You're all a bunch of comedians but I'm the only one laughing

So yesterday was the final of the rugby world cup. It was something I'd been looking forward to for a long time. Even more so because England had, unbelievably, made it to the finals. I turned up to the bar 4 hours in advance to secure myself a seat and settled down to wait for the match. I was alone but thankfully not the only one wearing an England shirt so I pulled out my book, sipped my pint and began killing time.

I suppose that a rugby fan reading a book in a pub on their own must be an unusual sight because I very quickly attracted attention. I heard a noise different to the general hubbub of the conversations in the bar and being an inquisitive sort I looked up to see what it was. In front of me was an oldish, drunkish, very sweaty looking man shouting the Welsh national anthem at me. I ruffled my brow in confusion. I mean, I thought I could hear this man singing at me but it was a little odd so I didn't want to commit myself too soon. I decided that I was imagining things and got back to my book.

The singing became more distinct. I looked up and asked the man where he was from. Thinking back on it now I feel that this was not the most intelligent question to ask, after all he was singing Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau. Imagine my surprise when he walked up to me and said "London mate", in a Tottenham accent.Well this was odd. I generally don't get my own countrymen mocking me so with with a chuckle I said "Fair enough" and continued on with my book.

He was still standing at my table. He looked half drunk and seemed oblivious to his runny nose which looked dangerously like it was about to cascade onto my table. Out of politeness I asked him what he was doing here though I hoped his nose held out longer that his answer. If my judgement is anything to go by I was going to be in for a good story.
"I'm here for the rugby match", he said. "I went to the stadium this morning but they aren't selling tickets".
"Well of course they're not", I replied, "its the day of the final. They've been sold out for, well, for about a year to be honest"
"Yes I know but I thought I'd go down to the stadium and buy one, maybe off the touts."
"OK, good luck, I hear they're going for a good price. About 3000 euros". As I was saying this I was beginning to doubt myself. He looked totally unphased by this remark and definitely did not look like the type of person who had three grand to throw about. Did he know something I didn't?
"Ahh" he growled, "I'm not going to be paying that sort of money. I'll offer 500 maximum. They can take it or leave it".
"...", I said. This was getting more intriguing.
"And if I don't get one then I'll go to a bar near the stadium and watch the game with this".
My confusion cleared instantly. It wasn't that he knew something I didn't. It was just that he was mad. Out of his pocket had come an ear piece on a lanyard.
"It's a referees link". He made this statement to ease the obvious suffering on my face. "I'll be able to hear everything the ref is saying".
"By the look of that thing you'd better find a bar on the pitch", I thought.

Some time later when I had recovered from my trip to planet crazy I heard another shout in my direction.
"Eay, you. Are you stupeed, you think you're going to win tonight?"
I looked up because this kind of remark is often directed at me and I find it's important to discover what it is that I am doing so I can stop it as soon as possible.
"Yeah you, are you stupeed. Why you reading the book in the pub? Eez eet shakspeer?".
This was followed by a hearty group laugh. I realised it was the group of French men at the bar. They had seen me reading and I guess had found that type of thing highly unusual. I can't say that I'm terribly surprised, they didn't look the literary type. In a perfect twist of luck I held up the book, just under my chin to accentuate the sweet smile on my face, to show them the title.
"Merde happens", or Shit happens to translate. He looked at the book, looked at me, looked totally out of his depth and, probably not for the first time, lost. He said shit and turned away. There really is no better way to win an argument than to say nothing at all.

The game started, the game finished, the South Africans won and I decided to go home. I collected my belongings but I wasn't looking where I was going and as I took my first step away from my table I felt wetness on my shoulder. I turned round and saw this tiny man in font of me. He and his friends had been getting on my nerves all evening singing the intro to 7 nation army repeatedly during the game.
"Look what you did, you spilt my beer on your shoulder. Why weren't you looking where you were going?", he squeaked at me.
"Sorry pal it was an accident, I guess we both weren't paying attention".
There had been about a centilitre of beer lost from the glass. My shoulder was almost dry already but the England top was spurring him on to argue.
"No, you weren't looking where you were going, you spilled my beer".
I don't have the ability to be in a situation like this and not point out the obvious.
"Well you weren't paying attention either," I stated matter of factly.
"I was".
OK, now I had to say it. "Well If you were looking where you were going then why did you pour beer all over my shoulder?" I felt rather smug with this line of argument. I had him on the ropes.
He pulled out the big guns. Cupping my chin softly in his hand and looking deep into my eyes he said "Well maybe I wanted to get your attention".
I wasn't expecting this. I had to admit defeat. All I wanted to do was get away from there as quickly as possible. He had well and truly won the argument.

I think about that night and I am reminded of the free t-shirts that were being handed out to the punters in the bar. On the back of them was written, "You gotta know when to hold 'em, you gotta know when to fold 'em, you gotta know when to walk away and you gotta know when to run away".
I think that just about summed up my entire night.