Everyone in the stadium, except for our trio and anyone else wearing Thunderbolts gear, rises from their seats and cheers wildly as the Crusaders bound into the stadium, accompanied by blaring music, plumes of smoke, and a whole lot of shaking, sparkling cheerleaders’ pompoms.
As mayhem swirls around us, Ava leans into me and shoutsabove the din, “I can’t wait to watch Roman make this place go dead silent!”
“Woohoo!” I reply. But I’m worried. Granted, I worry before every game. But this time, my anxiety is through the roof. Roman wasn’t his usual, relaxed self this entire week, as he prepared for his momentous return to Baltimore. In fact, he was noticeably quiet and intense. And so, I gave him a wide berth and left him alone. Walked on eggshells whenever we were both home, which was rare. I was willing to do it, of course, given the special circumstances of this week’s game, but I certainly couldn’t live like that every single week. Honestly, it was exhausting.
Luckily, I know we’ll reconnect after the game. After Roman’s big win. Indeed, we’ll snuggle in our big bed, like we always do after games, and revel in all the highlight clips on the sports channels. After that, we’ll make celebratory love and belly laugh together about Roman making all these booing Crusaders’ fans eat a buffet’s worth of crow.
“Please rise for the national anthem,” the announcer commands. And a moment later, the song is performed beautifully by a confident woman dressed in a military uniform.
The referee performs the obligatory coin toss, and it’s determined Roman and his Thunderbolts will start the game on offense. That’s a great sign. Roman loves to come out of the gate swinging. Several minutes later, after a commercial break and a kickoff, Roman jogs confidently onto the field, his helmet strapped on and his body language confident, as his teammates file into their designated positions on the line of scrimmage.
As always, Roman crouches behind his center to prepare for the snap, and Ava takes my hand and squeezes it in anticipation.
And we’re off.
Roman’s got the ball. All the players on the field are in motion. Roman takes several bounding steps backward into the pocketwhile looking for his target. And when he spots an open receiver, a tight end named Bradley Williams, Roman releases a perfect spiral that lands smack into Williams’s outstretched hands.
Shit.
Williams immediately drops the ball during the tackle that follows his attempted catch. Crap. The pass is ruled incomplete.
“That’s okay,” Ava shouts, as Crusaders fans cheer wildly around us. “Roman’s aim was dead-on accurate. That’s a great sign.”
The Thunderbolts line up again. And this time, we get a running play that doesn’t do squat to advance our position on the field. No worries, though. We’ve still got one more chance to get a first down.
“Come on, Roman,” Ava mutters, as Roman and his team line up again their opponents again.
Once again, the center snaps the ball to Roman. And once again, our Roman steps back into the pocket, looking for an open receiver. But before Roman gets the ball off, a massive, hurtling Crusader breaks through the Thunderbolts’ offensive line—the players specifically assigned the duty of protecting their quarterback from exactly this sort of onslaught.
As the Crusader comes barreling at Roman, he throws the ball toward his teammate ... and a second later, a leaping, hurtling Crusader flies through the air and catches the ball Roman intended for a Thunderbolt.
“No!” I scream. “Nooo!” But it’s worst-case scenario. After making the interception, the Crusader who caught the ball evades three tackles while sprinting all the way down the field into the Crusader’s end zone for a touchdown. It’s a pick-six, as they say. A calamity.
The crowd around me catapults into euphoric madness, while I cover my face with my hands, feeling sick to my stomach.It’s literally the worst thing that could have happened in this situation, besides Roman getting hurt.
Ava touches my arm and shouts, “It’s okay. He’ll use it as fuel!”
As I lower my hands from my face, Edward leans across his wife and shouts, “You’ll see. Romie will come roaring back after this and have his best game yet.”
Spoiler alert: Roman did not, in fact, have his best game yet.
On the contrary, it was his worst.
By far.
Not only of the season, but of his entire career.
As the clock on the big screen runs out, officially ending my torture, I hang my head and let my tears flow. As it turned out, that first, awful drive that ended in an interception and touchdown for the Crusaders was, indeed, asign, as Ava always says: a very, very bad one for Roman.He was a train wreck from start to finish. And so was everyone around him on the team. As a result, the Thunderbolts just suffered more than a simple loss. They suffered a complete, faith-quaking, demoralizing catastrophe.
As Ava, Edward, and I sit in stunned silence, gleeful people wearing Crusaders jerseys are filing out of the stadium on both sides of us, all of them bopping along to the celebratory music blaring overhead in the stadium.
“Thank God we finally got rid of that loser,” a guy says, as he passes by.
“Yup. Roman’s definitely past his prime,” his buddy replies. “Good riddance.”
I feel sick. Protective.Angry.Anyone could see the loss wasn’tonlyRoman’s fault. Every single player in a Thunderbolts’ uniform ingeniously found a way to screw up royally tonight. But, of course, Roman’s the one they’re all going to blame. Same as ever. Same as in Baltimore.
“Come on, ladies,” Edward says somberly. “Let’s go wait for him.”
