The One Time I Went to Heaven

You hear a lot of stories about people who nearly crossed over to the other side and claimed to have seen the pearly gates. While some of those stories may be true there has never been concrete evidence to back up such claims. Well what if I told you I have proof that a God does exist? And what if I told you I could take you to his dwelling? This place ladies and gentleman, is called Coogan's.

For 20 years of my life the closest I had ever been to Heaven was the day LeBron James won his first NBA Championship. Obviously that day will always be near and dear to my heart, but nothing can/will triumph the day I stepped foot into Coogan's. For those who don't know, Coogan's is a warm little neighborhood tavern nestled in the over sized town of Boston, Massachusetts. I know what you're thinking (our New York readers), why the hell would Stipes ever step foot in Boston? Isn't he a New York sports fanatic? Isn't his Dad the guy who won't drink a Sam Adams because it originated in Boston? (Direct quote from Papa Ipes: "I don't drink that cat piss.") Yes. That is me. But here's why I pray Coogan's is my eternal resting place.

Last summer myself and a few good buddies went on a road trip to Fenway Park to see what the Boston atmosphere was all about. We had tickets for a 7:00 pm game to watch the BoSox square off against the Angels (I was sporting my Mike Trout jersey of course). We started our beautiful Saturday afternoon with some mimosas (you don't know Summer til you start your Saturday's with this delectable beverage) at a brunch spot near the hotel. After we wet the beak we Uber'd over to a place the locals call "Coogan's". I laughed in my head at such an odd name but I had a feeling that this place could be promising. I was right.

We walk into the bar and the first thing I notice are all the Red Sox jerseys and I immediately felt ill. All I could see were about five dozen Dustin Pedroia looking characters and a few Kevin Youkilis types scattered throughout Coogan's. Knowing I was going to need a drink if I would ever last in this sacrilegious place, I reluctantly offer to buy the first round of beers. I make my way through the Big Papi worshipers and reach the bar. A young lady (most likely out of my league) takes my order, "Hi, can I have four Bud Light's please?" I said. I reach into my pocket and grab my pretty much empty wallet and she says "Sure thing, that will be four dollars please."

I'm stunned. My only response is, "I'm sorry ma'am I thought you said four dollars...". She says, "Well of course! It's Saturday, Bud Lights are only $1!". I gasp and I feel a tear come to my eye. My heels start to rise from the floor. I'm levitating. The bartender snaps me out of my trance and I return back to earth. I hand the young lady five dollars (yeah, I tip) as I calmly whisper "I love you", and sprint back toward my friends.

Frantically I get back to my group and all I could muster up was "They're a dollar.... THEY ARE ONLY A DOLLAR!!!!" I laugh maniacally as my friends let out a slew of barbaric screams. We had found the greatest place on earth.

After a magical pregame at Coogan's it's safe to say we headed to Fenway a tad inebriated. The night followed with the Angels giving a 21-2 ass whooping to the Red Sox. Not to mention we also got a picture with the legendary Red Sox bullpen cop Steve Horgan (who also signed the baseball that Kole Calhoun threw our way, good thing Johnny has no hands, it fell right into my lap). Looking back on it, this will always be one of the best days of my life, and it all started with a trip to Coogan's. A place that will always have a spot in our hearts. Thanks for the memories, Boston. You're not so bad after all.