Max leaned against the bar, his eyes fixed on the game. He was a tall, athletic man with a contagious enthusiasm for soccer. "Can you believe people call this 'soccer'?" he mused, shaking his head.
Liam, a stout man with a deep love for the sport he called "futbol," stood beside him. "It's futbol, mate. The real name for the beautiful game," he retorted with a grin.
"Soccer is the term we use here. It's universal!" Max argued, gesturing animatedly.
"Universal? That's rich. Futbol is what the world calls it," Liam countered, raising his pint in a mock salute.
As the debate continued, the crowd around them began to cheer them on, turning the friendly banter into an impromptu competition.
"Alright, let's see who knows more about the game," Max declared, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"You're on. Prepare to wear my team's colors with pride," Liam replied confidently, cracking his knuckles.
The bar erupted into applause, patrons eager to see who would emerge victorious in this playful battle of wits.
"Who won the World Cup in 1998?" a friend shouted over the din.
"France!" Liam responded instantaneously, earning a chorus of cheers.
"Alright, next question," Max said, determined not to be outdone.
The competition continued with chants and a makeshift penalty kick shootout using a crumpled napkin as the ball.
"You know, this has been a lot of fun," Max admitted, clapping Liam on the shoulder.
"Yeah, maybe we should do this more often," Liam agreed, raising his glass in a toast.
With the game on the screen forgotten, the two men found common ground in their shared passion for the sport, regardless of what they called it.
"I guess it's futbol," Max conceded with a grin, sporting Liam's team colors.
"And soccer," Liam added, wearing Max's jersey with pride.
With laughter echoing through the bar, the two men clinked their glasses, celebrating the game that had brought them together.
