Tis the season

We stumbled out of the van giddy, noisy and gloriously buzzed. Entered Four Green Fields like a pack of wild-eyed delinquents dead set on drinking the place dry. This was last Friday around 11:30 p.m. Our crew of about a dozen had been shuttled to the famed Tampa Irish bar from the nearby Westin Harbour Island Hotel, the location of "The Loaf's Holiday Party."

Creative Loafing has a work-hard-play-hard culture. Loafers know how to celebrate. We have a Friday Dance Party at the office every week starting at 4 p.m., complete with Political Whore Wayne Garcia's music mix and a flashing disco ball (but, in all honesty, very little dancing).

Friday at the Westin, Wayne cued up a bunch of classic funk, and by the time everyone had reached that magical third glass of wine, folks were bumping, grinding and doing interpretive dances of the highest order. We're a rowdy, randy bunch. The night went completely as planned, with the open bar inspiring even a reluctant dancer like me to get out there and shake a tail feather. Of course, my dance moves were sad compared to the rhythmically superior stylings of Senior Editor Eric Snider, a man who never met a bass groove that didn't go straight to his hips.

My coworker Sal and I arrived at the holiday party right when it started at 7:30 p.m. Four hours later, the bash was finally thinning, and he and I were both sufficiently hammered. By the time Jessica made arrangements for the office's most hardcore revelers to be transported to Four Green Fields, only a handful of staffers remained, including CL CEO Ben Eason. I asked him to join us at Four Green Fields but luckily he passed -- that might have been more than the big boss needed to witness.

As far as local Irish pubs go, they don't get any more authentic than the one with the thatched roof on Platt Street. I've been frequenting Four Green Fields for years. Love that there are no televisions. People go there to drink pints and whiskey, eat Shepherd's Pie and Irish Stew, and interact -- not to stare blankly at a ball game, or worse, scream at the TV screen after every play. That's what sports bars are for, not Irish pubs.

South Tampa's other two big Irish bars -- MacDinton's and The Dubliner -- are located almost directly across the street from my apartment, so that's where I spend a lot more of my time and money. But I do occasionally stop by Four Green Fields at lunch for a Guinness and soup of the day, or after work for a Jameson on the rocks with a splash of soda. I like watching all the business types gulp their beers and slam a shot right before they leave, right before they return to the drudgery of the wife and kids. I've been there a few nights, too, when the younger professional types dominate the scene. In my experience, Four Green Fields usually has an upscale crowd of regulars who know how to hold their booze.

So I'm pretty sure they were appalled at the spectacle we caused outside on the patio last Friday. Not only were we all drinking liquor -- or at least I think everyone was -- but then there were promo gals feeding us free glasses of Jameson and ginger ale. I prefer my Irish Whiskey sans that sweet mixer, but free Jameson, no matter what it's cut with, is not to be dismissed. I had about five.

But all that Irish whiskey wasn't what did us is in. No. I'm going to blame our most obnoxious behavior on Lyndsay. My esteemed colleague claims she taught her younger brother, a star collegiate wrestler, everything he knows, and after a certain number of Jack Daniels and Diet Cokes she wants to grapple anyone within earshot. This led to us sliding around foolishly on the deck and then to me lifting another female coworker up over my shoulder, forgetting she was wearing a rather short dress, and perhaps exposing her derriere to throngs of onlooking strangers.

Then Sal challenged me to a wrestling match. He stepped off the patio and into the wet grass below, waiting for me to stoop to the occasion. In a temporary moment of lucidity, I listened to our intern Kat and passed on the public grappling display.

Fortunately, not only does Four Green Fields offer the most authentic Irish "public house" setting in town, tasty pub food, and serve strong drinks with haste, they didn't sweat the shenanigans of a bunch of severely loaded loudmouths.

Four Green Fields, 205 Platt St., Tampa, 813-254-4444 or fourgreenfields.com.