Running out to do some Christmas shopping.
And by “Christmas shopping” I mean “watching the Chelsea-Tottenham match”.
And by “Christmas shopping” I mean “watching the Chelsea-Tottenham match”.
Update: there are two Chelsea fans next to me. One is drinking a Black and Tan - which is an affront to my Guinness - and pounding the bar every time something insignificant happens.
Therefore, I am staunchly pro-Tottenham for the next 82 minutes of football.
Therefore, I am staunchly pro-Tottenham for the next 82 minutes of football.
Chelsea Chad just let out the loudest yell I’ve ever heard in a bar and/or restaurant.
I officially hate Chelsea Chad.
I officially hate Chelsea Chad.
Chelsea Chad is now mansplaining tactics to his far older (and less interested) male companion.
Said companion is probably early 60’s to Chelsea Chad’s mid-30’s.
He seems affable enough. Not Chad’s father. An uncle maybe. I’m going to call him Uncle Pete. He seems like a Pete.
Said companion is probably early 60’s to Chelsea Chad’s mid-30’s.
He seems affable enough. Not Chad’s father. An uncle maybe. I’m going to call him Uncle Pete. He seems like a Pete.
Chelsea Chad just launched into a sad-angry lament at Tottenham’s Harry Kane going unmarked in the box.
“He’s the best center forward in the world. Somebody get in his shorts!”
Note: No, he is not.
“He’s the best center forward in the world. Somebody get in his shorts!”
Note: No, he is not.
Chad’s running mansplainy commentary is remarkably irritating for both the pedestrian-ness of his observations and his certainty that he’s adding profound insight.
I’m now heavily invested in Tottenham scoring an equalizer just to crush Chad. I’m a petty b****.
I’m now heavily invested in Tottenham scoring an equalizer just to crush Chad. I’m a petty b****.
Okay, Chelsea just got gifted a second goal and my invested angst is clearly going to deliver a poor ROI, so I’m abandoning my hatred of Chelsea Chad.
Holiday spirit and all that.
Holiday spirit and all that.
Chelsea Chad is insufferable. Yelling all match.
Luckily I’m zen as shit and have entered full duck mode where his high-decibel prattle is rolling off me.
Luckily I’m zen as shit and have entered full duck mode where his high-decibel prattle is rolling off me.
Okay, last thing on this.
Chad is hammered. Like, slurring his speech hammered. It’s 1:30.
I don’t know how he’s that hammered. I’ve seen him drink two rounds.
Chad is a beguiling conundrum of irritation.
Chad is hammered. Like, slurring his speech hammered. It’s 1:30.
I don’t know how he’s that hammered. I’ve seen him drink two rounds.
Chad is a beguiling conundrum of irritation.
Alright, I lied. A postscript. Conferred with the bartender.
Turns out Chad’s pal was his dad.
Chad gets up. Walks out unsteadily with dad. Lumbers across the street to his car while dad watched from the sidewalk...
Then got something, crossed back and walked off w dad.
Turns out Chad’s pal was his dad.
Chad gets up. Walks out unsteadily with dad. Lumbers across the street to his car while dad watched from the sidewalk...
Then got something, crossed back and walked off w dad.
The dude had to get a safe-ride home from the bar at 1:30 in the afternoon.
Per the bartender, he actually had 5 or 6 IPAs to his dad’s three.
Needing a noonday ride home from your dad as a 30-something...
Chad has issues.
Per the bartender, he actually had 5 or 6 IPAs to his dad’s three.
Needing a noonday ride home from your dad as a 30-something...
Chad has issues.
