I was out the other day at the infamous Kicken Chicken for Sunday Ticket when I ran into a guy I've mentioned before on this blog, yes, Jittery Falcon Fan. He's been in the bar every Sunday this fall, jittery as ever, nervously moving his hands up and down his legs for hours straight. His standard approach to viewing his Falcons remains unchanged - he shows up alone, wearing his fake #33 Turner jersey tucked into black slacks, leeches on to some too friendly group of fans, sips iced tea, and babbles on and on with these retarded factoids to people about the Falcons. In a nutshell, he's still annoying as all hell. I avoided talking to Jittery Falcon fan for over 2 months. Wherever he was in the bar, I stayed away from like the plague. Then the inevitable happened, I found myself sitting next to him Sunday right before kickoff. I wasn't too mean. I actually just nodded my head and mumbled "yeah" as he rattled off these inane stats about Matty Ice and whatnot. But then the conversation turned in a different direction entirely. Jittery Falcon Fan asked if I had any kids. I told my same stale and stupid comeback to that question that I've been using for years, "None that I know of, no." Then Jittery Falcon Fan went on a 5 minute rant about how it's really important to have kids. His rationale was that if you have kids you'll have someone to look after you when you're old and decrepit. I'm not making that up. He informed me that he had 3 kids so that when his body starts to go south, one or more of them would be around as some kind of caregiver or nurse or butler. I got very interested at that point. I wondered what woman would procreate with Jittery Falcon Fan to the tune of 3 offspring. So, me being me, I went ahead and asked where he met his wife or whoever had bore the fruits of his crazy loins. Then Jittery Falcon Fan told me his wife was from the Philippines. And that yes, if I was curious, she was a mail order bride. Instead of laughing uncontrollably, I agreed that it would be tough for someone as socially awkward as him to score some American babe and that I couldn't really fault him for going the mail order bride route. I asked him, right as I got up to go out and smoke, "Did you order her postage due?" I came back in and kickoff was underway at that point. I paid no attention to him, as my focus was squarely on the dark world of 11 to 10 (I had particular interest in City of Tampa against the Bolts). Fast forward about 4 hours to 5 o'clock. I was walking towards the men's room in the main part of the Kicken Chicken, having long since lost contact with Jittery Falcon Fan. Then, in one of the booths, I see him. He is sitting next to an Asian looking fat kid, sharing a plate of the inedible cheese fries that the Chicken specializes in. This Asian looking kid had to weigh 2 bills. Did I mention the youngster couldn't have been more than 10? I was super excited. I got to see Jittery Falcon Fan's flesh and blood, one of the 3 people who will care for him when he's on the proverbial deathbed. I ran back to where I was watching Sunday Ticket (the back bar, same as always) and told Brandon he had to go see what I'd just seen for himself. Brandon ran over to that part of the place fast. When he came back after a minute or two, he said, "Damn, that kid's fat." I begged Brandon to take a picture of Jittery Falcon Fan and his behemoth of a half-Asian son. Alas, Brandon wasn't sure how he would broach the idea to Jittery Falcon Fan of taking the proposed photo. I couldn't come up with one either, which is rare for me. I can generally figure out how to talk anyone into almost anything. So, I wish I had a picture for this post of Jittery Falcon Fan, his enormous kid, and the repulsive looking plate of cheese fries they were sharing. But I don't. And I 'm sorry about that.
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