The Perfect Beer Commercial

Welcome to our home away from home. This six bedroom house is full of stories. Try our water and you will soon come into contact with Satan's doings. Satan is our hot water heater and he resides in our dungeon of a basement. He likes to fool us by flushing cool water out of the faucet then releasing in an instance a blitzkrieg of lava. We try not to be subdued by his powers, so there is always plenty of ice to cool down your drink. Our carpet is soiled with a variety of stains left by past tenants. Each one tells a different story. There's this dirty brown one that seems to move everyday closer to our front door. We just tell people that if they stay out of its way it may someday leave our humble home. Then we got this babypool-sized orange stain that sits on the floor of our kitchen. I think it was created by a keg-stand gone bad. It has company, though. It rests with a gang of cigarette burn marks left by irresponsible party-goers. There is no telling what left its mark on our wall. Snotty, green drip. . . .oh, it's disgusting. I'd rather not discuss it. We just cover it up with a picture of Hal Mumme.

With all that in mind, not to mention the thirty or forty fist-sized holes covering our walls, you could probably figure out that we live in a "college" house. And we do. We try to dress it up a bit: a poster here and there, a thirty-six inch television, a couple of cool halogen lamps, a wrap around couch. You get the picture. I'd say its not bad for a few guys whose weekly income combined couldn't buy but a few pitchers of Amberbock at Lynaugh's. We try our best, but our parents are the ones to thank for such plush accommodations.

My roommates and I get along somewhat. We all come from different backgrounds and we all have our opinions on how our house should be run. Of course, sometimes our opinions will clash in a heated battle of words. You'll hear the occasional "you Paducah trash" or "you tourist-killing Florida bastard." It's very immature of us to express such things to one another. The one thing in our house, however, that settles our differences and ties us closer together is the foosball table.

It sits peacefully in the mecca of our house. It's our church, our battlefield. . . . it's our livingroom. The foosball table grants us the pleasure of being great athletes, if you could say so. With swift offensive moves and strong defensive stands, the foosball table transforms our six-bedroom house into a superdome. We stand hunched over, our hands gripping tightly onto the handles and our eyes never leaving the plastic ball that seems to dance before us. It's a psychological game. You must try to outwit your opponent by being unpredictable. If you just try to force the ball through, you will quickly find a wall of defenders blocking your attack. Like I said it's a psychological game and you have to be tricky with your shots.

The ball rolls stiff against the table waiting to find a path that will lead it to a successful goal. It could take up to several minutes or even seconds before the ball finds its goal. Once this has taken place, we athletes grab for our alcoholic thirst quenchers and proceed on to the next round of ball play.

I'd like to think we our professional foosball players. Guests who come over will quickly find that they stand no match against us. They might slip a few past us, but that's about it. When my roommates and I come to play, it's always serious. We each have our special moves. Brian has his five-man meat hook that seems to become more difficult to stop each game, Cory's three-man death trap likes to put the ball right back in your face, and Josh's goalie won't let anything past him. As for me, I'm an all-around player for you see, it's my table. I like to prey on other's weaknesses. I strongly believe in the self-fulfilling prophecy. That is, if you come into a game knowing you're going to lose, you will. I can read that on the faces of my opponents. You can say I'm cocky, but like I said it's a psychological game.

It's the perfect beer commercial-- four guys playing a game of foos and drinking their favorite beer. Why not?