The Game
The Game
MSU vs U of M. I have absolutely
no idea, except like most of the country, divided, one group hates the other.
Inside jokes, innuendo, asides aside—battle lines drawn, Wolverines against
Spartans. In East Lansing the traffic is atrocious, but by 12 noon everyone is
in place. Sparty on the field, tossing his javelin. The game begins. Almost
from the beginning things were heavy. Again, I have no skin in the game, just
in and out of the announcer’s range, picking up on crescendo, denouement, a
fumble, touchdown, score. It’s the tense facial interactions, sudden turns, and
the suspension of my co-workers. Until finally they are circled around a TV the
size of a patch on a quilt. Despite the opposing teams/opposing colors, I can
see no difference. On the screen: Michigan vs Michigan. I keep my mouth shut. No
one is moving. It has been hours since the phone rang. Time is slo-mo. Atheists
offer up prayers, a minute to go. Pass interception. For the good guys. Michigan
State winds down the clock. Everyone breathes.
Leaving work that evening I see
streets lined with flags, sporting a giant forest green S.
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