After a year or two of waiting in line for hours in the freezing cold to flash your 23-year-old fake from Delaware to the bouncers at classy, under-age haunts, you’ve decided you want more out of your bar experience.
No longer do you wish to wade through crowds of blacked-out freshmen and witness the debauchery that accompanies them every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night. No longer can you stomach watered down gin and tonics and crappy domestics served too cold.
You’ve made up your mind: You’re moving up to the Brown Jug.
The moment you step inside the Jug’s friendly tavern-like interior, you know right away you’ve made the right decision. Granted, depending on the night, getting inside can be half the battle, considering the Jug’s notoriously slow lines.
But once inside, you soon learn that the Jug is pretty damn small. Some call it “cozy.” Because, as everyone knows, “cozy” means mobs of random drunk people leaving you unable to move as the sweat dripping off the guy next to you lands in your lager.
Named after the Little Brown Jug given out to the winner of the Michigan-Minnesota football game each year, the Jug is also the best place to go to reaffirm your faith in the maize and blue. Snapshots and clippings of past triumphs from Michigan sporting history adorn the Jug’s walls. And nothing gets you more fired up than singing along with the Michigan fight song as it blares out of the bar’s speakers at last call on football Saturdays.
Unlike Scorekeepers and Touchdown’s, the Jug has the sort of mellow atmosphere where no one will ever judge you for wearing your old, high school sweatpants to the bar. And make your moves with confidence, the lights are bright enough there that you won’t come home with something you might drag out of the basement on a Thursday night at Rick’s.