An interaction with a fellow sports fan at the urinals in the local sports bar


The most memorable moment of the Warriors – Cavs game?

End of the 3rd quarter I go into the restroom of the sports bar to urinate. As I’m urinating this guy sidles up to the urinal next to me.

“HOW YOU DOIN’ MY MAN??” he shouts.

“Fine,” I says. “How are you doing?”


“I’ve been around,” I says.

Evidently he knows me. I have no idea who he is. This happens to me often these days. Where some guy I don’t know, knows me. And I always wonder: Do they REALLY know who I am? Or are they just saying that for some reason??


“Warriors looking good,” I says.

So now I’m making smalltalk with some stranger standing right next to me while I’m drunk and trying to urinate. One of my least favorite things to do. But what can I do? I’m trapped. I can’t stop urinating in mid-stream. So I’m stuck there.

“I HATE THE WARRIORS!!” he shouts, with a hard edge of anger in his voice.

“Oh really?” I says.

So now my attempt at dull banal “sports small-talk” has an added complication. He obviously has some kind of axe to grind. So now I have to think about what he’s saying. And I hate having to think when I’m drunk.


“I guess they’re just fair-weather fans,” I says.

“EXACTLY!!!” he shouts.

So I’ve at least managed to say something that would placate him. And we ended our urination on a pleasant note.

I zipped up my pants and went back out to my table and my pitcher of beer and watched the fourth quarter. The End.


The NBA Finals 2017




My favorite moment of the Warriors-Cavs series?

Game 5 I’m sitting in the back of this jam-packed sports bar at a table with this big crew of young black guys and gals. All of whom are loudly rooting for the Warriors. Except for this one guy. This young guy with dreads. He’s rooting for the Cavs. Probably the only guy in the entire building that’s rooting for the Cavs.

Every time the Cavs score a point he’s the only person in the crowd who cheers. And when the Cavs fuck up (which was often) he’d grimace in pain. You could tell he was a die-hard fan.

But throughout the game all of his friends were mercilessly ragging on him.
Every time LeBron made a mistake, one of them would get in his face and shout things like: “BEST PLAYER ON THE PLANET?? HMPH!! HE’S A CHUMP!!”

He’d try to muster a comeback. But it’s hard to be the one person standing up against a rabid mob. And I always respect anyone with the guts to do that.

But as the game was winding down and you could tell the Cavs were going down, his friends got even more brutal with the mockery. One of the chicks kept pointing at him with a wild smile on her face while she kept shouting at him: “YOUR CAVS ARE NOTHING BUT A BUNCH OF LOSERS!! LOOOOSERS!!! MAYBE NEXT YEAR, BRO’!!”

img_20170612_201535.jpgAnd all he could do was put his head down and sort of retreat into his shell and take the abuse. What could he say? The Cavs were losers.

But right after the game ended, and the Warriors had won, and the entire sports bar is going absolutely nuts. I couldn’t resist going up to him and patting him on the shoulder.

“Your Cavs put up a good fight,” I said. “They’ll be back next year.”

And we pushed knuckles.

And he gave me the biggest, sweetest smile I had ever seen.

It was probably the first nice thing anybody had said to him all night. Ha ha.





I had an odd scene last night

Image may contain: 1 person, indoor
Image may contain: people sitting, screen, drink and indoorI had an odd scene last night. I went to Kip’s at around one in the morning for a nightcap. And I’m holed up by myself at a table in the back corner with my cellphone, blathering away on my Facebook page. And this attractive young co-ed sidles up to me and says:

“Excuse me. Do you know where I can buy some cocaine? Do you sell cocaine?”

“Sorry, my dear,” I said. “I don’t mess with that stuff. I’m just a straight-up alcoholic.”

“Oh,” she said. “So you don’t have any cocaine for sale?’

“Nope,” I said.

I turned back to my cellphone, and she walked back to her table.

I couldn’t figure if it was some kind of prank. “Hey Heather, we dare you to go up to that weird old guy in the corner and mess with him.”

