World Class Table Football Players at Bar Kick (05.06.09)
Christina, Nelson, Sam and Diego are part of a niche group of serious table football players who meet on Friday nights at Bar Kick - Shoreditch High Street. Nelson told me that a number of the players are world class.
(I have photos of the players that I will add to this story.)
After a friend told us about the group, we went there to look for them. It’s pretty easy to work out who they are. A crowd of goggling onlookers surrounds one of the tables where Christina, her boyfriend, Nelson and Diego are playing intently, their faces contorted with concentration. On closer inspection, you notice the handles are different to those used on the other tables; the serious players bring their own.
Christina is a small Chinese girl, hair tied back in a ponytail, short fringe. She plays the forward position, her boyfriend plays defence, his mouth working as he scopes out an angle through the opposition. Christina neatly receives his passes, pins the ball under one foot and agitates the row of men, feinting back and forth mesmerically before releasing an explosive shot at goal. Sam said she is the group’s most formidable player. Her expression is fixed and her body is taut – wired – waiting for the ball - watching it like a cat. When she scores I see her grin and relax for the first time. Releasing hold she steps back from the table and high fives her boyfriend.
I watched Diego playing Christina. Diego is a slim beautiful Brazilian boy dressed in a white aertex, with smooth brown arms and a charming smile. Christina is intent and businesslike; she gets her kicks from goals. Darius is a showman; he gets his kicks from tricks. He passes between his players swiftly and accurately, makes the men dribble and dance over the ball, using the sides of the table to knock away and bounce back to himself before flipping it high into the air with a jaunty flick of the wrist: the ball shot off the table four times during the game I watched.
Later I played as Nelson’s partner - on the secondary table. He insisted I took the forward position and gave me strict instructions: raise my players when he has the ball – Nelson does the rest.
Nelson’s game is almost static. He stops the ball dead on contact, gives me the look (‘Get those players up Dorothy’), prepares himself, waits… The rest of the table jiggle back and forth impatiently, eyeing the ball. Waits. Waits… suddenly delivering a highspeedbullet of a ball, which scarcely tickles the goal’s tonsils before gargling down into the bowels of the table. Although he was very encouraging when I managed to stumble on some contact (‘Come on Dorothy! Good shot!’) I couldn’t help feeling a bit superfluous. It would have been better for Nelson’s score if I had kept my strikers out of play, permanently staring down at the pitch in the horizontal position.
They meet every week in the packed bar, which is filled with boozy Shoreditch revellers knocking back bottled beer and mojitos. But not to drink, as Sam, a bearded wizardy type with tattoos (and the oldest of the crew) pointed out. None of them are drinking. It’s not about that.
Sam tells me most people grip the handles tensely and too tight. That’s a mistake. He showed me how Diego’s grip changes, rolling the handle loosely across his palm from below to flick the ball, swapping to an overhand position and manipulating the handle delicately between his thumb and index finger to dribble between rows. ‘There’s a lot of weight in the players’ feet.’ Sam demonstrates by turning a pole and letting the men drop and swing in a smooth arc. ‘You don’t need to use strength, just let them do the work for you.’
‘Do you ever play one on one, instead of in pairs?’ I ask. ‘It’s no fun that way,’ Sam replies. ‘It’s good to mix up our styles. We come here to play each other. Oh, and to talk to people about it. Like you.’
The bar closes and the bouncers shepherd out the last drinkers. As the bar staff collect glasses and stack chairs Christina, her boyfriend, Nelson and Sam are still locked in combat, feeding the plastic chips into the slot - four serious gamesters bent fixedly over the table.
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