It's Friday night. I go to a really great Indian restaurant in the Born District with a girlfriend. We are having a glass of wine before dinner, when 3 men sit at table next to us. We notice that they are all very tall and good looking. But there is something familiar about one in particular. It feels like I have seen him before. In fact, he looks just like the famous French soccer player who just moved to Barcelona. The cute one. I mention this to my friend. "No!!", she says, "it couldn´t be him". Minutes later, the familiar man makes a joke that we can hear, and we all laugh. I ain't no groupie, and plus, I'm American. I don't watch soccer so I don't know that it's him; so I turn my attention back to my homegirl. Until I hear one guy offer another 50 euro if he can name the tune playing. The offer-ee is squinting and screwing up his face as he struggles to remember the title of the early 90's semi-hit. At 50 euros, I'm jumping out of my skin to answer. But I'm not so sure I'm eligible. Hot soccer player sees me bursting at the seams. 'Um, I think she knows,' he says, smiling at me. I almost forget what I'm going to say. We talk about music for a while, everything old school from stevie wonder to shabba ranks to human league. We are an international, musical bunch. We are also, (well, most of us, anyway) exceedingly fine. Then the man and his friends prepare to leave. As they bid us goodbye, I ask the man if he is a soccer player. "Yes, I am, " he replies. "Well," I say, smiling, "it was very nice to meet you". He smiles back, turns around, and follows his friends out the door.
Here's hoping that it is, indeed, a small world. I never did collect that 50 euro.