A friend had invited me to watch football at his favorite pub. At least I can’t call him a friend. Not yet. But I think that will be fine. A few minutes before the game started, I walked into the cafe. I found the potential boyfriend on a stool at a high table, close to the big screen. We greeted each other, he introduced me to his friends and got beer. We toasted and discussed how we entered the match feeling: full of humility, but also full of hope.
After a few minutes all that was left was humility, when the opponent took the lead with childish ease. We ordered more beer and the potential friend got up to go to the bathroom. At least, I thought he was going to the bathroom. But moments later I saw him participating in a discussion with a friend. A thin boy was acting ugly to a small, somewhat older woman with gray curls. It turned out not to be about the game. The woman owned the cafe and had caught the boy with her own drink. She wanted him to leave the cafe, but the boy refused.
The potential boyfriend and his friend, along with the manager, urge the boy towards the exit. There was some clattering and yelling, and a wave of retreating people moved through the cafe. Should I get up now and get involved? The last time I was actively involved in a decent bar fight was about 15 years ago and my skills in that area are a bit rusty. Other than that, I just didn’t feel like it at all, in that perfunctory and predictable hassle of a little pulling and pushing and the inevitable de-escalation. And: there was football. If they needed me, they could call me. I turned my eyes back to the screen, just in time to see the opponent make it 2-0.
After a few minutes, the potential friend returned to the table. He looked at the booth. “Great,” he said. “Playing bad football and arguing.” What does a man want more? We ordered another round, to dilute the feeling about the race. A bowl of smoked sausage and mustard was passed around, which also helped a little. Shortly after the final whistle I said goodbye. I asked the potential friend to send me a little bit. He didn’t want to know about that. “I’ll pay for those three beers,” he said. Then we hugged each other. Yes, I thought, this will be fine.