SLOVAKIA - Sporting Events in Bratislava! I hate sports.

The end of my overnight train journey brought me to chilly Bratislava at five in the morning and I stepped off the train into darkness and uncertainty. I knew my friend Yuri, who I came to visit in Slovakia, wasn't inclined to wake up at this hour and come and join me, so I just lingered in the cold, clutching my bags close to me in an futile effort to stay warm. I didn't blame him, I didn't want to be out here either. Everything around me was closed - all the hours signs on all the stores' windows read seven as their opening time, so I dawdled away two hours outside the dreary station, watching the sky get gradually lighter and a few dubious characters mill about. Buildings in the distance started to appear through the dissipating dark and the city of Bratislava started to take form. The lights came on in a nearby coffee shop and an employee was busy preparing items as seven o'clock approached. I painfully lifted my shivering numb rump off the bench and took a seat in the empty cafe as soon as the beautiful coffee server saviour unlocked the door. I ordered a plain coffee, sipping it slowly, so I could loiter for a long time until I thought it was safe to disturb warm and cozy unconscious Yuri. The sun eventually showed itself and the cold morning transformed into a beautiful warm day.

Yuri and his buddy Igor eventually appeared through the crowd at the train station and we took the tram to the Slovak Pub and had lunch. After, Yuri and I jumped on another tram and went to enjoy the Davis Cup Tennis Match! We didn't have any tickets but Yuri was quite sure we'd be able to buy some off a scalper. "Do they have scalpers here?", I stupidly asked. We watched attentively for any shifty individuals who might have a handful of perforated paper or whispering to passerby's. "Go ask him", I said, and as Yuri came back empty-handed, I pointed to another fellow, "now go ask him", again we were disappointed, "how about him?", I questioned again. I directed Yuri towards anyone with anything that resembled paper or envelopes in their grasp, only because he could speak the language and I couldn't. Finally, just as the game had begun, a scalper fan who had come from Argentina had a couple seats available for one thousand Koruna each! We were excited and rushed over to the alcohol vendor to get a celebratory refreshment. Yuri ordered vodka shots, and I watched as the bartender poured out shot after shot, until there was ten little plastic cups bunched together on the table in front of us. I was looking around wondering who else in the beverage line did generous Yuri buy the other eight drinks for. Then he ordered two bottles of orange-flavoured juice, threw me one and said "drink some". He impatiently grabbed the bottle back from me and proceeded to pour five shots into the hole that I just had my mouth on. Again I looked around at the glaring curious faces in the waiting lineup behind us and shrugged my shoulders. With our mighty potent drink in one hand, and our Slovakian tennis shirt we were given at the entry gate in the other, we ascended the stairs, waded through the fierce fans and hunted for our seats. "Oh oh, we seem to be sitting right in the middle of the visitors section," I was thinking as Yuri stood trying to match his ticket to the numbers painted on the concrete steps. Our seats were surrounded by hundreds of rabid fans from Argentina wearing blue and white jerseys who really enjoyed yelling and chanting during the tennis play. I thought the spectators at tennis matches were quiet and reserved, but not at this game, the stands were filled with maniacs - I thought hooliganism occurred only in football. I expressed my fear of bodily harm to Yuri who was wearing his white and red Slovakian t-shirt proudly amongst the sea of blue and white. Surely these fans of tennis were trained to kill, have hair-trigger tempers and carry sharp weapons. I refused to wear my shirt and hid it quietly under my seat. I didn't want my first sporting event of the week to end up with me beaten to a pulp for wearing a shirt of a team I don't even know at a sport that I don't have an interest in. As the tennis game went on, I started to get into it a little, softly bringing my hands together for a muted clap when the Slovak player scored points. After an hour into the game (and the vodka) I was getting really bloody annoyed with the Argentinian fans who wouldn't stop the outbursts or making noise just as the Slovak player was tossing the ball in the air to serve. I decided to bring my Slovak shirt out from hiding and pull it over my head. Then my applause became louder as I started to enjoy the game and even began to blurt out cheery stuff. Yuri went down for more unnecessary vodka. The tennis went on for hours, and so did the vodka runs until the vendor in our section had empty vodka bottles. We drank all his supply, so reliable cash-toting Yuri, unsatisfied with his current state of intoxication, sprinted down to the next section to deplete their supply too. I don't remember too much after that.

