Of Humour and Cruelty

Undeniably, seeing Bunga was certainly an uplifting feeling. Strangely though, not as much as her other friend did, who almost tripped me with slightly late challenge. She’s one of those people who is profoundly gorgeous and incredibly nice at the same time. A trait combination that I rarely see in my life. Talking to her gave me such an inferior feeling that by the time she finished her second sentence, I had shrunk to 8 inches tall. No wonder she’s married. And for that I wouldn’t even dare to nickname her. Which is why we’re returning to Bunga, who is in a less endearing circumstance.

I have a confession to make. After all this time, talking about Bunga, I did ‘forget’ to mention one important detail about her. She’s already seeing someone. Yes, it was heartbreak for me the first time I heard the news but as experience has taught me, don’t be too disheartened, lad. There is still much wonder to behold out there. Keep your socks on. Although, a few glimpses now and then of her couldn’t hurt.

It’s not official yet (I think), but from what I can see it would just be a matter of time before it is. And under this situation, let me tell you a predicament about humour and cruelty.

Now, first rule about the guy who is dating the chick you fancy but only found out a little later than to your liking is to plain out hate him. It’s nothing personal, it’s just, well, yeah, it is kind of personal. This is why you should never date an ex of your mate. Another famous unwritten rule of Guy Law. So when this kind thing happens, you don’t end up hating your mate.

Anyway, here it is, this guy, in my view, everything is wrong with him. I couldn’t even stand the way he orders his drinks. I was on an all-out hate war on him. It’s very childish, I know, but how else could I channel my frustration? But, somehow, I made the grave mistake of underestimating my opponents. Turns out, this guy’s good.

Let me ask you this. In order to work up a relationship with a chick, what is one of the most important things you must do? You confide in her friends. Convince her friends to convince her that you are worth her time. And even although I began to hang out Bunga and her mainstay entourage only a few months recently, I was under the impression that he sees me as part of her closest allies as well. Flattering, indeed. But, after all, it does make sense. It’s one thing to convince her female friends. It’s another with her male friends. We know the game too. And surely, soon enough, he began to be make friends with me. And the worst thing is, he turns out to be quite a decent bloke too. This is the cruel part.

I was supposed to hate this guy. Give him the stink eye and disprove his hairstyle but later that night, during chill-out, a discussion about Champions League broke out between us guys as the TV was showing a replay of Barca vs Man Utd. I knew the scoreline but I still can’t help going ‘ooh’ ‘aah’ every time a good opportunity was spurned. Especially in Barca’s case. Intrigued, the not-yet-official-bf, who was seated next to me, asked me whether I was a Man Utd fan. I just laughed out loud. Fuck no!

Then a Liverpool supporter suddenly groaned about Riise’s own goal and I gave out a bigger laugh. Drowning in my euphoria, suddenly the NYOBF asked me another question, ‘So which team DO you support?’ I ceased laughing. Now, I have always been apprehensive every time I was asked that question. Usually the response I get after professing my allegiance is ‘Fuck! Glory hunter!’ and that’s one of the nicer insults. The reason being the lack of Chelsea fans in our midst. Even Arsenal fans don’t get this much abuse. So, I tend to avoid from answering this specific question, merely for my preference of not getting called names for no viable reason. Which I intend to do when NYOBF presented me with this exact query. And judging by his first question, he must be a Man Utd fan and surely a tirade of abuse is sure to ensue. However, seated right next to him, there wasn’t any room to escape. So I composed myself and blurted out, ‘Chelsea!’

Instantly, a smile formed on his face and he held out his hand, in a gesture a man would in an arm-wrestling match. I knew exactly what that meant. Oh hell no! He’s a Chelsea fan too! Fuck! Cazzo! Porca troia!

Reluctantly I returned the pledge gesture.

And just to rub salt into wounds, he’s one of those, as he calls is, the ‘pre-Roman’ fans. The time of Vialli and Zola. Well, guess what? That’s my profile too. He’s not one of those typical so-called Chelsea fans that I have come to know along the years. He’s not like Bulu (who’s back supporting Newcastle), Pargon (who I remember being a Liverpool fan back in the days), Tony (who was definitely a Liverpool fan back in the days) and even Wawan (who only began to support the team after Jose began making headways in the Premier League). No. Him and me, we’re True Blues. And that’s the humour part.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, my predicament. His last words to me before the end of the night? ‘We’re best friends’

I want to cry.