If Space Was Your Mistress...

There's just something about sitting in an obscure and somewhat shady sports bar, watching a soccer match and cheering for one team while every other soccer hooligan in the palce cheers for the other. did I mention non-asian soccer hooligans? It was 230am this morning when I somehow got dragged into watching the Spain vs Italy match in 'Howzat' sports bar. I came along for the game casue I figured, "nothing doing tomorrow, and it's free so it's no skin of my back.. why not?" I walked in with Ayo,Ige, and Bryan in tow, predictable crowd seeing as we'd just come from playing a game of DotA. Inside we saw Gino, Jovie and Gab perched on decidedly uncomfortable bar stool/high chair hybrid seats. We took no time at all in joining them, and I think we must have looked like large birds perched on a very precariously positioned wire. After a bit of light conversation regarding this topic or that, the game began and we were immediately mesmerized by the 44-nich flatscreen samsung TV. The screen showed playeres from both teams, Italy and Spain, walking into the stadium hand in hand with young children, I imagine aspiring socer stars, and form a line midfield. Although it's customary in International games, I was awed by the stony faces of the players, caught in a moment of patriotic zeal as their national anthems were played. To my surprise, at the end of the Italian national anthem the bar was filled with applause and cheers and this was when Jovie brought it to our attention that we were the only ones in the bar cheering for Spain. Mental picture, Medium sized bar filled with Caucasian men, Filipino women, and us. Medium sized bar, filled with whooping fans of italy applauding at the national anthem, raising toasts to Buffon and the rest, talking about Italys rock solid iron grid defense, and us. hooray spain... The game started out with Spain in posession, and continued to be dominated by them in statistics like Posession, shot attempts, and distance run thus far. But not once in the 70 minutes that I watched did a goal go in. Oh for sure there were some close calls that drew out their fair share of gasps and curses, but thanks to the combination of the Italian defense grid, Buffons magic hands, and the Spanish players' 'lets-take-this-shot-from-half-way-across-the-field-even-though-it-has-no-chance-of-going-in' attitude, no cigar. No victor, no closure, but I really enjoyed myself mainly because of the fact that we were fervorously cheering, cursing on cue, standing up and punching our fists in the air, and all for a team that had no other support in the bar. I imagine that the fun came from the fact that if Spain did win, we might have been 'boo-ed' out of the bar and beaten by sleep-deprived caucasians to boot, but we still cheered for our team. Matter of fact, maybe we cheered even harder because of that fact. It might have been fun to have seen Spain win, and rub it in the faces of the majority, but in retrospect, I'm glad that I left when I did, because only God knows what a rampaging sports hooligan is capable of.