Game Over At Half Time - A Humor Story

Goan stories, Goa
By Gasper Crasto...22.05.2017
[Exaggerated in humor, the story is actually a real incident that happened, not fiction]

I may not be a Greek God by looks, but to see women fall at my feet over and over again, is unbelievable. 

However, I recently discovered the reason for their fall was much less amusing than I imagined.

It was a weekend evening. It had to be ‘coz I was watching English Premier League football on TV. 

Weekends or Champions League nights in Kuwait are great time for prime time football - which coincides with the dinner -- an added flavor to the comforts. And it’s a thrill to watch European ‘soccer’. Like every die-hard fan, I thoroughly enjoy the games. Who doesn’t? 

Man-U have been my favorites but I love to watch Real Madrid, Barcelona, AC Milan, PSG, Chelsea, Man City, etc, as well.


When I am home, especially on weekends, my job is to make her job easy by staying out of the way. Am talking about – you know who -- my sweet world - my wife. 

I know some people who just take pleasure in cleaning the house at weekends from corner to corner. If you count all of those people who do that, I would be nowhere on that list. 

Well, no shame there. I keep no errands on weekends especially Saturday evenings, and it is always good knowing that nobody would stop by, or going to call on the phone or Skype. 

All I want to do on a football evening is take pole-position front of my 55” HD TV. 

I move only to eat dinner; I’ve even started eating dinner 7 o'clock nowadays. This, I found out, was the time high society folk ate in England. Why they eat so early, I really don’t know. But, since I admire high society and English football, I decided to act like the high society English fans – eat early, laze around, watch sport, and scream-m-m. 


It was another weekend. I was already 'relax-singh' on my ‘grand-stand’ sofa.

Then, out of the blue, I saw my wife dressed up. Obviously she was dressed to go somewhere. Whatever possessed her to do that on a Saturday evening, was not my business to ask. 

“I just remembered,” she turned and said, “I have to buy some fresh vegies for the week and some gift items for the school..”

I ignored her statement as if I was as deaf as the door.

“Have you heard,” she asked.

I was unmoved.

“I’ll be quick,” she continued, “please drop me to the local supermarket...” 

“Hey, I can’t come..” I protested pointing at the TV, “my team’s playing...” 

“Oh, come-on. ‘My team’? You say it as if you own the team....”

I knew there was no point objecting. It would be much wiser to drive her down, than to sit there and argue. Well, a guy's got to do what a guy's got to do. In any case, there was still time for the kick-off.

As soon as we reached the supermarket, I quickly excused myself. 

“Give me a buzz once you’re done,” I told her, “I will hang around and watch football.” 

One thing I like of Kuwait, they have TVs all over the place and mostly switched on to football channels, or WWF; the Kuwaitis are just crazy about these 2 sports.

“Buy me something to eat....” she said as she left.

“Be quick,” I warned her, “I want to watch the 2nd half at home..”

Be quick? I knew that was hypothetical.

Her ways were no different to the women ‘species’. She would not return till she had practically cooked each vegetable in the supermarket itself or found out everything about each produce – where it came from, how it was grown, what manure was used, and when it was shipped to Kuwait – her typical terminology of where, when, how, which drove me crazy no ends. 

Top it off, her sanction on Pakistani brinjals ever since she found out they were grown in Bin Laden’s compound, was sure to baffle Islamabad.

“Hope she doesn’t drive me to the desert farmhouses for organic brinjals.” I said to myself as I walked to the food court. 

I ordered a burger from Hardees, took my token number and sat at a table with the best view of the widescreen HD television. 

I was right on the clock, the match was about to begin. 

Game on. I was in England within seconds.


Not even a minute into the game, I was stunned to see one of the most beautiful girls I’d seen walk over towards me. An Arabic girl. 

I couldn’t ‘counter attack’ shifting my eyes from football and throw an ‘overlapping’ glance at her. She was irresistible, seemed to bring meaning to the song of my salad days, ‘Walks like an Egyptian’. 

To my added surprise, she came right across and stopped in front of me, just as Man-U were on the attack.

“Hi, how are you?” she smiled.

I looked behind thinking she was addressing someone else but there was no one there.

“Am fine..” I said blushing from teeth to toes.

“May I sit?” she asked pointing at the seat opposite.

She smiled again and for a moment my face went red.

“Of course.. please,” I answered combing my hair with the fingers, “Can I be of any help?”

“Oh, don’t worry...” she said.

As far as I knew, there were no hanky-panky businesses in Kuwait -- no ‘pros’ or ‘cons’, donation seekers or beggars. These activities were extremely prohibited in this country -- no mischiefs whatsoever especially at public places where there were people moving all the time and CCTVs all around. 


“May I order you a burger?” she spoke fluent English.

“I have placed an order for a take-away... May I know who you are?” I could hold no more.

“Hessah, am doing my Masters in Business Administration at the University - MBA in Finance & Marketing.. Hmm.. I will get you a burger..”

“What about you?” I asked feeling excited as ever.

She just smiled. I blushed, blushed and blushed so much that I had to wipe off beads of sweat on my forehead.

As a matter of fact, I never ate junk or ‘outside’ food, I was more ‘habituated’ and comatose to whatever my wife cooked no matter how tasteless it was. But who could resist when you are offered to eat with a decent babe. Ignoring her would be ungentlemanly. 

