They Never Made it to the Game
I performed a couple of pirouettes in my office chair: twenty-three revolutions in all. I’d already spent most of the morning spinning and wondering what it was I was supposed to write. I spun around once more before resigning myself to a smoke. Jean was upset that I wasn’t getting ready for the game, so I went to the garage to avoid confrontation. There was still plenty of time to write before we had to leave.
Felix pulled up to the tailgate three hours before the game was scheduled to begin; all the essential people had already arrived. They’d woken up at eight, undoubtedly hung-over, to snag the primo spot right across from the stadium. The satellite TV was already set up and most of the group was scouting an upcoming opponent. The others were playing beer pong under a second tent.
“We come bearing chairs!” Felix announced their arrival to the group. He pulled two white and partially wicker rocking chairs out of the back of the little SUV. The chairs folded for easy transport, they would be leaving them with the tailgate: a small but useful contribution. Everyone exchanged handshakes and complimented the quality of the chairs, noting mostly how “badass” they were. Felix fetched a Jean a cup and pumped some Shiner from the keg. The little reunion was solidified, and everyone was happy they had come.
I was admiring my posters from college when Jean poked her head into the garage and asked me why I was sitting there. I told her I didn’t want to fight, and she let it be and went back inside. I was back to thinking about the heroes on my wal. All of them were reputed loners and largely identified with masculine loneliness. It occurred to me that they were all slaves to their own ambition, maybe not Lebowski, he was a slave to his lack of ambition. I chuckled at the thought and then debated with myself which of them I admired the most. That didn’t take long, it had to be Dylan, though Peter Fonda and Pacino staring down his Italian bride tied for a close second. I read a couple more short Wikipedia pages on my IPad and went back to my office determined to write something.
After several rounds of beer pong, Jean had kept them in winning position despite her insistence that it was the first time she had ever played, Felix plopped down into a parachute chair near the TV. Everyone who had tickets had gone into the game and were contributing to the wall of sound that was echoing out of the concrete monument across the street. Jean fell asleep in a lounge chair, and Felix watched the game on the flat screen.
I sat in front of the computer for a few more minutes and browsed around for inspiration which I never found. Jean came back and let me know that if I didn’t get ready soon we would never make it to the game.