When Baako hit the ground with the weight of four policemen on his back, the sound of the air squeezed from his lungs was barely audible in the swirling wind. It was as if the oxygen he took in before the inevitable events of the past half hour finally found a way to escape in a tragic and ruminating social life soundtrack on the streets of London.
When he walked into the pub he took one of the best seats in the house at my table to watch Arsenal and Newcastle do battle on the bumpy ground of St. James' Park. The large screen didn't benefit from good planning for punters in the pub, and everyone seemed to be peering over the shoulder of other fans or around ill-placed pillars to get a good view of the match.
Twice he turned to be sure that I could see the screen from my table, and twice I assured him that he was not in the way. Conspicuously absent from the table in front of him was a beer or drink of any kind. The landlord clocked this absence and approached him with the assured demeanour of a man who has seen it all before.
"You have to leave mate," said the landlord in a booming voice.
As Baako raised his head, the landlord was in full flow.
"No. No. No. I don't care. I've seen you in here for thirty minutes. This is a business; you have to buy a drink to watch the footy. You got to leave."
"You know me. I was in here on Wednesday buying lots of drinks," Baako protested.
"I don't remember that and anyway, every day is a new day. Doesn't matter what happened before. Now get out of here."
It was that last comment that drew the anger from Baako. Most of the people in the pub were now watching the conversation unfold and both men were under pressure to save face in their now public dispute. Pride entered the building and never left until it was all over. Their voices were now raised.
"Don't talk to me that way!"
"Just get out!"
"Or what? Or what?"
Baako was out of his seat now. His broad and muscular frame towered over the landlord, who was not a small man, but carried the weight of his lifestyle. Standing face to face he contrasted with the elastic sharpness in Baako. It was not a fight he could win this way and he slowly backed away.
Article comments
1 - Isaac
Same thing happens all over Europe and not just in pubs. You gotta pay to play. But it usually doesn't end in tears, just resentment. Nice vignette.
2 - jb
Seems that everyone was caught in what they percieved as their position and no one took the approach of listening to each other. This story really captures that sense of fate swirling around as it walks through each step of escalation.
It is unfortunate that pride and aggression rule - as it does so frequently. And that there was only one person trying to cool the situation in a pub full of witnesses.