Jackson Free Press

Sept. 17, 2003

On the first day of an introductory psychology course, I learned that Freud believed people strive to seek pleasure and avoid pain. With all the knowledge I needed, I dropped the course and adopted Freud's belief as my philosophy of life. Not everyone, however, is as fortunate as I. People exist who actually seek pain. It's true—I met one once. Known as "athletes," they seem to enjoy pain, the risk of injury and even sweat. Short of a major power outage in August, I never sweat.

Close to the concept of athlete is the "ex-athlete." No longer directly participating in pain-producing activities, this group involves itself in various charitable activities. For example, many former athletes contribute generously to Mississippi's obesity statistics. Others help people bothered with insomnia by telling self-aggrandizing tales of valor in some long-forgotten masochistic endeavor.

Interestingly, a male athlete may also be known as a "jock." I remain vague about the origin of this term, but folklore associates it with an undergarment worn by those who seek pain. One's first purchase and donning of this garment is some sort of rite-of-passage.

Intellectual curiosity led me to seek this fascinating, if somewhat disturbed, subculture in its natural habitat—the "sports bar." In this venue, I found a group of men drinking beer, moaning and yelling, and watching another group of men in tight pants chase each other around a field. When one of the men was caught, all the others wrestled him to the mud. For no apparent reason, other than that the chase was over, the men got up and patted each other's rear ends. While this voyeuristic exercise held absolutely no interest for me, I knew I had hit anthropological pay dirt.

As someone who considers himself informed about popular culture, I was shocked to learn quite a few of these—what do you call them?—sports bars exist in Jackson. I set out to perform anthropological studies on all of them; alas, dozens of buffalo wings later, I could only manage to cover three of the better known. I suspect that was a representative sample. They do have common features.

My first stop was Filibuster's at Smith-Wills Stadium. With five beers on tap, six TVs, a good assortment of video games and direct entrance to the stadium, Filibuster's feels like a true sports bar. Food includes sandwiches, wings, and most anything else requiring ketchup or mustard. Karaoke is offered on Tuesday and Thursday nights, and Wednesday is all-the-Pabst-you-can-drink-for-$7 night. This has to be a moneymaker for the house; how much Pabst can a person drink?

Buffalo Wild Wings Grill and Bar on Spillway Road at Old Canton was next. Part of a national franchise, Buffalo's is your best bet if you want to watch lots of sports at the same time (38 TVs with five big screens) and take the family with you. The menu is extensive with salads, wraps, a children's menu and the ubiquitous wings. Video and sports trivia games are also available. We understand that the JFP's mysterious Dr. S (he of the amazing sports blog) has been declared both a national hero and a scourge on society here, depending on which table you stop by and how much Bud has been consumed.

The Forum on Ridgewood Road near County Line is the final stop. With 28 TVs plus four big screens, the Forum offers an excellent setting to watch any televised sport. A full bar accompanies 10 different beers on tap. Lunch is outstanding with a great selection of Southern veggies, meats and cornbread. Imagination does not infect the dinner menu, however; that's when the sports-bar designation takes over. Wings top the list of offerings along with almost anything that can be fried, covered in cheese or ketchup, and served. Local bands perform regularly on weekends, and video games are spread throughout the house.

Since I read only my column, I did not know until recently that this very magazine you hold in your hands has a sports columnist. A friend gently informed me of this after a pleasant evening of watching Lawrence Welk reruns and correcting grammatical errors in The Clarion-Ledger. Management, I learned, had selected a woman for this position—perhaps to screw with the natural-selection process and befuddle the Pabst guzzlers.

I don't know the young woman, but I suppose the gender decision might somehow relate to the men in tight pants. While her interest may be prurient, it is, at least understandable.
Andrew Scott is the pseudonym of a JFP food writer who occasionally deigns to actually write about food.