266) K.C.R. House/Crough's of Lower Kimmage Road, D12
It was very late at night...we were kind of fucked...might be worth a revisit...on a soberer day... Dispenses Beamish – all the more reason for a revisit.
Subsequently revisited, November 2019: Thank the little lord baby Jesus Christ for thoroughness! We were treated to front row seats to an evening that unfurled like a theatre performance seldom seen and which can only be witnessed in small bars like this. (All acting was provided by the array of colourful patrons, the set and stage was the entire barroom and the script was improvised over the live sporting event on the television: Liverpool v Manchester City). We had seen a ‘show’ of a similar nature just once before in all our travels [1]. We had come to the KCR via The Two Sisters pub and unlike our last visit, we had only a little liquor taken. We snubbed the airy lounge and walked straight into the pokey little bar which is cold and has no frills. Immediately we recognised two of the bodies propped up at the counter: Luke Kelly (a wildly bearded, ginger haired older man with a patterned paddy-cap, the image of the famous Dubliner). Beside him was Captain John Sparrow (a silent unsmiling man dressed in black wearing a thin ponytail, heavy silver earrings and an oversized trench coat). Familiarity brought some warmth as we had shared the bar with these two once before. Sitting at a table by the window were two more gents, one of whom became known simply as ‘Redshirt.’ One thing was certain; this was exclusively an all-male bar. There were two barmen, both bald, although Declan was smoother than his counterpart who had a pronounced limp, but no matter, he brought our Beamish to the table without blemish.
ACT I: began when we sat quietly sipping our drinks and the door slammed open. In galloped ‘Brian’ (a fellow Beamish drinker wearing a brown leather jacket, also paddy-capped, and desperate for liquid refreshment). Next on stage came the lead man: ‘Martin’ (the only Manchester City fan in the house and who would be the bag to everyone’s punches). A couple more trickled in as the match got underway, and as it did, the whole room started conversing with itself. Live commentary on the game coupled with personal taunting and friendly but snide remarks came from all four corners. “Liverpool have no balls this season” says Martin, “you’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Martin!” says a rival (cue the room’s long and loud laughter) etc. An early goal turned up the heat, poor Martin was on the losing team, and nobody would let him forget it. There were hushed comments, digs in the ribs, and big winks happening throughout the room until half-time saw Martin wound up in a temper.
ACT II: (we’ve had to abridge the play’s potential for reasons obvious), saw the second-half get underway when a whimsical patron propositioned the barman in front of the audience: “I’ll buy everyone in the whole pub a drink if you turn the match off right now.” The Barman wasted no time with his reply: “Ah fuck off back to The Two Sisters!” This resulted in a physical mock fight between the two which brought forth shouting and roaring all ‘round. Miraculously, Jordan, a young bar woman who turned all heads, entered from the lounge causing someone to quip: “Shhh, stop swearing!” How woman maketh man behaveth! Redshirt thought it would be funny to flirt with her which failed terribly making him seem about as smart as he looked. Trying to save face, he then commented on the match by saying: “See that? He tried to just gink the ball over!” A piranha was only too happy to bite immediately: “What the fuck is a ‘gink’, don’t you mean ‘dink’ you donkey?” This caused the whole room to suddenly burst into song with a familiar chorus: “smile and the whole world smiles at you.” The match concluded but the verbal abuse for poor Martin was unrelenting, his team had lost, and so had he. As he exited stage to the toilet (ostensibly to piss, but probably intent on drowning himself), Sam Coll attempted feebly to buck him up: 'Stay strong, Martin!' This would-be sympathetic raillery did not go down all that well – sport is a serious business and woe betide the mocking outsider.
The KCR pub (near the Kimmage Cross Roads) is certainly worthy of a visit. It’s a true home away from home where wits are sharp and jibes are in jest. As we left, the skies erupted in an avalanche of rain, eerily reminiscent of the deluge that greeted us upon completion of the Chancery Inn performance. The gods applaud.
Trio of absolute legends, weatherbeaten greybeards, legit heroes like
FOOTNOTE
[1] See: The Chancery Inn for more.
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