Landsharks

This blog is quickly turning into "Sarah Rants." I will attempt to find something non-ranting to talk about soon.

So, now that college football season is in its pre-Bowl doldrums, I find myself in the position of falling back on professional football for amusement (and no, watching the Heisman ceremony is not going to keep me entertained today). My pro team of choice is the Chicago Bears, who happened to play this week's game on Thursday (leaving me with a weekend of NOTHING TO WATCH, but that's a different complaint than this post is meant to address). The problem with a Thursday night professional football game? It's on the NFL Network, which I definitely do not get on my cable package.

What is a girl to do when she is in desparate need of football, and the only team she has any desire to watch is on a channel she doesn't get? She heads out to a nearby sports bar to watch the game. Which is a less-than-ideal situation for me.

From my ultra scientific study of sports bars (read: spending lots of time in them), it seems that there are lots of men who go to sports bars on their own. They grab a spot at the bar, in front of the television showing whatever game strikes their interest, and spend a few hours blissfully sipping beer and eating wings, undisturbed except for the bartender bringing a new brew when the last is done. I wish this was my life. You see, when I go out to a sports bar alone, there is no blissful watching of the game, sipping beer and eating wings. Instead, it is a constant struggle to see any of the game.

After dealing with the shocked look of the bartender, who will inevitably be surprised that a woman is willing to go to a sports bar alone - particularly to watch a game - the real "fun" of my evening begins.

It starts innocently enough. For the beginning of the game - say, the first quarter of a football game, or the first two to three innings of a baseball game - I do get to have a blissful game watch. The beers come, I eat my wings, and I watch the game.

Then, the problems start.

Sometime in the second quarter or 4th inning, some guy will start talking to me. I assume that it takes this long to start talking to me because (a) it takes some balls to start talking to a random girl at a bar, so the guy has to build up some courage, and, more importantly, (b) he has to figure out if I am, indeed, alone, and not waiting for my friends and/or boyfriend to show up. But, once he hits that point, the end of my blissful evening has arrived.

The guy will grab a seat near me - always with the obligatory bar seat in between. He will sit there for a bit, watching the game, waiting for an opportune time to make some comment about the game to me. After the comment, I - being the sports fan that I am - feel obligated to respond to the comment (usually something snobby that shows I probably know more about what is going on than he does - my hopeful point being, until you can hold your own here, go find someone else to hassle).

Responding at all only encourages the guy, no matter how mean I am to him about the comment (this leads me to believe that I should not respond at all, but I am both a lawyer and someone who really doesn't want to be seen as the b****y girl, so I can't help but respond). What follows are a series of questions, always including the following, or some variation thereon: Are you here alone? (Tempting response: No. I chose to sit here by myself because it was more fun than sitting with my friends) Are you watching the game? Are you a big fan of [fill in the team I am cheering for]?

This is about the point where I stop trying to be pleasant and nice, and inform the guy that I am really trying to watch the game. So, for the next series of plays or half inning, I get my blissful peace, all the while knowing that it will be short-lived. At the next commercial break, the guy will attempt to make more small talk, soon forgetting that I am trying to watch the game, and continuing to talk while I attempt to watch the game after the commercial break ends.

This is always the point where I want to ask if the guy came to the sports bar to pick up chicks or watch a game.

Even if I manage to get rid of the first guy (often by resorting to being a jerk, because, seriously, I am there to watch a game, not meet some guy), this doesn't stop the next one from coming over shortly after I have gotten rid of the first one. No matter how many I get rid of, there always seems to be one more waiting to talk to me while I am trying to watch.

And so it continues, until the game is over and I have spent most of the game fending off some guy or guys instead of doing what I came to do, which is watch the game.

Now, I know there are probably people who are thinking, Sarah, you are a first class b****. Do you know how hard it is go up to a woman at a bar? And make small talk? Yes, I do know. But really? Do you want me to come up to you in the middle of the game and start talking to you? No. Save that crap for halftime and after the game, and leave me in peace so that I can watch the game. And then, please, feel free to buy me a beer. At least you will have shown me that you're a sports fan, and can appreciate a girl who is one, too.