NFL Week 10 Status Meeting: Falcons Near & Far

Smokey: Mickey and I had wildly different experiences concerning Atlanta Falcons fans this weekend, but since mine is anticlimactic and boring, I’ll go first. The Panthers toppled the division rival Falcons with a solid ground game, and remembering that Steve Smith plays for them. It was all very thrilling. The biggest story of the day was that Jordan Gross, the All-Pro component to our offensive line, is out with an ankle for this Thursday’s game against the Dolphins.

There was but one Falcons fan in my sports bar on Sunday, and he was an absolute prince. He wore a Keith Brooking jersey, which I respected, but talked a tad too urban for someone who probably went to Emory. Irregardless, we spoke at halftime and had nothing but pleasantries between us. I almost felt bad as I cheered on Carolina through their second half, but in the end I didn’t. It was a self-esteem boosting win and proved that if the Panthers can run into some decent QBs on their off days, we just might be able to salvage a Wild Card spot out of this season. And now, without further ado, here’s the better story from the weekend…

Mickey: With a set up like that, I suppose I’ll dive right into the overly-long storytelling portion of the NFL weekend. My motley crue of Panthers fans have found a new Manhattan bar to watch our Sunday games — at the Bleecker Heights Tavern, which is conveniently located above a Five Guys in the West Village of Manhattan. The gang started going there the weekend Miley Won Our Hearts, and since the Panthers notched their first win that October weekend, I was quickly convinced the new digs were good for us. That, and the $3 Sierra Nevadas they have. Fantastic.

We have never run into ill-intentioned fans at the Heights either. There’s a good group of Bengals fans who turn out every week. There are some Bucs fans who were awesome to be around when they got their first win two weeks ago. Lots of Giants and Jets fans, obviously, but overall, no one that gets that out of control.

That were about to change this past Sunday.

To understand my group of Panthers fans, you need to know that we’re die-hard, but intellectual fans. I’m the biggest Neanderthal of the bunch — and that’s somewhat because I feel I have to live up to Smokey’s reputation and I enjoy screaming “Fuck” in public places. The rest of the crew is passionate, but even-keeled emotionally, especially our protagonist in this story, Steve. I’ve known Steve for over 20 years, and he’s probably the least-confrontational dude I know. That would not matter, not especially when we were seated next to some of the douchiest douchebags I’ve ever come across.

The Lady and I arrived at the bar to find Steve and his sister Pam seated at the bar next to two khaki-wearing, shaggy-hair-sportin, pineapple-juice-and-vodka-drinking Falcons fans, and I had a feeling we may be in for a treat. Now I admit I have an inherent initial dislike for most things from Atlanta. but there was something about them that immediately let me know I didn’t like the cut of their jib at all.

Probably because of the hangover-curing Sierra and the ladies present though, I didn’t set out to engage with these Falcons fans at all — and neither did Steve. I wanted to be amicable, scream out my share of “Let’s go!”s accompanied by some loud clapping, and get on with things. However, on the second drive of the game, I quickly realized we weren’t going to be able to stay quiet with these two douchebags around. When Muhsin Muhammad — probably one the least hateable Panthers ever — picked up two huge first down catches on the drive, Big Douchebag Falcon Fan had an outburst:

“GOD! I fucking hate that guy! He fucking sucks and is so fucking overrated!” Little Douchebag Falcon Fan vehemently agreed.

Um, really? You hate Moose? Of all people? We couldn’t believe these guys would hate on such a non-confrontational Panther. We mocked amongst ourselves, but didn’t get real vocal — yet.

Later in the drive, when Jake Delhomme fumbled in the pocket (which he recovered), the Falcons Douches started screaming, “YES, JAKE! THANK YOU JAKE! THATTABOY!”

Ok, that I get: Jake has sucked a good bit this year and opposing fans like to remind us of that (I know Joey does). But he’s quietly not-sucked the past three weeks. And he’s not leading the league in INTs anymore, and he’s battled back. So, hey, fuck you, and fuck your sarcasm, Falcon Douchebags. I’m getting visibly riled up at this point.

Well, the Panthers went on to score that drive (my clapping was getting obnoxiously loud at this point too), but we kept things even-paced. For every sarcastic “YES, JAKE!” cheer, I’d counter with my own sarcastic “Oh, MATTY ICE. SO COOL!” for every sophomore slump/wounded duck Falcons QB Matt Ryan would throw. For every “FUCKING RIGHT” they’d scream out when Michael Turner was busting up the Panthers’ run defense, Steve and I would be equally obnoxious about a DeAngelo or Stewie run. Things were simmering, but we thought we’d do this call-and-answer game all day and not actually confront each other.

