I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.

It was just past nine this evening. We’d been a little restless all day, and after a lovely dinner at Park Chow, we headed over to Clement in search of a bar and a good fight.

We found the spot. It was called RockIt. They checked our IDs at the door. We went in, it smelled good (for a change – no cigarettes; instead – lots of air freshner), but we were still spoiling for a good whipping. Sadly, there was none. We left.

We drove on over past the Marina, over to Fillmore and Union, looking for Mauna Lua. This time, we sent our cousin-in-law to hop out to see if there was a fight to be had. He hobbled in, walked out three minutes later and gave us a thumbs up. Good. Now we’re talking. We parked and got out.

Another ciggie-free bar. I can’t tell you how lovely that is. It was hot inside, everyone seemed to be having a good time. We took our feud to the back of the bar. That was where we were going to deck it out.

I follow AL to the back. Ten feet away, I see it. A familar sight. Strangely comforting. Memories of whipping matches past come flooding back. I wonder if KF and I can still deliver it as well as we issue challenges. We have no choice. We’ve spoiled for the fight for a couple of weeks now, there’s no turning back. We spat the challenge out and there’s no turning back. We’d have to grit out teeth and get it over with.

We get change. We get ready, into our positions. No fooling around now, we mean business. I feel the handles. Ah, my old friends. I hold on to them with a firm handshake. It’s altogether comforting and familial. I miss this feeling. I think about the countless hours we spent before, starting out with that handshake. They were good times.

Everyone’s ready. I put three quarters in the slot, and the balls dispense. Nine. And we’re off. I let AL toss the smooth white ball into the hole, and we’re at it like a pack of hungry wolves.

Somehow Tornado tables don’t give as satisfying a goal as Dynamos.

We play a couple of games, but since AL is a novice, Cousin-in-law is getting increasingly incensed at not winning. A couple of vultures start walking up. A tall one in green puts three quarters on my side of the table. WTF. Oh, he wants to take on the winners. Alright. We can handle that.

It turns out, we couldn’t. At least we scored two goals. It wasn’t even a close fight. It was over before I knew it. These tables didn’t have nicely wrapped handles. They made my palm hurt. Tall Vulture in Green is an idiotic poser. He has a couple of moves, but he’s too distracted with showing them off. He misses a couple of snake shots. Poser.

We play him again, but this time his partner doesn’t want to play. He teams with me. He tries the snake shot from defence. Dumbass. Can’t even work when he’s on offense. At least he was a good sport. And funny.

Another loser walks by. He says “you suck” to Cousin-in-law. Annoys the heck out of me. Him and his fat-assed friends are in our way. F*cking fat asses just waiting to be stabbed with a foosball rod. I wouldn’t have felt bad maiming those fat asses. They put three quarters on the side of the table. I guess they want a whipping to go with that grande mocha-latte fat ass.

KF and I took a bit to warm up. They weren’t half as good as Tall Vulture in Green. They got confused with KF’s angled shots. Good job. Took us a close game, but we closed it. Drunk fat assed suckers. More quarters materialised during the match. We bow out politely.

My mom said my curfew is midnight, I gotta go before I get grounded.

I loved this game. It was my life. But I think I’m over it.

Foosball brings out the worst in people. Especially me. >:)