I have not been able to catch a Chicago Bears game this entire season.
Between my job and the show, football season has been a nice concept that I have yet to grasp. Before I lived in Terre Haute (and when I lived alone) I would spend my Sundays either before or after mass with the game on in the background while I cleaned my house in my old Soldier Field sweatshirt. When the announcers started to get animated, I could be seen running from anywhere in my apartment holding anything from a fistful of suds to toilet brush to scream and jump around my living room.
I actually wasn't that big of a football fan until about seven or eight years ago when Lewis taught me all of the rules and sat tirelessly explaining all of the things that were going on. Probably because he got so annoyed when we would watch games together and I was all "what happened?" "why did they tackle him?" or "what's a first down?" After a while, I knew when to cheer, when to yell that the ref made a bad call or why there was a flag on the field. He was a good non-boyfriend.
Not having football in my life has been weird and the one Sunday I had free, the Bears were on a bye week. So Monday Night Football was my season opener and I really needed it to be great.
Cable is not something I am able to afford right now, so I was hoping that among the televisions at The Copper Bar, one would be broadcasting the game even though it was game seven of the playoffs between the Giants and the Cardinals (I am a Cubs fan...so go Giants!).
I walked in proudly wearing my Bears shirt and grabbed an empty seat at the bar, ordered my beer and waffle fries and was all set to enjoy the game. We were winning and at the commercial breaks, I would sneak glances at the baseball game (Cards were losing) and at some point I started making small talk with the guy next to me. He was there for the baseball game and he looked perplexed.
"I'm sorry," I said, "...mostly."
"Thanks. Wait What?" he said then he noticed my shirt. "You're here for the football game."
"Yep, but I am also a Cubs fan. Don't worry, I will not gloat, but my life experience has provided me with skills necessary to get you through this."
He looked intrigued.
Then I said, "Repeat after me: There's always next year."
I'm pretty sure he had to fight really hard to keep his beer in his mouth.
And that, my friends is how I started my conversation with one Mister Peter Joel.
First we talked about baseball and talked about our favorite fields (besides Wrigley, of course) and my love of minor league baseball (my dad played when I was a little girl). We talked about Firefly and how sad the world is now that it is no longer on television, but glad that it will live on (yep, he's a nerd!).
Turns out he is a student at Rose Hulman working on his second Bachelors after many many years of being out of school (he's 34--I know, super old for me) and wants to be an engineer now.
He's from Paris, IL and he knows Lilly (small world) and his mom owns the t-shirt shop where my #bradswag shirt was made (smaller world) and he is one that downloaded the font that was used.
Despite the Brad reminder, we had a really good time, we barely noticed the games we were there to watch, he let his beer get warm and I let my fries get cold. We had something in common for every subject we brought up, he gave me movie and television suggestions, I told him that he will lose his nerd card if does not start watching Doctor Who soon. He even liked that I named my car Mona and waved to her.
It was a good night and I was having a good time, but I was getting tired and Peter was having a hard time letting me leave to get some sleep. I thought for sure with all of his stalling that he would ask for my number, but he didn't. And I am OK with that.
I figure that if he wants it, he will figure out how to get it and I may see him there when the World Series starts.
If he doesn't want it, I had a great conversation, my team won the football game and my rival lost the baseball game. It was a glorious night for this city girl and a wonderful season opener.
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