Or if she really thought I looked like some guy who would be hanging out in a bar at 1am selling cocaine to total strangers.

Or maybe she was a freshman and this was the first time she’d ever gotten drunk in a bar so her thinking was a little loopy.

The fall semester starts on Monday. So this is the first big weekend of partying for all the new, in-coming freshman. And it’s kind of a rite of passage.  An annual tradition where you see all the novice drinkers getting drunk for the first time in all sorts of strange ways.  After midnight they’ll always be a couple of scantily-clad young co-eds puking in the gutter or being carried off by their friends. I guess everyone at some point learns the valuable lesson that there’s a right way and a wrong way to consume whiskey and gin and vodka and the other hard liquors. And they usually learn the hard way.

So it was probably that with the cocaine girl.


Having drunken public sex. And why not.


It was a pretty wild Halloween in Berkeley last night.  It was a double-whammy.  Because the Cal football game started at noon.  So 60,000 people started getting drunk at noon.  And they KEPT getting drunk all day.  And then all night as the Halloween parties started kicking in.  So you can imagine the shape some of these guys were in by around midnight.  Plus.  The holidays always bring out the amateur drunks who don’t always know how to handle it.  The booze sneaks up on them.  The Berkeley papers described it as a “riot” that took place in the fraternity row section.  Several thousands people going nuts.  (For the record, three people got arrested and one person ended up in the hospital, so I don’t know if I’d describe it as a “riot” — more like thousands of people getting a little too drunk and a little too wild on a Halloween.)

I knew it was one of those nights when I went into the men’ room at Kips, this sports bar that was jam-packed with drunken lunatics only barely on the verge of controlling themselves.  And this couple was having sex in the toilet stall.  And LOUDLY.  I mean, that chick was moaning and groaning and grunting like there was no tomorrow.  She was getting after it.   I couldn’t resist taking a quick peak at the bottom of the stall to see the configuration of their feet.  Just to figure out the logistics of how they were managing to pull it off (no pun intended) in that cramped stall.  (For those of you keeping score at home:  The guy was sitting on the john, and the chick was straddling him, facing him.  It was pretty impressive considering the stall was so small, it barely fit one person. Let alone two people in the throes of drunken passion.  So it was a triumph of the human spirit.  Or something. . . .)  Personally, I enjoyed it. The wildness and craziness of it.  It seemed like an appropriate way to celebrate Halloween.

But it got me thinking about the one and only time I had drunken public sex.

It was around 1992.  And I was drinking shots of whiskey — which I don’t normally drink — in a bar with a friend of mine who shall remain name-less.  This black dude who we met at the bar invited us back to his apartment for more drinks.  Which we were certainly game for at that juncture in our lives.

There was a big swimming pool in the middle of the apartment complex where he lived.  All the apartments surrounded the swimming pool like a fort.  Anyways, me and my friend ended up stripping and jumping into the pool.  Around midnight.  Seemed like a splendid idea at the time.  And then my friend, well, she decided that this was an ideal setting to get it on.  So.  We’re TRYING.  But lets just say that the combination of whiskey, water and “shrinkage” (as George from Seinfield put it) made it difficult to complete the act.   But we sure gave it a good try.  Meanwhile, all the people in their apartments could see us down there in the swimming pool, thrashing about as it were.  And I remember several of them chasing us towards the exit.

Next thing I know, we’re stumbling down Shattuck Avenue half-naked and soaking wet, carrying most of our clothes in our arms.  It was a hasty retreat.  I managed to flag down a taxi.  And my friend, who was wearing her wet t-shirt and no pants or panties, gave me a big kiss and flopped into the back seat of the cab and made it home in one piece.  And I staggered on down the road . . .  But I’ll tell you one thing.  I rarely drank whiskey after that.

And the moral is:  Everybody should have drunken public sex at least once in their lifetimes.  Or at least TRY to.  Ha ha.