For Cuervo Gold you need scantily clothed individuals in their early twenties drinking Cuervo margaritas and avidly partying to latin rhythms as the sun goes down in a tropical paradise.


For Black Gold you need Michael Flaherty leaping through the pub window followed by 36 tap dancing damsels with their arms glued to their sides, drinking Guiness from a straight glass listening to a drunken fiddle player and an old man with a tin whistle as the sun goes down obscured by a tobacco haze over a traffic island in O'Connel Street.

No Contest