WITNESSING HISTORY AT JARRA'S SPORTS BAR ON HIGHWAY 48

Cleveland Brown's Rookie Quarterback, Baker Mayfield

This is not a claim of divine providence, synchronicity, or even being "guided by the Holy Spirit."

It was just dumb luck.

For the third or fourth annoying time, in recent weeks, I passed through the Church's Chicken drive-thru, only to be told they have no "spicy" product available.  It is now fried only "on demand," since I'm the only person in Brownsville who likes chicken "spicy."

I moved on, passing several fast food places on Hwy 48, then performed an illegal u-turn as I noticed a bunch of cars in front of Jarra's Sports Bar.  My scientific research links a full parking lot with "doing something right."

I went inside, seating myself at a round table for one that had one table leg on the dance floor.  I repositioned the table, making it sit straight, sat down and declined the menu from my server.

"I just want two tacos de bistec, con todo, and a Budweiser," I told her.

I tried not to stare at the amorous couple to my right, seated at a long bar style table.  The lady was halfway through a large drink I recognized as a "Royal Fuck," with yet another "Royal Fuck" at the ready.  The man, dressed in a soccer jersey, was drinking 20 ounce beer.  Their male server was extremely attentive, offering more beverage before they'd barely started on what they had.

Looking up at one of the four large TV screens, I recognized the Cleveland Browns uniform, then noticed they were playing the Jets.  A subtitle indicated Cleveland had not won a regular season game since late in 2016.

Cleveland was behind at that point, but this Number 6 was hitting receivers like a Brownie version of the Packers' Aaron Rodgers.

"Entered the game in the second quarter" flashed across the screen in reference to Number 6 taking over at quarterback.  I made out the name "Mayfield" on the back of his uniform.

The guys actually sitting at the bar were squealing with delight at every successful Cleveland play.  It was as if the kinetic energy generated within Jarra's was willing the Browns to victory.

Late in the game, when Jets QB Sam Darnold muffed a forward lateral, lover boy on my right released a blood curdling whoop that literally shook the bar.  We accidentally made eye contact and exchanged wide grins.  

I paid my bill with my debit card, violating one of Nena's rules to always carry cash.  Without my glasses, I really couldn't make out the bill.  Squinting, I wrote in a $2.00 tip. . . LOL

Once home, I checked my bank balance.  It showed a charge of $4.87 to Jarra's Sports Bar. I was not charged for my tip.  Not bad for two Budweisers, two tacos and one hell of a classic football game.

I'll be back.