in an Irish pub in Paris

14 May 2004 at 14:21 Leave a comment

The other day bb and I decided to go out and have a beer in the Latin Quarter. It was a pleasant spring afternoon, but we settled ourselves into our favorite corner table in the basement (the one for two); and while bb got the drinks, I rearranged things so we could watch the British soccer game showing on the tv.

As the Derby game wrapped up, the basement (which had been empty) began to fill up. And everyone seemed to be speaking Spanish. I didn’t think too much about it, you hear a lot of foreign languages as you walk around Paris, and then the advertizement came on the tv: Real Madrid v. Deportivo.


So, we bought another round and stayed. It was fun, though the refs were completely against Real Madrid and took a lot of the fun out of it. We left not long after Zidane got his second yellow card and booted. His first yellow card was a complete travesty. But, boy, Beckham sure is a great sport. One guy was hanging on him, actually had pretty much climbed up on him, and finally Beckham fell down, but instead of getting mad, he gave the guy a grin, a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Sport at its best.

And in the high comedy of truth category: A British player on a Spanish team captained by a Frenchman being watched by a bunch of Spaniards and me in an Irish Pub in Paris.


Entry filed under: Paris.

Bonjour monsieurs, madames Birds do not lead epic lives…

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What I’ve been reading:

  • James Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson, L.L.D. (London, 14 King William Street, Strand: William P. Nimmo, 1876). 4 years ago
  • Marsilio Ficino, Letters of Marsilio Ficino, v. 3, trans. Language Dept. School of Economic Science, London (New York: Gingko Press, 1985). 4 years ago
  • Italo Calvino, Six Memos for the Next Millennium (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988). 4 years ago
  • Stephanie Kallos, Broken for You (New York: Grove Press, 2004). 5 years ago
  • Marsilio Ficino, Letters of Marsilio Ficino, v. 2, trans. Language Dept. School of Economic Science, London (New York: Gingko Press, 1985) 5 years ago

T. Anderson Painter

I am a misanthrope. No one ever believes me, but this seems to prove my point.



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