Soccer woes, scared children, and Bulgarian drinks

Saturday was another great battle in the war of stupid v. health, with the old favorite taking another victory in the war of my life.

My day began at 7am, with a quick shower and cab ride to Nevada’s. For what might be a first, Hubris was already there when I arrived and gotten me a seat. The game was nothing short of a heartbreaker. Least importantly, we drew to a crap team because of a dodgy penalty call in stoppage time which led to a penalty kick. More importantly, one of our players, someone we picked up over the summer and had recently earned his spot on the starting 11, suffered what could be a career ending injury. He was tackled by an opposing player and had his leg broken so bad the foot turned the wrong way. In all seriousness, it is always horrible to watch a young athlete carried off the field in a stretcher, reminding us fans that while they are basically paid millions to play a game, they do put their bodies and thus the livelihoods of them and their families on the line to entertain. I can not help but think of that Buffalo player who was paralyzed at the beginning of this year, and how it can all go to hell in a second in professional sports. My prayers to a fallen gooner, and hope to see him back on the pitch as soon as he is fit.

So, a fairly emotional morning. Even beloved bartender Jack seemed surlier than normal. Not surprising that more beer than normal was consumed, and that we stayed later then the end of the game. So by the time we left the bar, we were slammed, and it was 10:30. We could have done several appropriate things, like sleep, but we chose to do one of the worst things that two drunks could do on a Saturday morning, go see a children’s show!

Earlier in the week, I had promised a friend of mine I would see the children’s show she directed, not knowing how rough a morning I was in for. After some life saving Wendys, we headed to midtown, sat in a theater filled with small kids and their parents, and watched some children’s theater, fighting off the depressants in our blood. I am shocked we came and went without incident. I mean, I did trip on some stairs, but that’s not out of character for me sober, and that theater is poorly constructed. Luckily my friend is awesome, and was just happy that we came.

Now surely, you the reader say to yourself, our hero will go home now. He would not dare continue to wander the city drunk at midday. Fools! The next step was to meet Teach at his new job, the bar Stout (which might merit its own bar post later). A drunken subway ride later, I met Teach in Stout’s basement. The plan was to have lunch and some pints at his bar, but he was on his lunch break, and then was working in the cover section. So instead I just hung out with him at his lunch break, which was good because any more beer may have led to disaster.

Finally, at 2:45 pm, over seven hours after I left it, I returned to bed. I slept till about 7pm, woken by my brother asking if I wanted dinner. I of course was completely out if it, not really sure what day it was, and wondering if the whole morning had been a dream. This futbol addiction is dangerous to a man’s sanity. I hung out for a couple of hours, walked my parent’s dogs, and then headed downtown.

I went down to the Lower East Side to a Bulgarian bar for BFG’s birthday. The place ranks as one of the strangest bars I have been to in the LES. It’s a 2 level bar, the basement level is the standard too-loud hipster filled bar one expects from the area, while the top levels seemed to serve more to local middle-aged patrons. The leader of that pack was a man with the receding hairline and DKNY shirt who was getting down to the crazy Bulgarian Euro pop music no matter what people thought of him. He truly is the hero of the day. This bar served its own creepy fruit punch (which some spoke well of but I was too afraid to try), and had Bulgarian TV playing. Apparently, Bulgaria’s favorite show is one where a dude walks down the street groping strangers to see how they will react (I kid you not); a wondrous nation to be sure. I hung out with Brownsox (who I chastised for missing the game), LaMama, and Jersey. Its always a treat hanging out with Jersey, as not only is he the prototype of the ‘one of us’ debate, he shares my general dislike for people, as well as similar nerdy interests. We hung out discussing drug use and comic book movies for a while, but I was fading fast. Enter Hubris, using his superpower to arrive right when you want to leave. Hubris did order a hookah for the team, which I referred to as ‘candy in gas form’. It has been awhile since I smoked a hookah, the last time was in college where the hookah place formed a hookah out of a watermelon. It really is a delightful experience, even if you hate smoking. As the night went on, the place filled up and the Bulgarian music gave way to ‘80s pop (which is what they are probably currently listening to in Bulgaria). After a couple of beers, I called it a night and took a cab home.

Sunday was uneventful, with a standard Oscar viewing. The Oscars is a great pop culture cock-tease, as every year I really don’t want to watch it, but do anyway because every one else does and I fear I am going to be missing out on something awesome that everyone else is going to be talking about tomorrow, something that never comes (unless Crash winning best picture and making my roommate scream “Kahnnnnn!!!!” counts). Jon Stewart is The Man though, let the record show.

That’s that for now. Might try to do another bar post over the week. Peace.