The Spire

Mario Micallef ’22

Chief Eggplant Editor

College of the Holy Cross took over the Beige Hawk sports bar on Greenie St. last Thursday night. Now for those of you who are not familiar with the Beige Hawk establishment, close your eyes and think of 2006 and 1983. Now combine the two. Now morph that image into a Dillards department store and a about-to-get-shut-down-Speedway-gas-station-that-still-has-deals-plastered everywhere-that-say-$1-for-2-slices-of-cursed-pizza. The result is a banquet hall-sports bar hybrid offspring, ripe for sadness and cheap experiences (not monetarily though). It was not good. It was weird. It was bad in a bad way, and not bad in a good-bad way, or even in a bad bad baddie way either. NSYNC blared from the speakers (even within the bathroom; no rest for the weak), and there was a line to get in (people ubered there, people paid money to get to this place before paying more money at this place and then paid more money to get away from this place after they had their kicks). The drinks were as if someone gargled mouthwash, spit it into a seltzer, and stole 10 from your back pocket. Amongst the students were sus-looking boomers scoping out the place for their next Rolling Stone cover band show and just confused boomers wondering why and how so many college kids found this spot. I love gross bars. I love dusty old hay on the floor bars. I love bars that have bathrooms where you would rather just go out into the alley instead of risk touching any surface where Reaganomics era bacteria might start eating away at your flesh. Beige Hawk was none of these. It was a big beige Skechers shoe you have to velcro. It goes to show the rock bottom, no, the small sliver in the bottom of rock bottom, where bare minimum is all it takes to get college kids to blow their money and trick themselves into believing they enjoyed their night because they had traces of alcohol and shouted over Jay Sean the entire time.  Needless to say, many enjoyed every minute and would highly recommend it.