“I will eat with you ..” the girl said.

“Sure. You are a Kuwaiti?” I asked.

I knew Kuwaitis were rich, and Kuwaiti girls moved in posh, fancied cars. My next question would be to ask her about her car and perhaps more, later.

“Am from Alexandria, Egypt.., Where are you from?”

The fact she was Egyptian did not disappoint me, still the girl was pretty and looked aristocratic.

“Am from Goa.” 

“Oh I see.. I heard about Goa, is it in Kerala?”

“Oh no, Kerala is in India.” I answered, forgetting in my excitement that I was Indian too. 


Before we could move our tête-à-tête further, an attendant walked over with a tray of king-sized burger, ketchup and tissues.

“Just one?” I asked the attendant, “What about ma’am...?”

“I will eat later,.. You may proceed, ..”

I hesitated. But somehow my tongue was melting. I quietly made a sign of the cross and took a swipe.

Meanwhile, Man-U had gone down 0-1. It didn’t really bother me; it was not affecting my appetite. I was sure it wouldn’t affect me even if Man-U were losing 6-0.  

My cell-phone buzzed. I put it on silent straightaway without even bothering to see who it was. 

Well, I had to give the girl 'at hand' some attention, after all she was sweet, and Arabic.

“No. I don’t want any disturbance.” I said to myself putting away the phone.

Though excited, I was vigilant all along ‘coz I didn’t want someone to see me with a strange girl and put me on the front page gossip stories.

The girl had her cell-phone too but she never glanced at it even once like the younger genre did these days. All she did was write on a pad that she carried. At first I thought she was trying to draw my features as she dotted or ticked every time we spoke. 

“Perhaps she is feeling lonely,” I thought, “trying to pass time waiting for her family or friends to turn up at the food court maybe?”

“Are you doing some work there,” I said pointing to her pad. I was feeling like a guy in the first-year college.

She seemed engrossed in the writing. 

“Doesn’t matter if I have to pay for the burger,” I thought, the ambience is exotic.

“You like the burger?” she asked just as I took another giant bite which messed half of my face in sauce.

“Hmm” I nodded meaning it was good.

“Howz the taste, the flavor?”

“Super...” I said in-between nods, “super..”


The attendant came again with another tray of a nicely bedecked burger. The girl said something in Arabic which I did not catch up, took the tray and pushed it forward towards me.

“Here’s another one,” the girl said.

“What..!” I was puzzled. Infact, I thought the new order was hers.

Well, I was not really fond of burgers, and I had not eaten a burger for months. But ofcourse -- eating was not a problem. 

“Problem was..” I thought and wondered, “who would pay the bill..!!!” 

“Shall I ask for extra ketchup? Or mayonnaise...” the girl asked.

“You must be kidding..” I chuckled, “You can see I haven’t finished eating this one yet.”

“Don’t worry, take your time..” the girl insisted.

“Honestly, I can’t eat more..”

“Just have a bite.. and tell me how you like it..”

I looked around to make sure no one was watching. Then took a bite of the new burger.

“Hmm..Tastes good no doubt, it must be expensive..”

“Well, you don’t have to pay ..” the girl said.

I heaved a sigh of relief.

“Ma’m, its’ not a matter of paying. I don’t want to waste the burger, as am in a hurry to go..”

“Well, I will have the rest packed if you wish to eat it later at home..”

The offer seemed tempting. 

“I don’t understand this...” I said.

“I work here, part-time – marketing. My job is to promote business. These days, we do a survey before launching our new product – the new crusty burgers..”


“Hmm..” I halted munching.

“Not to worry, we are not experimenting anything on you though..’ she giggled, “it’s a tried and tested burger in U.S.A, we are introducing it first time in Kuwait...”


“I need your feedback, a few questions, your telephone number and email ID. You can take your time to finish eating, you can leave anytime you need to go..”

I was relieved to hear that. It wouldn’t hurt me having a burger feast every day if I was offered free burgers and a beautiful nanny to ensure I ate well.

“Should I ask her WhatsApp number? Or email?” I was in two minds.

My cell phone started to vibrate. Whoever it was, could wait. I was not in a hurry at all. 

Man U were trailing 0-2 with 10 minutes remaining for half time. They could go to hell; it didn’t matter if they lost all season and were even relegated.

Next few minutes were fun. We joked, laughed as I relished the burgers and answered all her questions while she got yet another fresh burger packed for me. My take-away order came along too.

I was ready to leave, I could reach home on time and probably watch Manchester United overcome their opponents in the second half. 

As I shook hands with the girl and was about to take her leave, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a familiar face standing at the entrance.

My wife! I nearly fell down seeing her there. I didn’t know whether to run or hide.

No sooner she saw me, the grocery bags that she carried ‘fell’ off, or she dropped them on purpose, I would never know. Before she was herself floored, I was by her side in the twinkling of an eye; leaving the Arabic girl behind, bedazzled. 

Man-U’s chances of a second-half comeback looked more promising than my idea of enjoying remaining half of the match. 

Certainly, for me, it was Game Over. 

>>> to esparansa for her sense of humor ;)
gasper crasto, gasper & esparansa

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