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"It's beautiful, have you been yet?"

OK, who here’s been to the Sports Page?

Which of you has enjoyed the 22-ounce ice cold beers, the slick new decor and the gussied-up pub grub?

Has anyone out there dared to eat, drink and score?

Well, I have, and as much as I would love to slam Portsmouth’s newest restaurant dedicated to all things dude, I just can’t muster up the bile to do so. Being in the Sports Page is sort of like watching a porn. It’s disgusting to my sensibilities but there’s something fun about it at the same time.

My first trip was on a Sunday afternoon during the latter innings of a Red Sox game. My boyfriend and I were greeted by a pair of nice-looking, finely manicured young women who looked happy to see us just because they finally had something to do. We joined our crew at the bar and eventually moved to a larger table.

Having worked in a restaurant for many years, I know we should have cleared it with the hostess, even if it was a formality. But there was no one sitting at the tables, so I figured it would be OK. Not so, we soon discovered as a disgruntled hostess curtly informed us that the tables were for eating and drinking not just drinking (which was what we were doing) and we should have cleared it with her first. She walked away carrying that teenage girl affect they pull when trying to non-verbally say they think you’re a complete asshole.

Wavering on the line of getting angry about the situation, it was remedied by a very kind, yet sometimes slow, waitress who promptly brought our first round of beers. The beers came in 16- and 22-ounce glasses and were icy cold. Bratskellar, you may have the frosty mug claim on the coldest beer in town, but the Sport Page is right at your heels. I would go back and endure the sea of men in polo shirts and Red Sox caps just to get one of their beers on a hot summer day.

I am much slower a sipper than my boyfriend, so I didn’t notice until later that their beer glasses sat empty 10 to 15 minutes at a time. The waitress apologized, and I am more than willing to give her the benefit of the doubt that she got busy when we improperly sat at her table. But if I were to leave this fact out, my account wouldn’t be accurate.

By the way, I have to mention here that I totally predicted what the waitresses would look like — young, hot and dressed all in black. They aren’t as skanky looking as the bartenders at Quigley’s, but again, the Sports Page is a family joint. Can’t have too much sex.

Overall, I liked the place, hated the clientele and thought the menu was overpriced. The owners did an amazing job redecorating, but it feels a little cold for a neighborhood hangout. The TVs were nice, with Manny and Ortiz in nearly every line of sight, but if NCAA hockey was in my face, I’m sure it would be unbearably annoying.

Still, there was something untangible that I liked about the Sports Page. It was very urban, slick and cocky. It reminded me of the giant sports bars of Boston that seem like hideous hangouts until you’re three beers and four innings into a game.

I’ve spoken to just about everyone I know about the Sports Page, and most everyone had far more harsh things to say about the place, except Kelly Halldorson, who provided the title of this entry. As much as y’all out there want to hate it, you have to admit the Sports Page is exactly what Portsmouth needs. It’s big, with big drinks, filled with beautiful young people looking to have a good time. Leave the surly bars to the surly people who chain smoke and bitch about the new condos and how un-punk rock everything has become. The Sports Page is the new cool place for the winners in town, well, at least until the Gas Light deck opens.

Posted by blamontagne at 02:32 PM | Comments (7)

Gratuitous plug part 1

i receivd this message in my inbox today and thought I'd might share the news about a fellow Portsmouth Herald staffer:

Jamie Cohen will be hosting a figs and hummus soiree to welcome her "Sweet 'n' Little" photo series into the word on Friday. It's at Caffe Killim. Stop by after work from 5 to 7:30 p.m.

Also, there is a serious rumor floating around about a Guts reunion. I figure I'll let this one fester for a bit before I rush to confirm it. All I know is if this is true, it's going to be one hell of a party.

