I Played Padel Today. With a Nazi. 🙄 At Least I Kicked His Ass?

I didn’t even notice he was Nazi like until the end when we got up close and he wouldn’t even look me in the eye– this Jew who made him sweat on the court. I didn’t even know he was a Nazi until after the match, this shaved headed, tattoo-arm-sleeve mother fucker who invited the other guy to take a beer after the match but not me, because he had it written in his profile: JUGADOR A DERECHAS. "I am a player to the right”, he tells me, which just gave me the total fucking creeps (perhaps he meant human rights?), and I doubt myself for a second, but no, when I scoped the profiles’ of the friends he usually played with they each had SS in their name, which, goddamnit, if that isn’t a clear enough sign then just spank me silly with a padel racquet until I’m dead. How often does he get beat by a guy from the very group he hates enough to make it an identity? Not enough is the answer but it’s not like I’m any different-- him in his black and red bubble of hate and me in my blue bubble of poetry. We’re all so isolated these days, the only war we’ll ever fight is on the internet blocking each other on a stupid app meant to connect padel players. What a bunch of chicken shit, digital lizards we all are, insulated from each other enough to inflame our idiotic beliefs without checks, without legitimate discourse, drawing our guns when fear whispers dirty things in our ears about legacy, murder as a means of self-preservation, the terrible, terrifying value in hating the self.