how i got my ass kicked at futbol by a group of sneaky hondurans...

saturday july 19, 2008. i had planned to spend the day with my uncle michael, THE man in my life, but he and his lover decide to go to the metropolitan and i was in the mood to do something more sporty. bob, who is built like a quarterback, but who can't even throw a decent football pass ( he says he is an ace ice hockey player: something he doesn't get to play often in sunny sb) decided to join the uncs. (though nothing was said after i returned home but it got me to thinking: what was discussed between my very, shall we say inquisitive, concerned, protects me as a lion would protect his cub, uncle who loves me more than life and adopted me when he was younger than i am now and whom i love more than anyone in the world? i mean think about it: the two men i love most together for hours and hours with nothing in common except ME: what did they say?) hopefully, i will never know. and believe me, uncs would have told me if he had problems with bob. he's had most of today to say something and he seems very happy to be in nyc and to see me and of course, i...him. when i told him that bob was coming to dinner tonight (sunday) he didn't make that face...and we all know about THAT face: the one our parents give us when they disapprove. ok, truth: if uncs doesn't love bob as much as i do i will be majorly bummed. i must have his approval and consent. i mean: who will walk me down the aisle when bob and i marry in 2011?
so my roomie and i decide to play futbol with a pick-up team with which we often get together every saturday.
now bare in mind all of us, the pick-up team that is, are pretty good to excellent futbol players: all of us having spent our youth and beyond doing so. anyway, we are cocky, brash, all american, average height 5'9", "we can never lose at fubol" assholes.
after playing about 20 games here in central park and never having lost one, we scoffed at playing a group of short, real short hondurans and salvadoreans. well, you know what happened: we got our asses demoralized and fucked big time by these hondurans, etc. we stopped counting after their 10th goal to our zilch. it is a prime example and lesson in life: never judge a fucking book by it's cover, innit? and how many times have you heard that well worn phrase and merely sloughed it off. i am now here to tell you: IT IS TRUE, guys and gals.
to make matters worse we bet them $200 bucks which we were hard pressed to pull together.
after the game, we slithered out, our tails between our legs, our egos properly demolished. we headed to an irsh pub in mid-town to drown our sorrows. it took 3 shots of glenlivet, neat and a couple pints of guinness to make the humilation that had just happened to us bearable and to ultimately make us laugh. we'll survive, heh?
no, not until we order enough fish and chips with malt vinegar to feed a plow horse.
with all that beer and fried food sloshing about in my gut, i head back to the dorm and find the uncs and his man cleaning my room. if it were anyone else, i would have stopped them going through my stuff but with the uncs: arguing, pleading does not work so i sit myself in front of the tv and watch a brit gay film called "oh happy day" which is a kind of revelation in itself because the gay characters actually have lives and careers out of the bed. in fact cher is only mentioned once and the main characters are conflicted yet resourceful and possess a kind of maturity and intelligence not usually associated with US. but we know better now, don't we?
after uncs gets done with my room, the kitchen and the bathroom, goes to the freeway market to buy food enough for 2 weeks at least (btw: i have no storage room so we have to stack canned goods under the bathroom sink), we decide to stay in tonight, cook, probably smoke some blunt and watch something fun on dvd. i suggest "showgirls" but only get bemused smiles.
peace,
tyler

music: danny boy...