I have only recently become a sports fan, and have learned that being a sports fan means you can have random conversations at bars much easier. Now being a fan of a sport not popular in these United States means that I can talk to the random-est of people.
I was having a couple of drinks with Brownsox at Nevada Smith’s, our beloved futbol bar. We were talking to the manager (a woman, which I did not think was allowed there) when a crusty looking Englishman came up to the bar. He started talking to the manager, and clearly was another futbol regular. When this bloke, whose name was Martin, asked the manager what she thought of the game last night (The UEFA Champions League final), she claimed to not be much of a sports fan, which makes no sense given her employment. Mildly dismayed, Martin turned to us to discuss the footer. He was from Liverpool (which I could tell by his Beatles-like accent), an Everton fan (which is basically like growing up in Chicago and being a White Sox fan pre 2005) and really chill. He, like many people, pointed out that Arsenal plays the beautiful game and began talking trash about Chelsea and Cashly Cole. To top it off, his son is a Mets fan. Cool dude.
After talking to this bloke for a while, we headed downstairs for a couple more drinks. One of our favorite bartenders, Guzo, was working and he chatted us up for a while. He was showing a couple of B movies on the TVs, which I thought was a nice touch. Brownsox and I began work on a pitcher of Bud Light (it was cheap) and other people began trickling in. I don’t remember how, but Brownsox started up a conversation with a dude down the bar who was a fan of Barcelona. He was a cool dude, and we shared laments about both our team’s woes from this just completed season. At one point, Brownsox went to have a smoke, which I used as an excuse to get another pitcher.
Around Midnight we headed back home. I grabbed a 40 of Coors light at the bodega next to my home; hoping one of my roommates would split it with me. When I returned home, one roommate was out and the other ‘didn’t want to drink’. So I drank half the 40, and passed out.
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1 comment:
I don't remember this night at all, but because I am your roomate, and was either A) "Out", or B) "didn't want to drink", I have to ask; why was I "Out" and how did this happen? haha. it's funny cause I have a drinking prob.
Love,
Hubris
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