Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Why I have to go to the bar

Chris is lamenting his league team’s goalie, who we know, since he often plays drop-in Monday nights with us as well. Chris got mad at him last week and thinks he’s a twat.

“That guy’s a twat." he says. He doesn’t pronounce it the way I would though, since he’s English. When he says it, it rhymes with fat, and it sounds underlined.

“Why?” I ask. “Cause he’s not very good?” (He let in a few easy goals.)

“Nah, cause he’s such a girl. Sorry. But he is. I yelled at him in our league game, and he just said ‘Chris, I’ve had enough, I’ve just had enough of you.’ And I thought he was going to cry.”

That does sound like a girl, I reason to myself. And I am a girl. But I don’t find the goalie to be that way. He just talks a lot, but he’s mostly positive. Everyone’s positive on Monday nights. Maybe that’s why I like it.

Chris doesn’t stop. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking. “He just talks so much. I can’t stand all the talking on Mondays sometimes. It’s so relentlessly positive. It’s too positive.." He takes a sip of his beer. "‘Nice pass.’ " he says, in a smarmy voice. "Come on, no one needs to say that. We’re all football players for Christ’s sake. If we can’t make a decent pass, it’s time to go home.”

Oh no. I’m probably the worst. At first I didn’t talk much, but now that I know them all, I’m always yelling out ‘well done’ or ‘nice pass’ or ‘lovely cross’. Geez, I’ve never thought about it before. The talking’s probably a bit much, isn’t it? It’s exactly what a girl would do. I’m a stereotype.

Now I have to stay til the end of the night at the pub. If I leave, they will mock me mercilessly in my absence. I can hear it now. “What’s with the 40 year old housewife with all the good vibes? Can’t she have her Oprah moments somewhere else?”


So....what would happen at the bar after the game if I didn’t go? After all, as the only female, I assume some of the politeness is there for me. (Wait, is there politeness? Maybe.) But if I didn’t go, here is what I imagine might happen:

“Tonight was awesome.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know why, but it just felt different. We didn’t miss so many shots on net – all our players were strong – no weaker players dragging us down....”



Long pause. They silently check the score of the Canucks on TV. Beer is chugged and wiped off their lips with the backs of their hands. Crotches are scratched openly. Well, more openly than usual.

“So, how about ______? Coventry will have to fire him soon.”

“They haven’t scored in nine games.”

“And did you see Rooney get that nice one this week?”

“And ______ from Ipswitch....”

The scene gets fuzzy around the edges here, mostly because the imaginer (me) doesn’t know what the hell is going on in English soccer. I do recognize some words though. Periodically they pop up. Man U. Arsenal. Black... something. Blackburn? Ah, who knows.

Kelly the server comes by. “More beer?” she asks.

“Yes,” they say heartily and slap her on the ass. She giggles coquettishly and bends over just slightly, butt towards them, and they do it again. She shrieks. All the guys are laughing knowingly at each other. Is she topless? Wait, all the women in the bar, even the customers, appear to be topless. Oh dear. Is that a stripper pole? In a suburban English-style pub?

Kelly walks off to get the beer. Instantly faces are silent again. A UFC fight is on TV now and everyone is watching it intently. More beer is delivered. More beer is drunk. Strippers come in, do some lap dances, and leave. Perhaps the gay guy gets a male lap dancer. (Is that possible? I think I don’t want to think about that. ) More crotch scratching. Megan Fox is on TV doing....something. What does she do? Anything? Act? Does it matter?

“Whoa,” of them says....”Megan Fox is hawt.”

Dude.” Says another. (It is pronounced to mean ‘it goes without saying’.)

More beer chugging. Burps. Farting, perhaps.

Daniel Craig comes in and joins them. He is also shirtless. (Well, after all it is MY imagination.) He comes over to our table and says “I heard there was a girl who played with you guys....where is she?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it tonight.”

“Too bad.” Says Daniel Craig. He sighs and leaves.

See why I have to go?

1 comment:

  1. I think it's blackPOOL. But I'm not much into pro soccer either.

    You're right about Daniel Craig: dreamy.