Flopping for tips

My takeaway from the FIFA World Cup 2026

I don’t really pay attention to sports, but I do if they affect my bottom line. In general, we make good money during big football, basketball and baseball games, but the World Cup is a little different. Ask any American bartender and they’ll tell you—a flood of customers pouring in to watch a match does not necessarily translate into good tips for the staff.

Last Saturday was the quarterfinals, and there was more bad behavior on display than you could throw a card at.

One Australian guy came in early and plunked himself down at our only big table (that seats nine). There were several smaller tables available, so I assumed he was waiting for the rest of his party to arrive, but no, this guy was alone. Apparently he decided that he—with his chicken wings and ginger ale—warranted the best seat in the house. He received a stern talking to, but a yellow card would not have been amiss.

Five minutes before the match began, every seat in the dining room and every stool at the bar was taken, it was pure mayhem. Marcelo popped in to watch the match, but instead was thrown behind the bar to work before he knew what was happening.

We keep track of checks by table number, but people were wandering around, sometimes ordering directly from the bar, sometimes from a different table they’d suddenly joined. Sometimes they just wandered into the kitchen. And to add to the chaos, all World Cup fans look alike. (I’m sorry, but it’s just a fact.)

I know what you’re thinking: what’s the big deal? Business is great, quit your carping.

But here’s the thing, and it happens constantly: those world cuppers cheer on their teams, rave about the food, take hilarious photos in the phone booth, and when the check comes they thank us for a great time, saying they can’t wait to tell all their friends back home.

And then sail out the door without tipping.

We’ve made the grim discovery that many are not familiar with our system. In New York City, there is an 8.875% tax that is clearly marked on the bill as “tax,” but many people glance at that and assume it’s a gratuity.

It is not.

For the final match this Sunday, I’ve asked my colleague Mary to come in and work with me, even though it’s not her usual shift (and I don’t have a grudge against her or anything). Because now we have a plan: we’re going to introduce World Cup flopping techniques to boost tips.

For those unfamiliar, “flopping” or “diving” is when a player receives a minor injury, but then rolls around in agony as though his foot’s been amputated, hoping that the ref will call foul and penalize the other team.

The idea is to create a huge kerfuffle to trick the ref and affect the outcome of the game.

So if you come to the bar this weekend, don’t be startled when I pound the bar with my fist as I rail at the heavens when the Guinness keg runs out. Be careful not to trip over Mary writhing on the floor as she retrieves a dropped fork and moans about a looming eviction. And be aware that when you ask for a refill on coffee, our legs could easily buckle under the weight of the coffee pot; we may as well just kiss our hips goodbye right now.

Mary and Ben rehearsing their flops.

Also be prepared for the strong possibility that when your knockwurst plate arrives at the table it will be too salty, seasoned with tears over the soaring cost of antidepressants and bitter regret. And please—if you see any of us stuffing coffee filters and plastic bags into our pockets, try not to stare; just understand that they will be cleverly fashioned into shoes for our young children. (The forecast calls for rain.)

If newly-engaged Ben is also pressed into service this weekend, don’t ask him for a napkin or a placemat. The mere sight of white could send him spiraling with debilitating thoughts about the cost of wedding dresses, cakes and catering, causing him to collapse into a sobbing heap and threaten to call the whole thing off.

The idea is to create a huge kerfuffle to trick the customers and affect the outcome of the bill.

You see, we have a few cards of our own to play; flopping on the old heartstrings might just do the trick.