“You trying to take my wallet or something?” the man shot back.
“Am I trying to take your wallet?”
Horgan and I were watching this unfold. This weird old bat was obviously upset with the racket that someone like Horgan immediately injected into the evening.
“Well, I don’t know what you’re doing. It feels like your knees are in my back and the next thing I know you’re holding up my jacket,”
“I’m not taking you’re wallet. I was just picking your jacket up off the ground. I figured that was better than leaving it on the ground.”
“You’re accusing him of stealing your wallet?” I asked.
“Well, how the hell should I know. You guys come in hear and are yelling,” the man said.
“No, I was yelling. They weren’t saying anything. Why don’t you just calm down,” Horgan said, cutting him off.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with you,” the man fired back.
“Yes, it does. You’re accusing my friend of stealing your jacket or your wallet. Just calm down and turn around.”
“I’m not going to calm down. We’re talking about it here. Now I apologize to you,” he said, looking at Vessie. “But you should just mind your business and maybe keep your voice down.”
“Yeah, you really are loud. You shouldn’t be yelling like that,” the woman (his wife) sitting next to him said, swinging around while chewing gum with efficiency of a Long Island waitress.
“I’m not going to…” Horgan paused for a minute as if to collect his thoughts. “I’m not going to be quiet. This is wrestling, man. This isn’t the Ice Capades, this is a wrestling event. Part of the fun is being loud.”
The couple mumbled a “whatever,” which Horgan returned. Then he called the guy “Stone Cold,” which for some reason re-triggered his anger.
“What did you call me?”
“Stone Cold,” Horgan answered, as if surprised this upset him.
The man looked for a minute and then returned his attention the ring as the Smackdown pyro hit. It was a weird scene to watch, but there was no encore of tension. Horgan went right along with rushing the barricade, working in the obligatory Kamala and Strike Force references, and even getting a reluctant hand slap out of J.R.
After about $40 was spent on imported beer we upgraded to the third row, which was abandoned for the Dark Main Event, where the Undertaker fought the Big Show in a steel cage that looked like it was going to clumsily fall over at any second.
And even with the blaring chants Horgan blasted towards the Undertaker of "Michelle McCool", I concluded that it had been a fun time in Bridgeport, Connecticut—even if my ears were ringing.
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