The couple in front of us arrives soon after we do: he in a puffy black jacket, she in a leopard print scarf, sleek ponytail, and large hoop earrings. Immediately they snap pictures of their raised beers, carefully posed. Later she brushes crumbs from his lips, an act both intent and affectionate.
Three rows ahead of us sits a slim and angular young couple with asymmetrical haircuts. He snaps a photo of his food, which looks like macaroni in a white cardboard carton. They share one pristine black ball cap that she artfully arranges, first on her head, then his, then hers.
A grown man and his elderly father sit next to me. The younger man gently helps his father out of his coat and pats his knee. “These are pretty good seats, aren’t they?” The father nods and looks around, more interested in the crowd than the game. The younger man occasionally leans to ask a question: “You’re not getting tired, are you?”
The family behind us keeps a running commentary throughout the game. “Post it up, Sully!” I never turn around, so they are invisible to me, just a row of voices straight behind and to either side. “Ref, he traveled!” When I stand at halftime, their stray peanut shells crackle under my feet. “Hey, that’s a foul!”
Twenty rows ahead of us, the sportswriters sit tightly packed behind a sea of screens. During the first half, those screens flash tweets, game stats, and highlights from other games. At halftime, the sportswriters’ fingers fly as they tap out updates, reports, and other missives: everything that’s happening here and now.
We leave at the end of the third quarter in deference to my still-weakened lungs; the elderly man beside me seems surprised when we rise to go. As fans flood into the crowded concourse in search of beer and snacks, we silently glide down a wide, empty stairway, slipping unnoticed into the night on our way to the train.
This is my Day Eight contribution to NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month, a commitment to post every day during the month of November: thirty days, thirty posts.