“More beer, damn you!”
The Doctor was yelling over the back of the couch again. We were barely into the first quarter of the game and the bucket that I had laid out on the coffee table was picked dry.
“He wouldn’t have to run back and forth so much if you’d just slow down.” Dick was chiding from over in the easy chair. He was trying to focus on the action of the game and didn’t like to be distracted from what was happening.
Both of them turned around suddenly, I head bottles hit the floor, “Did you just see that!” one of them yelled.
I completely missed what happened on the game, but it was apparently amazing enough to get them to quit arguing about beer long enough to glue their eyes onto the replay.
The Doctor looked over, “I told you that kid had hands. You don’t see that kind of action from one of your pig-fucking steroid-infested California raised monkeys. That’s natural talent. Natural talent.” He was almost beaming.
“You’re just happy to see someone from Kentucky actually catch a ball for a change.” Dick was angry. He just snapped back because he knew that he was betting against the wrong team that day. The kid was good. And he had just lost $50 on a side bet with that catch. The kid was now on his list.
I had to turn away from the conversation to focus on getting more beer ready. They continued to argue behind my back, and I had no chance of following what they were saying. Both of these guys were utter fanatics about this game, I just watched to see the hits and shots of the cheerleaders. These guys were serious. They knew the numbers and stats for damn near everyone on the field. I just started tuning out that part and enjoyed listening to them bicker. That was the fun part. To stir them up, I yelled from the kitchen. “So, what does that catch make it now?”
The Doctor waved is half-empty beer, “I’m up $500 over this smug bastard!”
“That’s a lie! You still owe me for the side bet from two weeks ago!” Dick was mad.
“You got the tapes on that?” He gave an evil eye over and smiled
Dick scowled back. “Tapes. Fucking tapes.” He stared back into the TV.
The Doctor was giggling to himself like a little girl.
I walked over with another bucket of beer and took the empty one back to the kitchen. I was now in search of more chips to keep the natives from becoming restless. The Doctor immediately grabbed a cold one and tossed his now-empty aside. It barely had rolled into the opposing wall before the new one was open.
Dick waved over, “Any more of this,” swirling his empty martini glass.
I abandoned my search for chips and grabbed the shaker from the counter. I shook up another martini from the Vermouth already in the shaker, only needing to add the Gin, (as I knew it stayed drier that way), and topped him off. Dick’s spirits rose immediately.
Successfully lubricated, they both focused back into the game again. I was unable to follow the game myself. Mostly getting updates from the two of them ass they whooped and hollered from their roosts by the TV, and I ram back and forth in the Kitchen, filling orders. I paused after starting to grill up some chicken wings to listen in to what they were doing. They had both become very quiet, carefully watching what was going on on the screen. I couldn’t figure out what was happening, but it was soon apparent that one of them had a side bet that was about to hit, they were both murmuring to one of the players, one with positive chants, the other with the corresponding negative chant. Just waiting for some event and bam! They were both out of their chairs. The Doctor was holding his head, and yelling at someone on the field while Dick was waving his hands back and forth, egging the player on that the had been both so carefully monitoring only moments before.
These men were insane to watch together. They obviously had nothing in common other than football, and some simmering rivalry that neither wanted to quench, like it would kill some part of themselves in the process.