My mate Tom and I were recently discussing this new Guinness game/fad/challenge thing called “Split the G.”1
— So stupid.
— I know, like, how fucking dumb, chuh, seriously?
— Why do people even need games to drink, gawd?
— Idiots…
I really don’t understand why people need games with their drinks. Like these stock exchange bars where the ticker lists drink prices that go up and down like stocks—why? I think everyone at a bar should shut up, drink, and not have any fun.
Yet we both wanted to try to Split the G. It’s dumb when other people do it, but when we do it, it’s okay. The challenge appeals to me because I have all kinds of games I already like to play with my pint glass. I have a habit, for instance, of making patterns with drink rings. Usually I make simple mandalas like a Vesica Piscis, The Seed Of Life, Tetrahedrons, that sort of thing.
When I’m feeling frisky, though, the designs get a little bigger:
So we went to an Irish bar and Tom ordered a Guinness. I accidentally ordered vodka. Oops. The official rules of Split the G, per Guinness, are:
So Tom lifted the pint to his lips, took a big gulp, put it down, and—holy shit he did it first try. Success.
Suddenly this game was kinda cool. Tom’s good at it. But then Tom ordered a second Guinness, took a big sip, and didn’t come anywhere close to splitting the G. BOOOO! Splitting the G wasn’t cool anymore so we went right back to hating on it again.
— Split the G, more like Shit the PEE! (?)
— It’s a fucking dumb challenge.
— I know. Anyone who tries it is a dummy.
— Can you imagine doing that in a bar? In front of people?
— Pfft. How embarrassing…
A few days later, Tom was at it again. He sent me a text that read, “Nailed it,” accompanied by a picture of a half-finished pint of Guinness:
“Hold on,” I replied. “That looks a little off to me…” and so I threw a flag, or made a coach’s challenge, or whatever they call it. And so the refs had to send it up to the officials in the Situation Room (Guinness has a Situation Room in Boston, just like the NHL’s one in Toronto, that handles all their Irish-related disputes, including questions about whether a G was split or not):
Meanwhile I continued to review the image myself. While it’s close, the foam line does not appear to rest exactly in the middle of the G, or in the “counter,” as it is called in typographic terms. It looks like it is a little bit below the top of the little table2, or the “lower serif,” aka the “chin/jaw.”
Much like a goal in hockey where “the puck must completely cross the goal line”—you need to see the white ice between the black puck and the red goal line—in Splitting the G you must see the black stuff between the foam line and the top of the jaw (similarly, foam between the foam line and the upper serif). In my opinion, Tom drank too much (as usual) and the foam line is below the jawline. But we have to await the ruling from the officials in the Situation Room… While we wait, I should mention that I’ve always felt that Guinness has a hint of hockey puck flavor to it and often wondered if it’s made with melted-down hockey pucks… The officials are taking a long time with their decision… Did you know that we know who the dude that invented the letter G is? Like, there’s an actual guy who invented a letter. How cool would that be? “Yeahhh, I invented the letter G.” He was a former Roman slave named—oh, it looks like the officials have made their decision, let’s go down to center ice for the call.
The ref skated to center ice where she fiddled with the mic on her belt and then said over the PA, “It was determined that the foam line was below the jawline and outside of the counter. Therefore, we have NO G (oal)!” And she rapidly crossed and uncrossed her arms making the universal gesture for NOPE.
No one ever takes any of the rulings seriously because of the hat. It’s a funny hat.
A few days later I was opening a bottle of Grey Goose vodka when I realized, “Grey Goose starts with G. I wonder if I can split this G?” The real Split the G challenge isn’t with this pussy Guinness shit, it’s with a bottle of Grey Goose. Try to Split the G on a bottle of Grey Goose in one sip.
As you can see, I came up a little short on my first attempt. My blood alcohol content (BAC), on the other hand, was off the charts and I was hungover for nine days. Need to work up to it. So I’ve decided to begin training for the Split the G (Grey Goose) Challenge by practicing on other spirits that begin with G—but spirits that have logos in friendlier locations closer to the neck of the bottle, such as Goldschläger, Glenfiddich, Gibson, getc.. Guinness? Pfft.
I made a similar suggestion to increase the potency of the active ingredients at the Big Brother Bong Olympics:
The word “Olympics” connotes a festival of different “athletic” events. Even if you give these Olympians the status of athletes, which I am willing to do (so weak are my lungs), the event still falls short of an “Olympics.” The key word is different events. As far as I could see, there was only one event that night: smoking pot. It would have been more aptly titled something like “The Marijuana Marathon,” or, “The Person Who Smokes the Most Pot Wins,” or even something simple like, “A Bong Contest,” but even here we get into trouble—any similarity to what you and I would call a “contest” was absent from the proceedings that night. There were competitors all right, but what, or who they were competing against is beyond me.
One more thing: if they insist on using “Olympics” I suggest they call it the “Drug Olympics.” That way all drugs can be represented, not just the wimpy ones. There could be, for example, an amphetamine arena—a race, perhaps, to the top of a staircase, with a line of crank on each stair. That would be fun, wouldn't it?
That last bit was inspired by a story I think I heard—I don’t know if this is true or if I just made it up—but in the early days of Saturday Night Live in the 70s the cast had a basement they would party in. In order to leave the basement, you had to snort a line of coke off each step on your way up the stairs to get out the door.
So you want to play Split the G with your dumb lil buddies, do you? Back in the day when we played Split the G…
This discussion occurred in March around St. Patrick’s Day when Arthur Guinness and John Jameson (and his sons) are everywhere trying to get you to drink their elixirs. Despite being a Hibernophile (just learned that word), I have decided not to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day anymore. I’m fine with everything except Patrick. Patrick sucks. He drove off the Druids and replaced their cool and magical pagan religion with an abhorrent monotheism known as Christianity. And, as we all know (thanks to Sleep,) Druids are way cooler.
I think it looks more like a table. Like the ones in bars and restaurants that are in that area that’s not at the bar, but also not in the restaurant. Those tall gawky tables with the tiny tops that you can either stand at or sit at. I find it an awkward region of any restaurant that has one. I think the bottom serif should be called “the table.”