It was midnight when the first Finn fell.
“What was that?” I asked the guy next to me.
“The fellow behind you just fell,” he said. “He drank too much.”
Someone helped him up. I went back to drinking.
Ten minutes later, I heard another crash.
“What was that?” I asked the guy next to me.
“The guy by the door just fell,” he said. “He drank too much.”
I watched as the fellow tried to get to his feet. I grabbed another beer.
And fifteen minutes later, another crash.
This time I saw it. An old guy fell right in front of me. Took out a table and two chairs.
“What the hell is going on in this country?” I asked the guy next to me.
“Here, people drink until they fall,” he said. “Then they drink more.”
A half hour went by. There were no more falls.
I was beginning to think something was wrong.
“It’s been half an hour,” I said to the guy next to me. “I think you guys are improving.”
He tried to respond, but couldn’t.
Because a woman fell into his bar stool.
Four Finns in one hour. It was a remarkable run.
It was them against Newton’s law of gravity, and Newton was winning.

So I tried to figure it out.
And it all comes down to my dad’s bowling ball.
You see, when I was a kid, I used to take the ball out of my Dad’s bowling bag and set it on the garage floor. Then I would try to stand on top of it.
And every time I tried, I fell.
The same goes for Finland.
They’re at the top of our bowling-ball shaped globe.
And it’s hard to stand there.
By the next night, I was taking bets on how many Finns would fall in the bar. I guessed five.
Remarkably, none did.
I walked back to my hotel, disappointed I had lost the bet. Deep in thought, I walked into the hotel lobby.
I really had to go to the bathroom and didn’t think I could quite make it to the one in my hotel room, so I searched for the lobby bathroom.
“It’s that way,” said the guy at the lobby desk, “Down that half-flight of stairs.”
So I walked over there.
And fell down the stairs.