OUR MAN in EUROPE: dave delacroix: Part 27: "JA-JA!"

Part 27: "Ja-ja!"

Back in Deutschland via the ICE Train (Paris to Frankfurt-3 hours-220kms per hour) it's the end of November. Everyone is - financially - down to the wire. My return from filming/recording and almost DYING - that Pneumonia thing - in Paris couldnt be more ill-timed, party-wise.
The Schloss is bereft of its usual joviality. The KILLER PEAR tree is quite out of Ammo! I see little of the Count (Herr Graff, Alex von Ludwigshafen). The harvest , the October Wine fests are all stowed as a perenial memory. Barren fields & frigid forests wear their Winter mantle of snow. The Black Pearl (bar), my downtown Usingen office STILL sparkles - when Nicky bartends - but the Bier Garten is padlocked. A chill prevails, even after 6 whiskies and a frieght train of beer.

I "kick" sometimes (happy hour) down the street at "Jasmines Bier Stube" (with the lovely Jasmine; 28, gorgeous, Turkish!). Licher (is sicher) beers. Drink 10 and you find you've only spent 10 Euros!

Pity Paris wasnt so obliging!?

And, of course, the blessed church bells hereabouts, as - incidentally - I was cogniscient of in Montmartre, tone the hour, devotional times, and WHO (somebody) got married or kopped it!

November. Crueler than April.

Ask Guy Fawkes!

A particular evening of note, however, at the Black Pearl, witnesses a rare flourish of business/activity. The Count (Herr Graff, Alex von Ludwigshafen) and several of his courtiers/retainers, male & female, arrive, boisterous and full of "joi de vie".

It's infectous of course, as I, some farmers boys, housewives - staple publicum - also brighten and re-aquaint themselves with varied reasons for why they are sitting in a bar and getting hammered on a cold Winter's midweek night.

After the usual "tangos" (to the juke box) and several shots of Assbach rum, "die Swimming Pool cocktails, or whatever...and playing every - chewing gum for the mind - electronic slot machine, one armed bandit and "gauche" gizmos a typical bar provides (for custumers without a brain) one of the Count's pals suggests a a game of Table FUSSBALL.

The Count, plus one, 2 others forming the opposing team

"Positions, Gentlemen!"

-Money in the slot. Out pops the "fussball". The game begins. The Fussball table rocks!

BANG! WACK! SWIVEL-SWIVEL! -you've all seen this.

4 Germans, however, playing this game, is uncannily entertaining. Intense, "SEHR" intense, almost theatrical. Someone scores a goal then does a lap of honor around the table (to a chorus of  SLOW hand claps). Shots (liquor) are bought, toasted, slugged, the play continues, a lot of "yatter", cheering, girls gather round, hoop-la, cursing, back slapping, etc.

At some point, I notice that the Count (Herr Graff) and his team mate are rapidly losing/being slaughtered...by the other two Bravoes, who hold nothing back in showing their satisfaction....AND....It is at THIS POINT - on the cusp of total, utter defeat - that the Count (Herr Graff) "emits" (?) the most loudest, the most pungeant, the most ODIOUS fart (known to man!)....where upon his own team mate passes out and crumples to the floor like a sack of potatoes...and the once victorious opposition, turning yellow and green, respectively (odd?) wisely withdraw and concede the game.

Ja-ja!


c 2010 dave delacroix/our man in europe