IN the evenings, many of the mostly Chinese-American patrons of Tropical 128, a cavernous bar in Little Italy, walk past the fake Chinese fortune tree and gurgling fish tanks filled with baby sharks and dragon fish near the entrance. They head straight to the dimly lighted back room, there to hone their formidable skills at the nine pool tables and the snooker table in the corner.
Lately, though, Olympic fever has set in at Tropical 128, which is on Elizabeth Street near Broome Street and has been a magnet for young Asians from Chinatown and points beyond.
For the past 10 days, all eyes have been transfixed by the images on the two flat-screen television sets atop the bar, where the Summer Games in Beijing have been broadcast nonstop. On Aug. 8, the night of the lavish opening ceremonies, the crowds were so large, they spilled out onto the sidewalk.
The bar’s owner, Bill Guo, a boyish 35-year-old who grew up in a small town in southwestern China, decorated the space outside the bar with seven crisp white flags, emblazoned with the Olympic rings and the words “Beijing 2008.” Olympic flags flutter outside the squat, red-brick storefront.
“I’m always crazy about the Olympics,” Mr. Guo said a few nights ago, perched on a bar stool. “But having them in Beijing, it makes me even happier. That’s why we put the flags up.”
On Monday night, the banter between the bar’s patrons, most of them Asian, and the staff, which is largely Russian, seemed to keep pace with the action on the screen. Ksenia Nikitina, a Russian-born 21-year-old who has learned some Chinese in her nearly seven months as a bartender, expressed her firm belief that Russia would walk away from the Games with a handful of gold medals.
Mr. Guo has his eye on China’s basketball team, particularly its towering superstar from the Houston Rockets, Yao Ming. “Of course you know who Yao Ming is,” he said to a visitor. “That’s China’s secret weapon.”
Kevin Pan, a Hong Kong native who lives near Yankee Stadium in the Bronx, stopped in during happy hour to watch televised replays of the games, even though he’d been listening to updates and scores all day on the radio.
During commercial breaks, Mr. Pan and his friend Kinfy Lee, a 31-year-old Chinese-born accountant, faced off against the Russian bartenders over rounds of Chinese dice.
Five dice were rattled inside a leather cup, then slammed onto the bar. For Ms. Nikitina, the competition was unexpectedly soothing.
“After working here, I can’t drink beer without playing dice, or without doing something competitive,” she said. “It just doesn’t seem natural.”
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