Leaving the Knitting Factory in Tribeca this past Saturday night after seeing the always-rocking hardcore bands Strike Anywhere and Paint It Black, I realized that the four PBRs I had downed during the show at the Knit had done little other than wet my whistle. Being that I wasn’t in the mood for to drink with the vastly overpaid Caucasians that call Tribeca home, I figured that hitting a few of the neighborhoods remaining dives would be the way to play it. A loop that included stops at Mudville, The Patriot, Raccoon Lodge, a refueling stop at Pakistani Tea House, and then a final round or two at Nancy Whiskey Pub would be the way to play it.

Like just about every neighborhood below 96th Street in Manhattan, the dives that remain in Tribeca are relics from an era when working people could afford to live in the 212. It ain’t been that way in Tribeca ever since Robert DeNiro decided he liked the ‘hood and developers rushed to build as many luxury lofts as possible but the dives remain, mostly serving a blue collar clientele that’s building those lofts, as well as the government employees who work in the area. Tribeca residents themselves are known to stop by joints like the Nancy and The Patriot when they don’t feel like blowing $12 a cocktail at charmless watering holes like Mocca, or The Bubble Lounge.

Having never been to Mudvilles I thought I’d make it my first stop. Turns out it was more a pit stop, as I walked in, saw the place was light up like a hospital cafeteria, resembled an Applebees, and that beers were about $6 a pop. Needless to say, I was out of that overpriced contrived-roadhouse quicker than one can down scarf down a White Castle burger after a night of boozing it up. Being that The Patriot, a watering hole that I’ve spent some time in, was but steps away, I didn’t have to go long before quenching my thirst.

It’s always beer season at The Patriot

The Patriot is probably the last real dive in Tribeca, which is ironic since it’s also one of the newest. It’s the younger sibling of the dearly departed Village Idiot and shares many of the same traits. Vomit is always in the air; the bartenders are cute and, usually, trashy like Christina Applegate circa Married With Children; country music blaring; and, most importantly, booze is cheap. A pitcher of PBR or Bud Ice will set you back a mere $6 or $7 quid while shots are usually $3 or so a pop. There are other selections on the pumps here but when you’re at a dive, you shouldn’t be drinking Stella or Guinness.

Looks like a dive to me

Cute-n-trashy — I hope! — bartender at Patriot

I comfortably settled into a seat towards the end of the bar and ordered a pitcher of Bud Ice and took in the scene. It was pretty simple really; people were getting smashed to my right and even drunker to my left. Dudes to my left were busy devouring some wings and, inexplicably, ordering beers even though they had full pitchers. Nice. Then things got, as they sometimes do, weird and tense.

Masked man and drunk at Patriot

This is how a dive’s bathroom should look

The two guys to the left were getting smashed with some drunk guy wearing this crazy-ass fake leather skeleton jacket. All the guy in the jacket kept saying was that he didn’t speak English. Didn’t stop him from pounding shots nor did it stop one of the guys from turning to me and complaining about “having to speak Spanish in this country.” What was weird was that the guy was probably in his mid-20s and, judging by the way he was dressed — stripey button-down shirt and khakis — seemingly doing okay for himself. Not the kind of guy you’d think would be aggravated about immigration. Yet he was.

As the Spanish-speaking guy passed out at the bar and had to be helped out after a solid 20 minutes or so of lying in his drool, the young Lou Dobbs clone continued his rant.

Passed out at The Patriot

“They should get in line!” he kept on thundering to both nobody in particular but to me in general because I was the closest person to him.

Being a bit more sober, I decided to egg him because, aside from masturbating to Rihanna and watching soccer, goading xenophobes is one of my favorite things to do. Unfortunately, it turns out that goading a slobbering and drunker than an Irishmen — i.e. me — in a whiskey distillery twenty-something year old xenophobe isn’t that much fun. In fact, in this case it turned out to be a big mistake on my part, as the guy began ranting about being quoted “everywhere. Even in the New York Times,” although he never stated what exactly it was he was being quoted about.

Wanting the blubbering wingnut blathering to end, I sensed an opportunity and apologized for not realizing who he was, which served to not only to shut him up but to offer to me to buy me a shot to cement the apology. I pounded my Jameson, polished off the rest of the pitcher and bid Justin and The Patriot goodnight, as I walked down to Murray Street to check out Raccoon Lodge.

Unfortunately, between the pitcher and shot at Patriot, the four beers at the show, and the pre-game boozing I had done at home, I wasn’t so sober by the time I got to Raccoon Lodge. After a Yuengling pint ($3.50) and shot of Jameson ($5.00), I called it a night and headed toward Pakistani Tea House. Because, after all, how would my girlfriend know I’d been out drinking if I didn’t come home smelling like Pakistani food?

Waylon and Willie chilling at The Patriot

Cuento Cuesto: The Patriot’s as cheap as it gets in the 212. Just about anybody with some spare change and a few bottles to recycle can drink there. The Raccoon isn’t as cheap but its very reasonable.

Happy Hour: There’s a bartender with huge fake boobs named Catalina at The Patriot and she’s more than happy to show them off. That’s happy hour.

Split Lip Factor: I’m sure there are fights at both spots but folks seem too fucking busy getting hammered at both The Patriot and Raccoon Lodge to think about fighting. 2-of-5.

Huckle Factor: 0-of-5. Girls don’t sleep with guys they meet at these places unless it’s to get cash for rent money or score some coke.

If The Patriot Were A Celebrity: Dennis Rodman. He grew up in rural Oklahoma, didn’t you know?

If Raccoon Lodge Were A Celebrity: Ted Nugent.

Who Would Like The Patriot: Lou Dobbs; Tom Tancredo; Millard Fillmore; Boss Hogg; fans of NASCAR; Ted Nugent; and people who think the point of drinking is to get so loaded you puke.

Who Would Like The Raccoon Lodge: Sam Elliot’s character in Roadhouse; Teamsters; longshoreman; and folks that need a bit of upstate in their NYC lives.