Gypsy tried to pump me up Sunday by dragging me to one of the Hungarian Hunters soccer games. The team was going to play the Romanians and they were a couple of guys short. I whined about NCAA rules and losing eligibility and all that crap, but he wouldn’t take a no. After downing a couple of beers in the basement of my uncle’s bar and grill, he talked me into it. Gypsy was doing stunts with his half thumb to get a rise out of me. I wasn’t much for a laugh. I’d egg him on about scoring, though. And I wasn’t talking about soccer. When he held his half-thumb by his groin, I said, “Yeah, give that to Anna.” I was talking about the barmaid upstairs, the very Anna who was my uncle’s on-and-off girlfriend.
“Wanna get me killed? Thanks, man. Thanks, Attila.”
I grinned and reminded him my new na
