Two Tones

Two Tones, The Switch, Efforts for Maturity, The Slip, Child-like Responses, The Wish, Superseding My Tendencies 


Last night was long. Korea (화이팅!) played Greece at 8:30 my time and, of course, I went to the bar with friends, dressed in red, to watch. What a game! 2-0 Korea! After this match, I met more friends and waited for US England. This is when my night got strange.

Board Games in a Bar
I went to the bar to get myself a drink when this burly guy, half-way between muscles and fat, started talking to me.
"Where you from?" He followed this with something I can't now recollect, but it prompted me to respond for the rest of the exchange with half-truths and lies. "New Mexico."
"Ah, so you're Mexican," and he hit me, not hard, but solid, in the ribs.
"No, no. I'm the new kind," I said a bit snide.
"Come on," and he invited me to punch him back in the ribs.
"Naw, I can't."
"What?"
"I'm fragile. Don't wanna hurt myself," and I turned to get my drink.
A very large guy heard the exchange between, let's call him Bull, and me, and declined our attempts to draw him into the conversation, with a sly grin as if to say, "What a stupid situation to fall into."
I latched my eyes onto Bull's. "What about you? Where you from?" I asked him.
"Montana," he said, directly.
"Ah, cool." I didn't let my eyes divert at any point during our nonsense. "Is that like, mostly rural or what?"
"You don't gotta talk shit, man."
I stayed dead-locked on his eyes, like staring down a dog to let it know you're not a threat, but you're not threatened. "No, I just mean I've never been there. What's it like?"
"So what do you do?" he asked. All sorts of wrong answers went through my head, but he made one up for me. "You a drummer or, what do you do?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm a drummer. I mean, I'm not very good, just like," but he turned away and talked bad about me to someone else. I finally ordered my beer, he turned back, made some exchange with me I can't recall, and I took my beer to my table.
Some time passed and I returned to the bar to get a drink for my friend. I caught a glance of Bull from the corner of my eye, ignored him and kept on, but he grabbed me round the waist and dragged me back. "This fucker!" he said about me to a table of people donned in their "Go Go Korea" red, who looked rather annoyed by Bull.
"What?" I said. He didn't say much. Just grumbled a bunch of things then said, "Nah, he's a nice guy." He looked at me and I grabbed his eyes with mine again.
"Ahh, I don't know," I said. "Try to be."
"But don't be a douchebag." I laughed to myself, as if I the one at risk of such violation.
"Nah, man, I try not to be." I kept a kindly stare into his eyes.
Bull postured himself, legs shoulder-width apart and arms out from his side with fists at the end, ready to charge like a wild boar. I kept looking at his eyes. "I just wanna finish you right now."
I smiled at him. "Well, not right now. I gotta get a drink for my friend," and I walked away.
While waiting for my drink, Bull stood next to me and talked about me to the girl on my left. He brought me into the conversation, which I can't remember fully. My drink came and I paid. There was a minor exchange between the girl and me and I gave her a sip of the drink, a Singapore Slim.
"Mm, that's really good."
"Is it? I never had it. It's for my friend." I took a sip. "Oh wow, you're right."
Bull said something and I looked at him again, again in the eyes. He told me, "Why don't you," and I'll edit the rest of his comment for sensitivity purposes, suffice it to say it had to do with a girl, but not the girl I spoke with, just any girl.
"Just gotta find the right one, ya know?" And I cannot forget that bewildered look. I out-shocked him with calm toward his attempts at being shocking. I saw it in those eyes from which I never glanced away. His priceless expression made-up for his lack of words and told me everything. "Well, I gotta take this to my friend."

The Upset
Well, the night continued and England started the game against the US at 3:30 in the morning. Cheers and horns came from everywhere in the bar for both sides and banter and prodding at each team's fans. I overheard someone say the US had no method to it's play, which is something I've considered before. I leaned into the conversation and shared my views, however ill-informed or uneducated. (I do this from time-to-time.)
"You know how the States are like, the melting pot, so there's people from all over? I think that's what makes US soccer sorta... hard to pin down with one style of play. Like, England's got finesse, Germany's got power, ya know. I think the States just has a sorta blend of all of it."
From outside the conversation, someone declared, "You're racist."
Baffled, I of course felt the need to say something, whether directly to him or to friends loud enough for him to hear, and for him to hear their reactions. I can't say I acted in the right with what I said, maybe calling him an idiot at one point, which is harsh to think about now and makes me hurt at the thought. I hate that word. At the same time, I had nothing to say to him. He'd drawn his conclusion and efforts to change his mind would be futile. So, without letting it go, I ignored him and kept the comments to my friends, then dropped it, knowing I acted childish to continue. I'm sure he's a nice guy.

Later on, my friend Jackie took off my shoe and held it up, joking, "What should I do with this?" The name-caller took my shoe from her hand and threw it behind him. "Uhh," my friend didn't know what to say.
"Charles!" I yelled to my buddy standing behind. "Could you hand me my shoe?"
"Why's your shoe over here?"
"The guy who thinks I'm racist threw it over there." How embarrassingly childish. It was thrown would have been fine. Charles picked it up and I leaned over. He handed it back. "Thanks man." I put my shoe back on.
"So why's he think you're a racist?" Jackie asked. "I still don't know. Did you say the 'N' word?"
"I said teams from different nations have different styles of play."
I wondered for a while if what I said actually had tones of racism. I wanted to talk to him and understand why he said it, but a bar full of people yelling for a rivalry World Cup match is not the right place to have such a conversation. So I let it go, watched the game, and finished the night at 8:30 a.m.