My time in Slovakia was filled with squirts. The first shower of liquid was at an Irish pub, sitting across from Yuri. We were discussing a couple at the table behind us, who were obviously breaking up, because she was in tears with everything her partner said. We talked about how she should pull out her hairspray can and cigarette lighter, raise the two up to his face level, spin the flint igniter, press down the aerosol button, and engulf his head with attitude adjusting flame. Just then, while my mouth was filled with cold delicious beer, the thought of his hair blowing back with scorching flames was very funny, and I let go. A robust load of fizzy stout exploded from my mouth, spraying all over Yuri and the table which we sat at. Yuri screamed something and quickly, but unsuccessfully, tried to dodge the flying wet mess. I was to embarrassed to look around to see surprised faces at the other tables or if I had soaked any other patrons with a sudden beer shower.

The next hot and juicy scattering of moistness happened while walking down from the train station after Yuri and I had just purchased hot sausages from a road-side cart. I was salivating like a dog in heat watching my wiener roll back and forth on the mustard covered paper plate I was holding in my hand as we slowly made our way down the street. My stomach rumblings turned intense and my will power ceased. I picked up the heavy tube of meat and sank my teeth deep into its flesh. Suddenly I was covered in a steamy red oily substance that squirted from the gash I tore through the skin. My face and hands were coated and burning from the hot juice expulsion. I looked over at Yuri who was walking next to me, and he had also been sprayed by the juicy meat stick I had hanging from my mouth. We looked at each other in horror as we quickly checked our clothes and hair for more red stains.

The final batch of squirt was executed from a higher power, punishing me for my trash mouth. Yuri and I were walking up the street and I was having impure thoughts and spewing vulgarities about the opposite sex and unexpectedly felt a wet thwack on my forehead. I stopped, thinking someone had thrown something at me and brought my hand to my head where the impact had occurred. I lowered my hand to my eyes and saw a chalky white substance painted across my fingers. "A fucking bird just shit on my forehead!" I yelled. I swear I was looking down at the sidewalk that exact moment of befoulment - how the hell did bird-shit splat upwards? There wasn't any in my golden hair which cascades so sexily over my forehead - it was just a smattering of ka-ka an inch above my eyes. We stood there stupefied at how I could have been shat upon so professionally and precisely. Yuri just laughed at me and kept a constant distance from me the rest of the day, especially when my uncontrollable dirty sewer mouth started up again.

It was triple sports day on my third day in Bratislava!... and I hate sports. At ten in the morning the three of us went to a football game, ate sausages, drank beer and cussed. Then it was off to watch more tennis at 3:00pm, where we ate steak, drank beer and cussed. Then at 8:00pm we tried to go watch hockey but weren't allowed in. The arena wasn't selling any more tickets or letting anyone else past the gates. Our new friend Peter, whom we befriended while chewing meat between tennis games, approached one of the large security men posted at the turnstiles and told him the two dumb looking people with him were from Canada and they want to see Bratislava play hockey. The giant man graciously let us in! We took some seats right behind six young cheerleaders who seductively tossed their pom-pom's around in the aisle beside us. Bad seat choice, we were all thinking - all we could see were gorgeous young Slovak girls prancing and jumping around in tight little shiny spandex uniforms. They would annoyingly bend over so their firm round rear-ends were directly in our faces and brush their tickling pom-pom's across our cheeks! We were there to watch hockey, not to stare at hot young tight curvaceous female bodies, dressed in material that left nothing for the imagination, writhing slowly to the music pumping through the loudspeakers.



>>back to the News section