They wagered on Intrepidly

                Once a friend bet me that The Star Spangled Banner was written in 1861 in front of Fort Sumter.  I knew it was written by Francis Scott Key during the war of 1812.  It was written to comment on the prevalence of Fort McHenry, particularly its flag, after the Battle of Baltimore September 13-14^th, 1814.  Most 7^th grade students should know at least who wrote it and in front of what fort and when.  It is a well-documented fact and found in well-thumbed pages of any elementary history book.  My friend, who had received poorer grades in High school history than I had, insisted that he was right and I was wrong.  I think he knew better.

Bar bets are usually made in haste; perhaps only to waste a dollar or 3 on a beer.  Some are made just to prove a prowess and to weigh ego over bar swill.  Often they are made in a final attempt to prove some trivial knowledge that is glibly offered up in contention for an alcohol holding capacity has come up short.  Whether one is right or wrong the truth will never be known.  Ever since apple first introduced the ipad in 2010 people have been able to settle these ill-conceived bet without their hand leaving their beer mug.   Still, with the ascertainable facts in the palm of the other hand, bets are made and beers are often put on stranger’s tabs.

                He sits thumbing his mug nervously.  I get the impression that for some reason I intimidate him and he always has the frustrating habit of changing or evading the conversation if I appeared to him to be too intelligent.  I had an extensive knowledge of the Beatles as did he.   He is 60 and has told me once that he saw them when they came to the Met Center in 1965.  I entered the world that year, maybe destined to grow up and contend Beatle trivia with him 47 years later.  I am Jewish; he did not know that.  I am not practicing; I’m not steeped in everything Jewish, but I would claim that I know better than a gentile whether someone is Jewish based on their name, if nothing else.   I sat with my beer foaming and my intelligence insulted as this guy tells me Ringo Starr (AKA Richard Starkey) is Jewish.  First, having studied the Beatles much of my life; and second, being a Jew I think I would know if one of the 4 were Jewish.  It would be glaringly apparent in the heavily Anglican influenced Liverpool.  The fact that Brian Epstein was Jewish was greatly emphasized in everything I’d read and if any member of the Beatles was also Jewish I’m sure it would have been equally, if not more highly, emphasized.

                The bar-fly was illuminating his side of the bar with facts each time I saw him.  But on our few encounters the lessons were always contrite as he turned to his beer or his lady for refuge from any intelligent comments I might make.  Often I’d hear him make a bet with the barkeep.  Or he’d simply ask them a factual question that was trivial and could never be answered to his satisfaction.  The bar tenders patrolled the bar keeping customers satisfied with inebriates while eavesdropping on inane chatter with a passing vested interest.

                Feeling emboldened by the drink and the slow dimming of lights by his perception (which corresponded to his dimming of my wit) he tells me that Freddie Mercury was Jewish.  I know that Mercury was born Farrokh Bulsara on the island of Zanzibar, Africa.   He was a Parsi, referring to a member of the larger of the two Zoroastrian communities in  South Asia, the other being the Irani community.  He grew up in Zanzibar and in India practicing the religion of Zoroastrianism.

                On both claims of Semitic heritage I negate his entire premise.  He, like most bar-betters, is adamant in his assertion, even if it lacks all plausible logic.  He says he will buy me a beer if I bring proof that either of them are gentile.  That night I look on the Internet for answers to these two questions.  Search engines rarely provide a satisfying yes or no answer.  At best they supply you with what others have written.  Of course what I found supported my claim and increased my suspicions of this man’s insecurities and fat ego.

                I come into the bar and see my foil holding court; regaling his acquired cronies with facts many of them probably doubted.  I walk past and nudge him, “you owe me 2 beers.”  He looks surprised that I even remember and slowly replies “bring me proof.”   It sounded like the wizard asking Dorothy to bring him the broom of the Wicked Witch of the West.  If I’d brought a printed web page from a search engine that offered no official answer the contention would remain.  I wave my hand facetiously at him and order my beer.