Pub: Phil's Last Quiz (O'Neills)
What makes a good send off? Party food, rounds of applause, tears? This week we witnessed the parting of a great man, from a Great British institution. Like Andi Peters and Eamon Holmes before him, Phil's last show was emotional. In barely a year he had established himself as Quizmaster Extraordinaire - fusing general knowledge, copious swearing and kids tv themes into a 150 minute explosion every Thursday night. The fact that we'd only discovered this experience a mere six weeks ago didn't make it any less meaningful. We were drunk and there was an awful lot of love in the music room.
Nine hours before the big event came the devastating news that we were two team members down. Given that our core team is four, with the occasional add ons, this was a serious blow. At this point revision (memorising Digital Spy headlines and clicking random article on Wikipedia) was abandoned and replaced by knowing smiles and our almost entirely meaningless war cry "death or glory!" Fast forward to 8.30pm where we sat surrounded by a team of 15, a team of 12, and two teams of 8, staring certain death in the face. “Basically, you’re fucked” observed our quizmaster helpfully.
"Before we begin..." yelped a fellow barman as Phil paused to launch into his last show. The celebrations began with a marvellous array of hats, sweets and party poppers, followed swiftly by photos, silly t-shirts and a torrent of lollipops in the direction of the star. The new boys, and the only other team of three, on the next table looked suitably confused as they were chastised for sniffing at a party hat (immediately removed and redistributed to a more agreeable participant) whilst an army of 15 swiped their spare chairs and eyed them up.
Suitable Phil shaped team names were created and the games began. We stumbled through the first two rounds without many problems - clashing only briefly over the comparable merits of Pamela Anderson and Jordan's tits. The picture round gave us a little more trouble, thanks to the current glut of American teen actresses, and the quiz writer's obsession with Shameless. A score update confirmed we were only 5 points off the leaders and that this quiz might be for turning, if only we could stop bitching about their 13 man advantage and knuckle down.
High on a flawless, albeit expected, performance in Brucie's Bonus round, we flew into the Answer Trail full of confidence. Honourable mention goes to AP for her exceptional Steve Martin knowledge, while J would appreciate my glossing over the fact that he missed an England World Cup fact. Phil launched into his "here we go!" question delivery with gusto, until some inebriate fell off her chair, and he was forced to revert to ‘staff member in charge' and throw concern her way. One can only hope that suitable marks were deducted from her team sheet for ruining Phil's last ever Chemical Brothers performance.
Scraps of paper were deposited for the inevitable bonus round tie breaker, until it transpired that every team had scored full marks, rendering it less of a tie breaker and more of just, well, another question. Our team proved their veritable genius in the art of educated guesses, and once more our kitchen cupboard was lined with cheap biscuits with silly names. This triumph was swiftly followed by a surprisingly undemanding Wipe Out round, and our ultimate victory. I cant be bothered to work out the stats, but I’m told it was an impressive win. I was just glad we beat the other team of three, who slunk away immediately after the final scores, probably fearing further celebratory frivolities, or some kind of ritualistic punishment for the losers.
Phil ended his last quiz with the same words that, presumably, closed his first. "I've been Phil. You've been sexual. But not as sexual as me." Standing ovations and a rousing rendition of 'for he's a jolly good fellow' were followed by drunken requests for a "speeeeeech!" Our quizmaster, suitable choked with emotion by this point, quoted a song that he'd tried (obviously not very hard) and failed to procure for the evening. So in his lilting Northern Irish accent he declared "We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day..." and tried desperately not to cry. All that remained were handshakes, kisses and a rousing chorus of 'You'll never walk alone', before we stumbled into the cold night air, glory firmly in hand.
Nine hours before the big event came the devastating news that we were two team members down. Given that our core team is four, with the occasional add ons, this was a serious blow. At this point revision (memorising Digital Spy headlines and clicking random article on Wikipedia) was abandoned and replaced by knowing smiles and our almost entirely meaningless war cry "death or glory!" Fast forward to 8.30pm where we sat surrounded by a team of 15, a team of 12, and two teams of 8, staring certain death in the face. “Basically, you’re fucked” observed our quizmaster helpfully.
"Before we begin..." yelped a fellow barman as Phil paused to launch into his last show. The celebrations began with a marvellous array of hats, sweets and party poppers, followed swiftly by photos, silly t-shirts and a torrent of lollipops in the direction of the star. The new boys, and the only other team of three, on the next table looked suitably confused as they were chastised for sniffing at a party hat (immediately removed and redistributed to a more agreeable participant) whilst an army of 15 swiped their spare chairs and eyed them up.
Suitable Phil shaped team names were created and the games began. We stumbled through the first two rounds without many problems - clashing only briefly over the comparable merits of Pamela Anderson and Jordan's tits. The picture round gave us a little more trouble, thanks to the current glut of American teen actresses, and the quiz writer's obsession with Shameless. A score update confirmed we were only 5 points off the leaders and that this quiz might be for turning, if only we could stop bitching about their 13 man advantage and knuckle down.
High on a flawless, albeit expected, performance in Brucie's Bonus round, we flew into the Answer Trail full of confidence. Honourable mention goes to AP for her exceptional Steve Martin knowledge, while J would appreciate my glossing over the fact that he missed an England World Cup fact. Phil launched into his "here we go!" question delivery with gusto, until some inebriate fell off her chair, and he was forced to revert to ‘staff member in charge' and throw concern her way. One can only hope that suitable marks were deducted from her team sheet for ruining Phil's last ever Chemical Brothers performance.
Scraps of paper were deposited for the inevitable bonus round tie breaker, until it transpired that every team had scored full marks, rendering it less of a tie breaker and more of just, well, another question. Our team proved their veritable genius in the art of educated guesses, and once more our kitchen cupboard was lined with cheap biscuits with silly names. This triumph was swiftly followed by a surprisingly undemanding Wipe Out round, and our ultimate victory. I cant be bothered to work out the stats, but I’m told it was an impressive win. I was just glad we beat the other team of three, who slunk away immediately after the final scores, probably fearing further celebratory frivolities, or some kind of ritualistic punishment for the losers.
Phil ended his last quiz with the same words that, presumably, closed his first. "I've been Phil. You've been sexual. But not as sexual as me." Standing ovations and a rousing rendition of 'for he's a jolly good fellow' were followed by drunken requests for a "speeeeeech!" Our quizmaster, suitable choked with emotion by this point, quoted a song that he'd tried (obviously not very hard) and failed to procure for the evening. So in his lilting Northern Irish accent he declared "We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day..." and tried desperately not to cry. All that remained were handshakes, kisses and a rousing chorus of 'You'll never walk alone', before we stumbled into the cold night air, glory firmly in hand.
posted by Shhh at 3:31 PM
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