We wuz robbed, and other things we tell ourselves

It was game day, and I got invited to tag along with Team Touro. We went up to Turtle Bay, minus Ellen and her sister who had family business back in Lafayette. The place was packed, and we got the last seats in the place, upstairs, before it went SRO. You probably would have had to gotten there about 9 to get a seat in the main room. We shared the table with some old neighbors who moved all the way into the Bywater after they were in Houston for a couple of years after Katrina. Turtle Bay is a good place to watch a game, with a good kitchen to go along with the beer and whiskey that flows when the Saints play, although a little dangerous to be with a dozen friends, all of whom think they should buy rounds of fireball.

The Saints lost, amid much cheering and yelling, and the town went into a kind of negative Mardi Gras-everybody was out and carousing, but not happily. I heard that Bono was hanging out for a set at the Spotted Cat just after the game-I could have passed him on the street, but wasn’t paying close enough attention.

The narrative quickly slipped from “we let one slip through our fingers” to “we got robbed”. Winning days are more fun. I don’t like the fix that is being proposed to this particular bad call-more instant replay review. I would like to see video review eliminated from both baseball and football. It sure doesn’t add anything to the game for me, besides minutes between plays, and I am not sure it matters that they “get it right”. How much would the game be changed if they played like high school is now-the call is the call, and we play it like it was called. There are mistakes, but rarely are they one-sided. A baseball umpire’s bad strike zone is a bad strike zone for both sides, and a back judge’s odd interpretation of the pass interference rules affects both teams the same. I don’t think the commissioner will be calling me for advice.

Monday was a slow day after the long day Sunday, and I heard from Dave who got a job and will make the dive trip, a double win. I did make it out Tuesday to the pool and was able to run some errands, finding batteries for dive gear and starting to pack up the good stuff. I want to leave the fins out so I can continue to use them in the pool until I go. I walked down Frenchmen Street in the evening, and stopped in the Cafe Negril. I hadn’t been hanging out there much, usually getting stopped at dba or one of the other clubs before I got that far down the street. It is a reggae themed bar, with a huge mural of Bob Marley behind the stage and reggae colors throughout. A band called The Four Sidemen of the Apocalypse was playing, and they had two saxophone players sitting in for the first set. They were taking full advantage of the university trained saxophonists, playing Coltrane era be-bop. It was awfully good with all the horns, and the drummer was a Latin-style player who had a coach-style whistle between his teeth as he played, using it judiciously. I think that is the first time I have seen that, and it works. “Somebody blow the whistle….”

It is hard to beat Frenchmen Street on a mellow night, with a higher proportion of locals and music fans than on the big party nights. But Big Sam’s Funky Nation is at the Blue Nile Friday late…

And in the category of old people problems, the little rubber gasket in my hearing aid disappeared into my ear as I was taking it out, and I can’t get it out or to find it. An awfully silly reason to get introduced to the medical system in NOLA, but probably better to do it for something silly than when in pain or really sick. I will probably have more patience with the paperwork, and better to have a nurse with a light search for it than a barista with a bic lighter.

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