True friends.
Gawd, Ed! Glad your bartender friends are friends. Great guys, for sure. But sorry you were deprived of the wings. Eggs just won’t cut it.
)) And I’m really glad they were blackballed from coming to the Tilted Stick. Serves them right. You need to be able to have your wings in peace. 
))
Damned captcha code got me. Glad you’ll be able to go get your wings without their company.
)) Arizona would love ‘em. Uh-huh. 
))
Why did you not call the cops…teh best glory would have been for those guys to spend a few nights in jail.
Glad you’re okay Ed. I miss OB, the nightly fun and legendary tales of drinking nights. Props to the friends at the Stick.
I’ve gotten the same routine around here, and I live on Saratoga.
There seems to be a general uptick in public douchebaggery around here in the last few months.
Damn Ed,wish I was there to help! We could of done some damage Call Of Duty style! See you online…
Snnake Plissken
Glad you asked that question Funfa. A lot of people have been asking me that.
The reason is, in the bar biz, calling the cops is a last option. Because, when cops get calls about fights in bars, those bars become scrutinized. Too many calls and they will try to shut you down. In the bar biz, best to fly under the radar.
Of course, I don’t work there, but I’m in the business and know how it is. I wouldn’t want to do anything to harm my friends at the Stick.
Stupid damned ridiculous. I get that kind of crap from time to time about who’s more local than who down on Newport, kinda figured it ran with the territory. Shame to hear it’s down at the Stick too, I used to love that place when I was off Lotus and it was within stumbling distance…they were also chill with my friends’ dogs, and got a kick out of it when I brought in this one girl who’d dyed her oversized poodle blue, pink and green…
F’n classic! Sorry to hear that you got ruffled around a bit in the process, but it is quite hilarious. It never ceases to amaze and entertain me how stupid humanity so often is.
Now that everyone knows what happened between you guys, I guess Snotty will learn soon enough that it’s your actions that make you an outsider, not where you’re from.
Ed, please remember that the errant nose-punch could lead to a thrombosis which could kill you. Even play-fighting can go tragically awry. I do however, ask so modestly, why didn’t anyone call the Authorities? We hate to make that call – it’s so classless – but I wish someone had up in Bird Rock a couple of years back. There seemed to be plenty of time to collar these worthless punks. I do understand that the unwanted publicity might damage the tavern’s reputation, but every decision is a balancing act. And in this equation, the douchebags deserved the wrath of justice. I doubt Snotty has a clean record, anyway. His detention could have saved someone else down the road.
Ed,
Are you talking about the same “teddy ballgame” that got fired from the tilted stick and got it shut down for two weeks for punching a customer? Is this the same teddy ballgame that started a fight with some guy from boston for being a celtics fan? I think it was just that guy and about 8 of teddy friends correct? Didn’t teddy tell that guy to “get out out of HIS bar!”? I like journalists who tell the whole story not just sensationalize something that happened to them.
Thanks,
The rest of the story
Hey Mike, thanks for your comment. And, yes, it seems we are talking about the same Teddy Ballgame, although I don’t know any of the incidents about which you speak, except the one for which he got fired. The reason I didn’t mention that in my column was because Teddy was not central to the story, did not try to start a fight, never threw a punch. His only role, really, was that it was Teddy who I was in a conversation with when approached and rudely interrupted by Snotty. And really, Teddy wasn’t even speaking when Snotty approached, just listening to my soliloquy, and the only fighting he did was to get cold-cocked by Snotty in the face, after which the bar staff persuaded him not to respond, and he didn’t. In short, he was the most well-behaved of the lot, including me, so no, there was no attempt to hide any parts of the story. If there was, I would not have used his name. I did, however, not use Snotty’s name, or any of his friendsand that was in an effort to protect them, douchebag as he was, I did not feel the need to ridicule him in public.
So now, Mike, if I may ask, what’s your connection (if any) to the incident. Sounds like you have some inside info. Were you there? Do you know the guys? Is my story different somehow than the one you heard/saw? You said I sensationalized the brawl, is that an insinuation that I exaggerated or lied about anything? Because I have to tell you, I interviewed as many people that were there as possible, including bar staff and patrons. I even tried to interview the guy who kicked me to get his side of the story. Of course, he didn’t respond. I really did try my best to get the full and accurate story, of course, that doesn’t mean that I did. If I got something wrong, I’d like to know about it. So, do tell, what do you know?
Ed,
I do not condon anything that happened that night. It all seems really childish, from both sides. I just question your inocence in it all, but hell what do I know I was not there. All in all, I am just another loyal reader commenting on an article.
Mike
Fair enough Michael, and to be honest, I had been drinking that night. My memory of certain aspects is foggy. AND I know that I was sarcastic and argumentative at a time when I could’ve just walked away. However, as far as my “innocence” is concerned, there is no doubt about 2 things.
1. He eavesdropped on a conversation that had nothing to do with him and took it upon himself to order me out of the bar.
2. He waited to ambush me outside with is friends. And lastly, he threw the first punch, then his friends hit me from behind
In my mind that makes him at least 90 percent the bad guy.
Thanks for your comments.
Ed
seems to me this is more a good argument against public drunkenness than anything else. adolescents of any age tend to get inebriated and flex their “beer muscles”, though the level of stupidity displayed by each and how quickly it descends into blows varies with everyone.
