The Varsity Club is by now an institution on the OSU campus. By my count, there are only five bars left, unchanged, that were around in the 20th century (unless you go off-campus a little farther to the likes of Ruby Tuesday), and this is one of them (correct me if I’m wrong, but I think the complete roll call is basically: Out-R-Inn, Bier Stube, The Library, The Little Bar, and this here Varsity Club). The rest have all either swapped identities, suffered complete overhauls, and/or been bulldozed into oblivion before a total rebuild. Yet somehow, despite its prominent location, in the heart of the university and right on Lane Avenue, this was one of the last dominos to fall for us, as far as area bars that we finally got around to visiting
That night of our first ever foray, in the glorious spring of nineteen ninety and eight, ’twere a small mob of us fellows meeting up with some of my coworkers, as we’d already kicked off our night at the Banana Joe’s up on Bethel. The occasion is Carrie’s birthday, and in between the two locales, I manage to scoop up my roommate Alan, after which we then call Snoop and stop by his place on Maynard. I’m expecting Snoop to already be about half in the bag, but this isn’t the case at all. In fact he says he’s not drinking tonight, period…because he feels a bowel movement coming on.
“He’s real funny about that,” Alan tells me in an aside, when I’m snickering about this questionable policy.
“My roommate Matt’s already down there,” Snoop explains to us, meanwhile, as we’re chilling on this front porch, and then descending the wooden steps to Maynard, “he’s been complaining all week, I’m too fat, so then what does he do, he tells me he’s driving to the Varsity Club. I’m like, Matt, it’s only a five minute walk, man! and he’s like, fuck that, I ain’t walkin.“
We do just that, however, and it doesn’t take much longer than projected. Once inside, this Varsity Club reveals itself to us as an okay place, though only because we know half the people present. Otherwise it looks like a bit of a snoozefest. Heavy on the wood motif, from the floor to the bar, and Buckeye paraphernalia by the ton, this place reportedly fills up beyond belief – including a basement – during OSU home games, but you wouldn’t guess this at the moment. Apart from a handful of gents standing by the bar in the main room, including Matt and some of their crew, there’s maybe only another dozen people sprinkled throughout, apart from Carrie and company over in the side room.
“What took you so long?!” Evonne halfway barks at us as we enter, in her somewhat screeching voice. Her personality is such that she often employs this obnoxiousness as a shtick, for comedic effect, or at least to look cool, yet it’s plenty obnoxious anyway.
“Had to pick my boys up,” I explain with a shrug.
Carrie is mighty trashed at this early hour, which can diverge in two different directions – neither of them any good. Not for the last time, I feel kind of sorry for David, and wonder how long he’s going to be saddled with this maniac. Which isn’t to say we are able to resist slathering on the b.s. factor, Alan and I, when handing out introductions.
“This is my roommate,” I tell her, as he takes her right paw and shakes it.
“Oh really? What does he do?” she returns.
“He’s a stripper,” I reply, almost reflexively, for it just seems to fly out of my mouth without a conscious thought.
“You are?” she says, and whips her head around with considerable more interest now.
“Part time,” he allows. Standing with hands on hips, attempting to look nonplussed as he struggles not to crack up. And yet Alan retains his composure, for Carrie is buying this.
“Really? Where you dance at?” she asks.
“Ladies Choice,” I interject, after he stumbles for a fraction of a second too long.
“Yeah, Ladies Choice,” he concurs, “it’s out on West Broad Street.”
“You make pretty good money?”
“Decent,” he shrugs, “about two, three hundred a night maybe.”
“Think you could dance for me? Since it is my birthday?”
“I would,” he declines, wrapping up this brilliant piece of ad lib with impressive tact, “but not with your boyfriend sitting there.”
She doesn’t possess any of these reservations, however. Will in fact reply that David is not her boyfriend, which doesn’t appear to sit well with him. In her fancy dress, she is twirling about the room without a care in the world, broadcasting her cotton white panties for the entire room to see on multiple occasions. Also, in a replay of an identical scene from Banana Joe’s, I’m catching a first-hand glimpse of this competitive streak Jill has warned me about.
Here, as there, she yanks me out of my chair at one point and begins grinding up against me, vaguely to the beat of this music, a crude effort intended to make me dance, or become turned on by her, or infuriate Jill, or all of the above. “Where’s your girlfriend now!?” she shouts into my ear.
Like Carrie, I also wouldn’t exactly describe my current situation as a serious one. The difference is I am more than happy if everyone wants to think this. If people are equating Jill and me as a couple already, then it not only means this project is basically in the bag, it also enhances my reputation in a ripple effect with all these other girls. This just seems to be one of the fundamental laws of the universe, with most of them, a constant game of attempted outmaneuvering against their fellow females.