Posted by blamontagne at 12:47 PM | Comments (0)

Warm weather Friday

It’s Wednesday, approaching 65 degrees, the wind is lightly blowing and I’m stuck inside a nearly windowless building wondering when I get to go outside and play. Despite my spring fever, this beautiful afternoon comes with the comfort of knowing there will be many opportunities in the next few months to enjoy my evenings outside. There will be long bike rides through Newcastle, solitary moments watching people and sipping iced-tea in Market Square and of course, the crowned jewel of Portsmouth night life, hanging out of the decks.

Two of the Bow Street decks open tomorrow and this Saturday, my favorite outside bar begins its season. I know there are plenty of outside dining spots in the seacoast region, like BG’s Boat House, the Gas Light, Saunders and even a few in Dover, but to me, the only decks worth a damn are along Bow Street overlooking the Piscataqua.

The spring and fall are the best seasons for the decks, before the college kids get out of school and tourists clog everything up with their SUV-sized strollers. When I sit on the water on a cool spring night with a few friends and a drink in my hand, watching the tug boats do-si-do out of their dock, I feel like I own this town.

There are those that hate the decks, the smelly alley, the meat heads that wait in line for Poco’s and Harpoon's, the cramming into a tight corner just to get a glimpse of the water or the long, long, long lines for the bar. A curmudgeonly associate once said he wished someone would just nuke all of Bow Street. A bit harsh, yet a sentiment to which some could relate.

I don’t really care for those aspects, either, but when it comes to the decks, I really can’t stay away. It’s a solace, a place to suck in some salty air with working people in this town. When I'm at home, my apartment porch overlooks a row of decrepit properties and a litter-strewn parking lot. I live on Route 1, so the traffic in the summer is loud and frequent. People are always yelling at each other about something and the heat from the black top makes some days out there unbearable.

And at least I have a porch. For me and the hundreds of other young people who rent poorly maintained apartments just to stay close to town, the decks are our communal porch. It’s where we can kick off after work and have a margarita or a Jimmy Juice or a Dark and Stormy or an ice cold Corona out of a can together.

There’s been some talk in the past of cleaning up the decks, of making a family friendly riverwalk, but I pay no mind. The sheer effort of trying to engineer the project and maneuver the bureaucracy is mind boggling. I just ask that if that day ever comes, to think of the people in this town who use the grand old porch to enjoy the water, snack on some nachos and drink the work week away.

Posted by blamontagne at 03:40 PM | Comments (0)

Backstage at Portsmouth's #1 awards show

Watching the show backstage at the Spotlight Awards on Wednesday. Photos by Jamie Cohen

Embarassing video of me backstage.

Listen to my backstage interviews.

Every April, the Portsmouth Herald invites all the artsy people in town to a big party at the Music Hall and recognizes a handful for the work they did over the past year. I always skipped this event, thinking it was too theater heavy, or I disagreed with some of the choices for nominees (Pondering Judd got nominated AGAIN?).

Now that I'm a staffer, I decided to see what the scene was like, hop back stage and shcmooze with the bands, scope out the lobby for people to interview and of course, watch the show.

On the night of the awards, I arrived un-fashionably late and quickly scurried backstage to ditch my coat and grab my tape recorder. In the Green Room, I ran into fellow Spaulding High School alum Jimmy Dozet, guitarist of The Press. We chatted it up long enough for me to get him to admit the band was wasted. (Edit that part out though, he said.)

Out in the hall, people were milling about with little plastic drink cups of wine and beer. I took a seat just as the lights came down and Rocky Horror began. Usually not a huge fan of musical theater, I was very impressed with the energy of the performers. They sang the crap out of that Time Warp song. I guess when you're doing Rocky it's hard not to get into it.

They were promptly followed by The Press who entertained the crowd to a luke-warm reception.

The Press are rappin' fools.

It's not that their performance wasn't an easily accessible mix of funk and hip-hop. It wasn't that they sucked, musically or entertainment-wise. They were just playing to a big crowd of middle-aged people. I saw a few bobbing heads. I guess I just wanted them to get the same type of reception Billy Butler got when he came out and did his mock-rap ala SNL to kick off the show.