As stated by someone else when we’re adults this is not something to be taken lightly, my old next door neighbor Dave (I live next to Dog Beach, same place for 15 yrs, used to own the custom hearse with the coffin on the roof) used to brag about a brawl he got into at the ‘stick with Shawn O’toole and was proud he was one of the few who stood toe to toe with him. Dave is best described as “caveman”. I’d cross the street rather than try and prove who’s tougher, as it appeared you tried to do, as it’s just not worth it no matter if you win or lose. I dabbled in some martial arts when I was in my 20′s, got in a fight over something dumb and in a few short seconds it all worked as taught and the guy could have died. Never got in a fight again. Either way it could change your life, this ain’t high school.
Good read nonetheless.
As for the “locals” thing, funny my neighbor who’s in his mid 50′s, has lived here nearly his whole life and has a slew of trophies for surfing contests, and his daughter was ranked #2 nationwide when she surfed on PLHS’s team, won’t surf at Dog’s anymore because of the new kids dissing him for not being a “local”. He lives seconds from the sand there. Stupid.
Thanks John, I live right up the street from where that hearse was parked. Funny, I saw it ever day for the longest time, but now don’t see it anymore. I have no idea how long it’s been missing. Haven’t thought about it in years.
Oh, and for the record, I really was not trying to prove that I was tougher. Fact is, I don’t think I’m tough at all. Fighting scares me as I’m always worried about whose got a blade in his pocket or who will be all too willing to smash a beer glass in my face. I have seen the kind of damage that can do and (witnessed a guy lose his eye at Winston’s several years ago because he was hit with a beer glass) and am always paranoid about it. That said, I will not back down when douchebags order me to do things, such as leave the bar. You are right though. It could’ve been uglier. and I am going to take great care to ensure that I never allow myself to get into that position again.
Thanks for your comments.
ed
why exactly didn’t you call the cops and press charges?
Someone already asked that question Lester, and I answered it. It’s lower on the thread, but I’ll just paste it here to make it easier for you, and others…
The reason is I didn’t call the cops is because, in the bar biz, calling the cops is a last option. Because, when cops get calls about a bar fight, those bars become scrutinized by the police. Too many calls and they will try to shut you down. In the bar biz, best to fly under the radar.
Of course, I don’t work there, but I’m in the business and know how it is. I wouldn’t want to do anything to harm my friends at the Stick.
I think you’re old enough to remember how the locals used to think about calling the cops.
“In OB, neighbors handle our problems amongst ourselves. You call the cops… when there’s a body.”
The events that gave precedent to this attitude predate me by at least a decade, but my old neighbors Chuck and Sherry lived here when there was much animosity between SDPD and Obecians, they told of the cops being chased out by residents. The Rag has some good accounts of those days, including a war over a bulldozer?
Soooo, after reading your article and also reading the responses posted to the blog, I feel I’m finally ready to say what I’ve got to say about the article, and believe you me, it was an entertaining one! Big ups!
I don’t exactly know what it is, but the beach and most towns surrounding them in california (because I can’t speak for anywhere else) attract a certain type of person. Typically, it seems they usually fall into one of the four catagories:
1)The “i’ve been here since…” local who throws around their douchness like it’s going out of style, and for the most part, isn’t a local.
2)The “i’ve been here since…”local, who IS a local, and could give a fuck less.
3)The “i’m not a local” and still…could give a fuck less. And then always,
4)The local who is an asshole.
It’s a running thing, it’s rampant as ever, and I’m sure there isn’t much that can be done about it because there are always going to be Snottys and the like running around ruining things, experiences, places for everyone else.
I’ve had more than one similar experiences happen to me, one ironically at the tilted stick. I was assaulted one night while, literally, minding my own damn business. It’s the same kind of like, “I’m better than you/I belong here/Me eat meat, BANG BANG” kind of neanderthal message sent out to the more civilized folk, the kind that they don’t understand, and maybe in a more subconcious way are upset that they never will. The tilted stick has become sort of a love/hate relationship for me because of that experience mostly and a couple other reasons which I won’t get into. I love the bar, but hate all the assholes.
I’ve had my surfboard thrown in my face, on the shores of dog beach one morning by a 34 year old male who had decided that my “city of birth” tattoo wasn’t welcome on the jetty. Continually people cut off my waves to this day.
In the end I guess I’d like to ask who the FUCK decides who is a local? There have been slops who sit around and do absolutely nothing for their own communities, yet because somehow they’ve managed to survive the beach, they think they carry a purple heart? And then there are the people that come here, struggle, and accomplish that cannot go into the nearest bar and have a pint without worrying about which “local” it’s going to be tonight? I’m not sure what a defined local is in Ocean Beach, Ed, but who could define it?
This is a few months late but I just read this lovely tale. I used to work as a bouncer in that think tank of a town known as O.B.. I had many a confrontation with somebody who claimed “I’m a Local”. My usual response was, “I”m not”. Then I suggested that they travel a little bit and see the world. Fists would fly. I love that the guy cried, typical bully. My son is 6 and he is dealing with the same type of dude.
One question: Tilted Stick? Sheesh! Kind of asking for some kind of trouble with knuckle heads is you order wings in their club house. I have not been in OB for a while but I can’t remember their wings being all that good. The only reason to into the Tilted Stick was to…. was to… uh…. I can’t think of any good reason to ever enter the tilted stick.
Guy
[...] of you may remember a recent Sordid Tale about an encounter that occurred outside my favorite neighborhood slaughtering hole, The Tilted [...]
[...] of you may remember a recent Sordid Tale about an encounter that occurred outside my favorite neighborhood slaughtering hole, The Tilted [...]