But I’m not interested in Carrie, and furthermore don’t want to blow it with Jill by tinkering too much with a sure thing. Therefore ditch Carrie to retreat to the modest safety of our table. Here, I find myself stuck in a nice, normal, boring old conversation about music, mostly with Alan, and this middle aged hippie Steve, and this goober named Chad who’s obsessed with Evonne. And this is totally okay with me right now. Chad’s telling us he and his brother had this band called Steel, and then, as a Led Zeppelin tune is blasting overhead, he’s “demonstrating” for us how Bonham’s parts go by air drumming along with them. This time, no amount of poker faced strength can keep us from laughing our heads off.
We finally manage to detach ourselves from this crew and drift over to the front half, where Snoop and Matt have remained this entire time. The Varsity Club could be more of a later crowd than we initially gave it credit for, with this side of the bar steadily filling still, far closer to capacity than it was when we’d entered. Nothing much changes over here, though, as we soldier on with previously established amusements – like Alan’s horseshit pickup lines, for example. While I take credit for spinning this wheel into motion, he’s doing a remarkable job at keeping this wildfire spreading rumor mill aflame.
“Is it true you’re a stripper?” Margie asks, having approached the bar for a drink.
“Yes, I am,” he tells her.
“I was reading this article in The Lantern a while back,” she says, “about how a lot of college kids strip to help pay for school.”
“I read that, too,” Alan tells her, “and as a matter of fact, one of my buddies was featured in that article.”
By now, Margie is so much putty in his hands. “I’ll bet you make lots of money,” she says.
“Oh, I do,” he tells her, “and in fact, I’m gonna use some of it right now to buy you a drink.”
She initially protests, but winds up caving as he buys both of them a beer and a shot. And then lo and behold here is Evonne, back into our midst, followed by Carrie. It’s amazing how sometimes the party will just come to you, on the rare occasion you might come off as the interesting crew for the night…just as it’s amazing how the spin people put on a situation might change in the face of other people’s reactions.
I wouldn’t claim to have all the answers on these topics my friends and I debate, not by any stretch. But then again, none of us do. It’s more like this constant push and pull, further accented by new information, and the introduction of fresh ideas. Your best bet is to absorb it all while maybe advancing your own opinions, if you think it might influence something, and if the outcome matters. Even then, there’s a continual drift. Damon’s little exhibitionist streak for example has gone from being a slam dunk success to a cringe inducing misfire and at least halfway back again, in the space of a week, because now Evonne is boasting to everyone about seeing my other roommate naked, that she was with Jill during that first brave foray over to our house. My other roommate, whom none of them have even met yet. But of course I can’t resist calling Evonne onto the carpet for this spin job.
“Hey, didn’t you say you were never coming back to our house again?” I challenge.
A guilty smile crosses her face and she replies, not exactly convincingly, “I never said that.”
“That’s not what I heard,” I insist, to which she just laughs. Busted.
But now Carrie’s slurring, to Alan and me, “I wanna meet Dylan.”
“Who’s Dylan?” I reply.
“Or is it Damon?” she asks. We tell her yes, that’s it, add with straight faces that he is a stripper also. “Well, tell him I wanna meet him,” she spits out in her half drunken stupor. This is getting good, and I know he’s going to eat this story up once he hears it.
Since our appearance, the bar has filled considerably, even though our circle has shrunken somewhat. Matt is the first to call it a night, and then Snoop, who still isn’t drinking, walks home to take a dump. At some point Margie has left, without Alan even as much as getting her digits, although by now he’s already setting his sights on this short, sweet looking random brunette, leaning against the bar. Except, wait a second, she’s not entirely random, not to me – this is Joey, who lasted maybe a month as hostess at my former place of employment, the Damon’s on Olentangy. I’m telling Alan, in case he can’t tell from here, that we all decided she basically had the best ass in the history of mankind, further enhanced in that she often seemed to not be wearing any panties.
I lead the way over there, to talk to her and hand out introductions yet again. She tells me where she’s working now, though I forget, and asks if I’m still employed at that joke of a restaurant. Alan’s in my other ear asking who this dude is with her, and I admit I don’t know. He swoops in for the kill anyway, requesting to buy her a drink. She shoots him down, albeit with the sweetest, most dimple laden smile imaginable, quite naturally.
When the lights come up, everyone splinters apart in the same formations we’ve arrived. Our tiny squadron will retrace its steps back to Snoop’s house and sneak around to where I’ve parked. Though Snoop had repeatedly insisted we venture inside his house upon returning, my associate Alan sums up this proposal succinctly in proclaiming, “fuck that.”
Over the years, we will subsequently make this place an occasional part of our repertoire. Though never quite glimpsing much to get totally gaga over, it can be a fun atmosphere, particularly if the Buckeye spirit has overtaken thee. In more recent times, the Varsity Club’s greatest claim to fame is hosting the empty husk of what used to be known as Hineygate. So if that’s your bag, then by all means check this place out – or if just curious to see a treasured piece of campus history before it too bites the dust.
