“Game After Game”
Feb 28, 2020Fucking Shakespeare over here. Writing at a bar, sipping so eloquently, your PBR. Pabst. Blue. Ribbon. An award winner. You are a gentleman among men. And women and children and peasants and heathens.
What would you say? “I’ll be right back.”
Okay, ahem, let me get my thoughts in order, ladies and gentlemen.
He wanted to play pool. She wanted to play pool, too, but he figured they were more likely to walk away with the money if he led the charge.
So, lead the charge he did . . . and lose the money he did. Game after game. “I swear this next one is our ticket to ride.” And he put down dollar after dollar and lost all of them. She played a few rounds and did well, but he insisted he take the lead and show them all how it’s done.
I watched from the bar. I was going to have none of it. If I was going to lose a lot of money it would be rewarded with an alcoholic beverage. Fair trade, I say. I play games I know I can win. (Joke’s on me, of course.)
I admire his tenacity. No let down. He knows when he wants to fight, and he goes all-or-nothing. I go all-or-nothing, too, but I’m typically on the nothing side of things.
She never really got to play her games. She sat at the bar sipping her vodka soda, making small talk with the guy in the argyle sweater who kept presenting himself. He just wanted to be noticed. By her, by anyone. They went outside for a couple of cigarettes, but it was too cold to have any meaningful conversation. So she went back inside and her friend continued leading the charge for her.
I watched all of this unfold while [now] sipping on Jameson. I think about speaking up and reminding them what planet they’re on. But it’s best to just keep out of the way. Sip your drink and watch the magic happen. Drama is so much easier when it happens to other people.