Me Myself and Ty, Sports

I’m not good at foosball

Early on Sunday, Feb. 27 I decided I wasn’t going to do anything all day.

Technically, it was about 3 p.m. when I decided, but that’s because I had been in bed all day with a horrible headache.

And while the path I chose to reach that headache is an incredible story alone, I actually want to begin with my Sunday afternoon.

WGN has always fascinated me. It’s all Chicago-based news, which drives me crazy, but I’ve always been able to count on it for Cubs and White Sox games and terrible syndicated televisions shows.

And so with my Sunday already sworn to laziness, I turned to WGN to fill my mind with simple plots of comedy to ease my head.

I’m not proud of the following:

Scrubs turned into the New Adventures of Old Christine, which was followed by How I Met Your Mother, a show my dad seems to like.

I began to actually stir about and cooked some dinner and such, but I kept returning to that show, when finally a golden episode was revealed.

The three friends in this show had decided that there was a “belt” that would go to the first of the trio to get a threesome. One of the characters actually created said belt, and in this episode someone was going for it. Clips are viewable here. The belt is discussed at the 54-second mark.

Fast forward to Tuesday night where, just as I have every Tuesday night for the past six months, I found myself at Five O’Clock Sports Bar.

The belt that inspired me to lose part of my wardrobe at a bar.

Tuesday has become a sort of holiday for my friends and I. Since we’ve all but gone our separate ways in the years dating back to our freshman and sophomore years on campus, we have established Tuesday night as the night when you put everything on hold and head to the bar to hang out.

There’s a beer pong tournament and cheap beer and such, but we give a lot of attention to the foosball table in the back.

We’re pretty much the only people who frequent said table, and among a group where one guy could likely compete internationally in the sport and everyone else sucks, I have found a way to stand out as the suckiest.

So when I finally won Tuesday night, it was a big deal. Alex is usually much better than me, so it was like a 14th seed upsetting a 3-seed, leading me to lift my beer in the air in celebration while everyone else yelled in disbelief.

As I looked around the bar, I made eye contact with a certain blonde on her way to the bathroom. This would prove to be my demise.

Jared wanted to challenge my one-game streak, and in a gesture that was 100 percent attributable to How I Met Your Mother, I took off my jeans belt and announced that it was on the line.

We played for about three minutes before the blonde, Nina, from Denmark, and her friend Videya, from Singapore, challenged Jared and I to foosball.

We accepted (Of course! I was riding my first win streak ever!) and my dear friend Tim notified the girls that my belt was on the line.

And friends, believe me when I say that I tried as hard at that foosball game as I ever have at any table top sport ever.

And believe me even more when I say that we got our asses kicked.

So they took my belt and my pants were a little saggy for about an hour until I ran into Nina and Videya again. This time they said they would give me a chance to win my belt back, but if they won, they got my shirt. A double-or-nothing, if you will.

So Jon and I took a side and amassed a sizable lead. I kid you not…we were up 9-2.

And then Tim…Tim, Tim, Tim….one of my best friends ever…began to whisper in my ear.

First, it was about a stain on my shirt.

I was distracted. Where did that stain come from? Is that even a stain?

Goal. Goal. Goal. Goal.

Then, he mentioned my cowlick.

I never had to worry about my cowlick when my hair was long. Is it from wearing a hat earlier? Should I run to the bathroom to dampen it and smooth it down?

Goal. Goal. Goal. Goal.

And before I knew it…we had lost.

It was the single greatest foosball comeback I’ve ever seen, regardless of sex, gender or skill level differential.

And I lost my shirt.

I’m so glad the bar was closing, because they offered me a triple-or-nothing involving my pants, and they promised they would consider returning to play again in a couple of weeks.

So along with my belt and my shirt and all of my dignity (Don’t forget. Every one of my closest friends was there) they may not even be done taking things from me.


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