We’re gathered here today to celebrate the life of the Green Mill Uptown.

The first time I ever set foot in Green Mill Uptown, I had the audacity to inquire what beers were on special. I knew it was the start of a glorious friendship when the bartender looked at me and said, “The shitty ones.” He poured me a pint of American swill into a tall mug. It was too dark to tell if the mug was frosted or just unclean, but I didn’t care. A new era in my life was born.

Affectionately known as “The Mill”, it became a watering hole offering the highest sanctuary to me and my closest circle. Under those dim lights and atop those creaky stools, the heart breaking losses stung a little less and when our teams gave us reason to cheer we cheered a little more.

On a number of occasions, I was waited on by a total bro named Ben. Ben knew less about the menu than the homeless man asleep in the parking lot. No matter how many times he had our table over the years, if we ever asked him a question he’d say “I don’t know man, it’s my second day.” He was the worst waiter I ever had. I loved him.

One day we watched our favorite team win at noon, our least favorite team lose at three and I beat a best friend in fantasy during Sunday Night Football at 7:30. All the while never paying more than two dollars per libation or four dollars per appetizer. I was overwhelmed with equal parts pride and shame on my way home when I realized I had eaten all three of the day’s meals from Green Mill’s kitchen.

Your doors are closing after 38 years, my friend, but you are not dead. Whenever someone opts for a macro brew over a craft beer, you’ll be there. Whenever a bartender quickly changes a TV from a game that is done to a new one just begun, you’ll be there. And whenever a creepy old man asks me “can you teach me how to use Tinder?” you will certainly be there.

In life you can’t choose your parents and you can’t choose your dive bar. I want to thank you, Green Mill Uptown, for choosing me. It has been a privilege. It has been an honor.

Let us pray.

Our Father who art on Hennepin Ave,

Hallowed be thy name,

To your Green Mill we come,

Your Happy Hour never done,

In Uptown as it is in St. Paul,

Give us this day our daily wings special,

Forgive us our sins,

As we forgive those going to Giordano’s down the street,

Lead us not into gentrification; but deliver us from trendiness,

For thine is the Green Mill, in Uptown, and its late night street tacos are yours,

Now and forever. Amen.

This story was written by Terry Horstman, is a writer in Minneapolis. He is currently mourning the loss of his favorite dive bar and looking for a new place to drink cheap and terrible beer. The search is ongoing.