The Sports Bar
Last Saturday, I met three of my friends for dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant. I love Ethiopian food, despite the fact that one has to eat everything without a knife and fork. Everything is served on one central dish and everyone digs in, eating the food by plucking it up with moist, sourdough flatbread.
We had a great meal.
Afterward, my friend, Jack pointed out that a club called “Crew” was right across the street and suggested we go there for an after-dinner drink.
“What’s ‘Crew’?” I asked.
“It’s a gay sports bar,” was the reply.
I almost spit out my water. “A gay sports bar? Isn’t that an oxymoron? Oh, I gotta see this.”
So, we headed into Crew.
Yes, it was definitely a sports bar. It sported several big-screen TVs, all of which were blaring a baseball game. (The Cubs were playing -- they're a baseball team in Chicago.)
Several attractive young women were at the bar and groups of guys watching the game were scattered among the tables. I’d never been to any sports bar, gay or otherwise, but I guess this looked like your typical one. I don’t know what I was expecting. Broadcasts of ice-dancing competitions, perhaps?
We sat at a table and ordered our drinks.
At one point in the game, one of the Cubs hit a fly ball. As it sailed toward the wall, all eyes in the bar were on the TVs. It looked like it was going to be a home-run but a fielder caught it at the last moment.
A loud chorus of “AWWWW!” was suddenly heard throughout the bar.
I thought, “Wow, this is so far from being a gay bar.”
Then one of the guys at a nearby table said in a slightly effeminate voice:
“He should have hit it farther.”
. . . And, we’re back.
I noticed a framed copy of Boys’ Life on the wall, the official magazine of the Boy Scouts of America. (The comedic irony of that was enormous.) It was also signed by the baseball player on the cover. I had to have my photo taken there in order to memorialize the one-and-only time I’d ever been to a sports bar.