Thursday will be a day of football. Oh, yes. I love me some football. Our rival school plays a school from downstate and—here’s where it gets convoluted—one of the guys on the other team is the brother of Tristan, my only almost-kiss to date. So there is the possibility that Tristan will be there. And if he is, the odds of us making awkward eye contact at the concession stand are almost overwhelming. (If constant snacking is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.)
Next up is our game. Since Alex is the kicker, every kick-off, field goal, extra point, and punt gives me a mini-heart attack. Plus, we’re playing the school no one ever wants to play, because they kick ass in a seamless (almost elegant) fashion that you just can’t help but admire. It’s usually a massacre akin to the Redskins vs. Bears debacle of 1940. But it’s the first game of the year, so everyone shows up out of solidarity.
Also, the theme is “biblical,” and you can’t tell me you wouldn’t show up just to see that. It’s fantastic. It’s beautiful. It’s a kid dressed as Moses and parting a red sea of accordingly dressed high school students. There are togas as far as the eye can see. Such majesty.