Until Matty Ice threw a momentum-crushing interception with 3:40 left in the second quarter with the Panthers up 14-10. Until that fateful play, we had been countering their obnoxious, over-the-top, questionably-unnecessary cheering/taunting by simply cheering a bit louder. But as this was a big play, I immediately started in on the “MATTY ICE!” screams and Steve stood up, slapped the bar, and then patted Big Douchebag Falcon fan on the back — a light tap, a well-lookie-there-how-about-that gesture.

Big Douchebag did not view the pat on the back that way. After the cheering from our group quieted down a bit, he stood up, turned to Steve and bellowed out, “DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME! DON’T EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME AGAIN OR I’LL KICK YOUR ASS! WHAT THE FUCK?”

A befuddled Steve tried to explain there was no need for an overreaction, but Big Douchebag wasn’t done. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I OWN THIS BAR!”

Whaa? Are you kidding me? “I own this bar”? I felt like Austin Powers after getting hit in the head with a shoe: Who does that?

Steve and I immediately disputed that notion, of course, given that we had never seen him there in the six Sundays we had been going to this bar, and we started colorfully telling him as much. At this point, the bartender stepped in to intervene, telling Big Douchebag to calm down.

Now, this was probably the closest I’ve ever seen Steve come to actually getting in a fight — he just doesn’t have a confrontational bone in his body. So to see him getting thrown into an escalating bar screaming match, one that was borderline unnecessary, was quite entertaining.

Needlesstosay, once the “I own this bar” comment got thrown down and the bartender felt the need to intervene, shit had gotten a bit uncomfortable for the rest of the bar. We didn’t escalate any more screaming for the rest of the game, as the Panthers tried to give away an eleven-point halftime lead. A crippling fourth quarter Matty Ice INT would bring back momentum to the Panthers, and a 45-yard touchdown scamper by Stewie would put the game out of reach.

The Panthers had won, and our normally overly-nice group of Panthers fan got a story about how we once went slumming too. All-in-all, about the best outcome after having to put up with the Falcons Douchebags.

BONUS NFL BAR STORY
So I know this has gotten a bit long-winded, but I had another wildly entertaining bar experience Sunday night as I went to a Pats bar for a Boston buddy’s birthday to watch the epic Pats-Colts game. Our resident New Englander has already covered the points from the game; I just want to describe the hilarity of watching the game with drunk Boston fans.

My Boston buddy, Pat, and his crew of Pats fan were several pitchers deep by the time I arrived 30 minutes before kick-off. Most had been drinking since the late morning; one was wearing a Pats Hawaiin t-shirt; all were screaming at friends, waitresses, and other patrons non-stop.

But once the game started, it was as if they all purposely channeled their inner Tommy from Quinzee and lived out as many Pats-fan stereotypes at once as possible.

Every time the Colts did something even remotely not-good, screams of “FACK YOU PEYTON” were heard.

Every time the Pats made forward progress, screams of “TAWMMY!” or “FACK YEA, BILLY B” or “FACKIN A, PATS!” was heard.

Every time the Pats got a first down, they’d break out the “U-S-A! U-S-A!” chant.

Every time those Coors Light post-game interview commercials came out, they’d shush the entire bar, “EVERYBADY QUIET!” — because it’s damn American to love those commercials.

And of course, every time Tom Brady threw a touchdown pass, they bought “Tom shots” for the entire table — a Tom shot, for those unfamiliar, is half-Crown Royal and half-Jack Daniels. Because, you see, Tommy Brady is king and a gentleman. They were actually quite delicious.

Oh, and one-half of every shot ordered was on the house because one of the guys was giving the waitress a ride home to Boston for Thanksgiving the following weekend.

Needlesstosay, a nearby table of Colts fans were driven to leave after the first quarter, but the rest of us were thoroughly entertained by the Boston guys’ behavior. It was an entertaining game, filled with as much rowdiness as you’d expect from a Boston bar on a Pats-Colts Sunday night game.

And seeing the Pats blow it at the end and hearing the utter silence come across the bar, until one of the guys screamed out, “WELL FACK YOU BILLY B!” — well that wasn’t too bad either.