I spent the majority of my time this Saturday at private parties for Scranton's St. Patrick's Day Parade...one of which may have been co-hosted by another writer on this blog and another that may have served Keystone Light (or, as I said to the hostess, "just tell everyone it's Coors Light in the keg and they won't know the difference.") I did manage to hit two bars downtown which makes it very easy for me to award these two distinctions.
THE LOSER: Trax
The Radisson is in a unique position for the parade. They are in such a location that they can afford to do what they did: charge a high ($10) cover, force people to buy tickets for beer (WTF?), stage a small festival in the back parking lot complete with food, drink stands, and bands, and actually offer the prime Lackawanna Avenue patio space as a VIP area (?!?!). I can't fault them for any of this. Heck, if you were coming in from out of town and wanted a place to stay and a great parade party to attend, and didn't mind paying high prices for it, The Radisson is your spot. But for someone who just wanted to have a beer at Trax and meet up with some friends for an hour (me) this was a bad choice. Plus someone puked on our shoes.
THE WINNER: The Banshee
Like the Banshee could go wrong on Parade Day anyway. The one day of the year that this great Irish pub is actually happening, was improved by the service and quality provided. The $10 cover was as high as Trax but also gave you your choice of their beer selection of Guinness, Harp, Smithwicks, Boddingtons, Woodchuck, Miller Lite, Yuengling, and maybe one or two others for $4. Contrast to the Radisson which was charging $5 for 12oz cans of Bud Light and I'd gladly pay my $10 here rather than there. Plus they still had live music, friendly (as much as they could be on the busiest day of the year) bartenders, and it's no surprise why the Banshee was a great parade day choice. Also there was less puke.
Of course on Parade Day the real winners are the owners of every bar downtown and the losers are all of us who go out like fools to brave crowds, freezing temperatures (this year), and pay absurd prices just for the honor of getting shitfaced among thousands of amateurs on a Saturday afternoon. But such is Scranton's finest tradition.