Wednesday Part Two: Futbol Emergency
Pies in general are not sports fans, but once every few years under the influence of its athletically-minded friends, a pie or two has been known to watch a soccer match or two. Such was the case with this pie that masqueraded as a high-culture hobnobber until it realized it had made a date to meet at the fancy-ass gallery with a friend that would much rather watch the semifinal match (especially after the rout of the previous one).
When I asked Johnathan last week if he want to see the show and meet for pie, he answered, “Damn Skippy.” I took that as a yes.
“OMG.” my email that morning began, “Just occurred to me that’s when the Ned v Arg match is. I’ll see if I can get them to turn on the tv.”
But the gallery had no tv.
That is when the pie declared a Futbol Emergency. The pie excused itself from its highbrow discourse and scrambled through the cobble stone streets in search of ESPN. After some frantic location scouting and texting, we met up in an empty Italian restaurant under the Manhattan Bridge with summer ale on draft. I texted Tom to let him know we had ditched on the gallery citing “Futbol Emergency” once again.
The match began. No score. Tom joined us. More no score.
Johnathan said, “Don’t you think it’s time?”
I slinked over to the waiter and explained we were soccer refugees and that I had a packed pie for my friends. Would it possibly be okay to eat it at the table? He was lovely about it. Then as I pulled out the pie and sliced it onto my paper plates, he came by with proper forks. He replaced our empty glasses with full ones. “Two for one,” he said. “Angel of Mercy,” I thought.
More no score. Second slices and a first for the waiter. He took it off the floor to eat it discreetly and came back with a dish of ice cream. And another beer for me.
Still no score. Tom cut out before the end of the match to actually go to the gallery. (He’s good that way.)
Continued scorelessness in extra time. Then they resorted to kicking. That’s when Argentina won.