NFL @ the Grey Horse Inn, part deux

Tonight’s AFC championship was later by two hours than last week's early game, so I knew I was likely headed to a bar that was reasonably full of patrons, aka working men. I went close to the end of the second half, may 2+ minutes remaining in the half. Anyway, I walked (it was colder than I had anticipated and I wished I were wearing a hat) to the Grey horse. It had a good twenty people inside. I entered and surveyed the scene.

Of the two old guys, only one was present. Of the louder crew that had come about this time the week before, half were there, with equal total numbers but a new other half. The barmaid was new (to me) and the guy whose dog had responded to me when I entered in my running gear was there and so was his dog. Some who had not been there the week before occupied various positions in the bar. I noticed that a good many of them were trained on the TVs watching a football game. Unfortunately, it was their version of football. Now I love a good soccer game, but honestly I’d watch the AFC championship game over the US National team playing in the World Cup (prior to the semis). Suddenly many were leaving and I simply asked the young lady behind behind the bar, “How many people are watching this game?”

“None,” she told me. “Nobody’s watching this, what do you want to see?”
I was skeptical, but I told her I wanted to watch American football on Sky Sports HD 3 (I had looked it up online before going over). Then, as she looked for the remote I asked a few gents at the bar if they were watching the game and one loudly proclaimed, “No, we’re looking at it, but we don’t care at all. Watch what you want!”

This response put me at ease and when she changed the channel, no one objected. I got to watch the game in relative peace. At one point, one of the guys from last week bought every single patron in the bar a drink, except for the stupid American. Then he laid into me about something. The bartender, Kim, laughed a bit and told him something. I hadn’t understood a single syllable. Then he laid into me again and Kim says, “Oh, he’s just puttin’ ya on.” And then she said to this guy with the hoop earring, “He doesn’t understand ya!”

So he says very slowly and loudly, “Why aren’t you [going home with the bartender]?”

“Ah,” I said. “That I understand. I don’t think my wife would approve and I just wanted some beer and to watch the game.”

At this point he asked me something about why I was out if I had a wife (he was wearing a wedding band) and added some bar only commentary about poor 21-year-old, Kim. I’m thinking 20-25 years ago in the USA, this would have been funny, but I just felt bad for Kim (and was a bit concerned that I might get brutalized by this very large Scotsman). Anyway, throughout the night when he would pass by, he would say something and make weird faces. I assumed it was about the bartender. I tell you what, it is literally impossible to understand these people after they have a few cocktails.

The game was fantastic. Manning was pure excellence in the second half. It wasn’t nearly as close as the 13 point victory. I’m not sure if I’ll be heading back to the Grey Horse since they won’t be open for the Super Bowl. But if anyone comes in town and wants a brew, we can head to the Grey Horse.

By the way, I drank (both weeks) McEwan’s 70/-. It’s like a creamy amber, reaching for stout status. I found it superb and if you want to try a beer brewed in Edinburgh, I highly recommend it. Also, Terry wasn’t there this week and the second old guy (whom the police were looking for last Sunday) showed up during the third quarter. I deciphered that his name was Tom and the other old guy was Joe. I asked the bartender how long those two had been coming to the bar. All she could muster was, “Longer than we’ve been alive.”

Tomorrow – a whisky