Lead Story

Same Old Shit.

Dano and Koneo sat quietly for a moment holding up their cans of Bud at eye level, their necks awkwardly tilted sideways, scrutinizing. “What’s your’s say, Koneo.” “March 1^st.” “Mine too.” “They went chapter 11,” came a voice from the table. “Not the company, It’s the ‘Born On’ date for my Bud,” said Koneo. “What about yours, Chowhound?” “February 26^th.” “Our beers are like….cousins,” said Chowhound. “Yeah they probably remember each other from the factory,” Koneo surmised.

Dano’s attention turned towards me. “That’ll be $12 for the wiper-blade.” “I’ll pay you later.” “That’s bullshit, Felt. Pay up or the wiper goes home with me.”

Redcard, our host, tapped gingerly on his wireless keyboard aimed it his "infotainment center" preposterously overflowing with electronic gadgetry.

Redcard kept his media unit like my grandmother kept her fridge. Stacked to the rafters with an aggregate of wise and questionable purchases the sum of which told the sad but true story of a man obsessed with acquisition and arcana. The feathered nest of a cyber hunter-gatherer. It was a bizarre, almost artistic, representation and sole remaining vestige of his life before his latest and greatest acquisition (or perhaps merger): his new wife Jody. But he toiled at it dutifully: patching and partitioning, a CD-RW here a tape deck there, taking up significantly more room than seemed necessary in that cozy little apartment. And in the winter it radiated a glowing warmth like a digital fireplace. I give it about 3 more months before she makes him throw most of it out.

We played a while with 6. Hank was late, and Lymie was later. And everyone enjoyed a few more hank-less minutes, basking in the conspicuous calm.

Redcard ordered Thai-food from a little place he knew. We all held our breath.

Hank arrived shortly after 9. He’d read the last few articles, which focused mainly about him and his disquieting lunacy. Hank made a few statements that intimated a bit of introspection on his part and that seemed sufficient for now. He’d gotten a new cell-phone and tinkering with it kept him distracted from his pathological combativeness.

Lymie burst in and literally the first thing he said was “Ah had a little too much red whaiyn.” The food arrived shortly later and it was excellent.

By 10:00 Koneo had amassed a minor fortune in front of him and asked Dano for “Squirrel lessons.” Dano carefully instructed Koneo how to fold on a quarter bet and obscure his ‘chippage’ behind a wall of beer bottles and refuse.

Dano looked particularly grubby last night. He’d battled an ’89 Golf’s clutch all day and the unseasonable heat had coagulated the sweat and black friction-plate dust in every crease and pore of his face. Dano looked older in the summer.

Lymie was betting heavy on what looked like a very good low hand and Edict wasn’t buying it. “Go for it, Edict,” I said, and giving Lymie’s cards and face a quick study proclaimed “he’s probably got a king down.” Edict needed no encouragement and raised $.50 with his 9-low showing. A couple of dollars later Lymie folded and flipped over the prophesied king. Edict, smirking, collected his winnings.

Chowhound, strangely wore his pants “ghetto-style” hung below his underwear.

The sole argument came when Edict insisted the stubborn Redcard to put on the Jazz-Mavs playoff game. The froth of the incident awakened Hank enough to let out just one “You’re a Fucking Asshole!” which perversely we all sort of rejoiced in. The incident soon ended and Hank resumed his tinkering.

Koneo puzzled over the fact that Nathan's in Coney Island doesn't serve sauerkraut in the summer (which, by the way is untrue.) He then tried to inspire a midnight field trip over to Papaya King for hot-dogs. When Asia’s away Koneo’s food-guilt lifts. Aside from myself, there were no other takers and he waxed nostalgic about the old days when everyone would go out drinking and eating after the game.

OK, this game was a little uneventful, but TNP has been running continuously for 15 years or so with little or no changes. Sometimes you just have to appreciate the purity and consistency of our little endeavor in the midst of this ever-changing and madly evolving world.