Billy Butler makes the whole world smile.

People were waving hands like they just didn't care, they were on their feet and clapping. I know the musical theater fans are obsessed with Billy Butler (as they should be) but just because the Press wasn't making fun of rap doesn't mean you can't get up and shake it a little. I guess the drinks hadn't quite kicked in when they did their set.

After Butler was the first round of awards. That's when I headed back-stage for a beer.

Tom Colletta, The Press, Laurel Brauns, the members of the Texas Governor, Bruce from the Press Room and loads more local musical personalities were hanging out, drinking Sam Adams and Red Hook brews. The conversation was mostly gossip and reflections of past award shows. People love to bring up the infamous Satan's Teardrops, Guts, Monkey Butlers tribute to the Clash Spotlight Awards. From what I hear it was wild, man. People were doing beer bongs and then someone whipped out a slip-n-slide. Then some moron from the Monkey Butlers had to trash a monitor and short out the whole show, which then started a riot and the town's people burned down the theater. Really, really crazy.

My favorite parts, by far, were the musical acts. Laurel sounded great, her voice delicately wavering in all the right places. Her rubber ducky boots were well-fitting and absolutely adorable. Jon Nolan and Hokum were pop-rock delicious and the Texas Governor got everyone warmed up for the bar with their closing rock set.

Laurel Brauns is beautiful.

Often I think artists in this town feel isolated, like no one except their friends are listening, but last night was so positive, so encouraging. People seemed to genuinely care about supporting other artists. This town sometimes talks a big game about the arts but when it comes to following through, they drop the ball. The Spotlight Awards made me feel like that was finally changing, that this city is ready to put their artistic money where their mouth is. Heck, Portsmouth Community Radio was broadcasting the event and just about every musician mention the Wire's RPM Challenge.

David Goolkasian AKA the Texas Governor

Even though I spent the night secretly waiting for the after-party at the Muddy River, it was really lack-luster in comparison with the show,. Martinis were flowing like water and people were dancing like mad when Heavens to Murgatroid started pulling out the covers. I mingled, had a few, but by the time midnight rolled around, everyone was so far ahead of me I was like a sober judge in the Friday night Paddy wagon.

As Billy Butler said, it was great that people could come together to celebrate music and theater and the arts in the spirit of selling papers. While that joke may be true to some extent, it was also nice that people could come together for music, theater and art just for the sheer fact of letting those creative people know that somebody, anybody out there appreciates all the passion and all the hard work they do. Bravo, everyone.

Posted by blamontagne at 05:27 PM | Comments (0)

An ode to Roger Wood

Happy birthday Roger. As I promised, I wanted to let everyone know you're awesome.

Posted by blamontagne at 09:50 PM | Comments (0)

Liquor commish bust alert part 1

Tourist season is still a month or two away, but that doesn't mean that the Liquor Commission is slacking on enforcing the laws for us towny drinkers.

On March 15, the Gas Light Co. restaurant received a suspended $500 fine and one day license suspension after being cited for serving alcohol to an inxtoicated person and allowing an intoxicated person to loiter. This is the Gas Light's first offense and if they keep their noses clean, they will not have to face these penalties.

In case you were unaware of New Hampshire's liquor laws, it is illegal to give a drunk person another drink. If a bartender or waiter determines a person is tipsy past the point of further consumption, he or she has to ask that person to leave. So the Gas Light, according to this report, got pinched for letting these rules slide or a better way to put it would be they got caught doing what just about every bar in town does on a regular basis.

I think our liquor laws are there for a very good reason but are a little unrealistic. I mean, what person is going to go to a bar where you get shut off and kicked out after three drinks. I just thought it would be interesting to see how many other places get cited for these laws. And it would be interesting to find out whether enforcing them has any affect on how many peoiple get wasted downtown each weekend. Personally, I doubt it.

Posted by blamontagne at 09:18 PM | Comments (0)