Zero Consecutive Days of Rain Here
I saw the game.
I jinxed him. On my walk to the Walkabout Pub, I jinxed him. The papers and sports channels always talk about Shaun's ability to avoid the big hit. Deep down inside me I knew that if I should ever bring up that point while discussing football, Shaun would get hurt.
I did that. That was my fault.
What was not my fault was losing the table in the back of the pub - situated perfectly behind a short wall and directly under a TV - to a group of Italians with strange faces and haircuts drinking Fosters out of a pail.
The atmosphere in the pub was anything but Qwest Field. Myself, a Husky named Adley, and Tim (you may remember him from such films as "The Last Post") sat at the next closest table on the other side of the wall, rigidly upright as to see the screen. During the game we were mocked by the hidden Italians every time we cheered. When they realized that their mocking was childish, they ceased to jeer and switched to throwing coasters, straws, and empty cigarette boxes up and over the wall. We calmly collected all of them, walked over to the table, and returned them to their rightful owners by placing them on the edge of the table. Score one for the Americans.
Around and behind us sat a gaggle of fellow Americans. Some were fans, some were there to be with Americans, and some ("Purple Mouth" Jeremy) were there to drink. I did my best to read the crowd and distribute high-fives as needed and get everyone involved. I convinced Robin the Patriot that she was nothing but a Seahawk with rings. I told Chuck Norris jokes to unite us. I bet Tessa that if the Seahawks won, she could put eye makeup on me and Tim. I would be too happy to care, and she and Jennie seemed to watch the game a little closer. Thousands of miles away, I was manufacturing 12th men and women.
A guy named David with cold eyes was in Italy "on his own program" (I took this to mean he was a jerk) and had money riding on the Redskins. His first time speaking to me was to say "How will it feel to get your asses kicked?" Things got ugly in my head.
In the end, everyone got a hug. There were even some Italians from a table near the door that got into it and wanted hugs from the Seahawks. Everyone understod when I pointed at my jersey and the TV and said "molto bene."
Molto bene indeed.
By the by, I didn't realize you had to be a registered blogger to leave comments. That problem has been fixed. Just don't be anonymous.
(Seahawk photos from the Seattle Times, not my zoom lens)
(Atta boy, Matt.)
[chandelier falls with a crash]In relation to the events of the last 15 hours: the table is Matt Hasselbeck, I am Ray, and the chandelier is Shaun Alexander.
RAY: I did that! That was my fault!
PETER: It's ok. The table broke the fall.
- from Ghostbusters
I jinxed him. On my walk to the Walkabout Pub, I jinxed him. The papers and sports channels always talk about Shaun's ability to avoid the big hit. Deep down inside me I knew that if I should ever bring up that point while discussing football, Shaun would get hurt.
I did that. That was my fault.
(Somebody should get that fixed)
What was not my fault was losing the table in the back of the pub - situated perfectly behind a short wall and directly under a TV - to a group of Italians with strange faces and haircuts drinking Fosters out of a pail.
The atmosphere in the pub was anything but Qwest Field. Myself, a Husky named Adley, and Tim (you may remember him from such films as "The Last Post") sat at the next closest table on the other side of the wall, rigidly upright as to see the screen. During the game we were mocked by the hidden Italians every time we cheered. When they realized that their mocking was childish, they ceased to jeer and switched to throwing coasters, straws, and empty cigarette boxes up and over the wall. We calmly collected all of them, walked over to the table, and returned them to their rightful owners by placing them on the edge of the table. Score one for the Americans.
Around and behind us sat a gaggle of fellow Americans. Some were fans, some were there to be with Americans, and some ("Purple Mouth" Jeremy) were there to drink. I did my best to read the crowd and distribute high-fives as needed and get everyone involved. I convinced Robin the Patriot that she was nothing but a Seahawk with rings. I told Chuck Norris jokes to unite us. I bet Tessa that if the Seahawks won, she could put eye makeup on me and Tim. I would be too happy to care, and she and Jennie seemed to watch the game a little closer. Thousands of miles away, I was manufacturing 12th men and women.
A guy named David with cold eyes was in Italy "on his own program" (I took this to mean he was a jerk) and had money riding on the Redskins. His first time speaking to me was to say "How will it feel to get your asses kicked?" Things got ugly in my head.
In the end, everyone got a hug. There were even some Italians from a table near the door that got into it and wanted hugs from the Seahawks. Everyone understod when I pointed at my jersey and the TV and said "molto bene."
Molto bene indeed.
By the by, I didn't realize you had to be a registered blogger to leave comments. That problem has been fixed. Just don't be anonymous.
(Seahawk photos from the Seattle Times, not my zoom lens)
posted by Jon at 1:37 PM
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