In the corners of the room, screens are mounted to broadcast live stats, replays and league updates. The carpet is a muted charcoal with a bold yellow and blue runner that leads to the entrance of the viewing area, beckoning us like a ceremonial path. Blue vases are always full of white flowers. They give the space a softness to the otherwise sleek modern appearance that Dad designed.
It smells of freshly painted wood, citrus and cleaner. You can almost catch the smell of the turf drifting in whenever the door is opened. The hum of conversation from those already in the suite and the muffled thunder of the stadium blend to make the atmosphere feel electric.
This place makes me feel like I’m still a part of football, just a different kind. I don’t care which kind, just that I get that feeling in my gut: the nerves and butterflies before every game, and a surge of pride when the team does well.
“Hey, Danny,” I call out to Mac’s boyfriend, who is already chowing on some guac and chips, washing it down with a beer. He’s chatting with Nick, his friend and photographer for the Tampa Bay Blaze. Nick used to be Danny’s photographer when they worked for the Tampa Bay Times. I hired Nick for some promotional photographs and game day shots. It was a good business decision because his shots have been featured in all of our promotional materials, are fans favorites and have even gained me a few compliments from Dad.
I nod and wave at Nick when he turns slightly to acknowledge me. His camera is in his hands, primed and ready for the next shot. Eventually, he’ll make his way over to chat, but right now he’s grabbing the last shots of the girls heading out to for the starting lineup announcements.
I head to the front of the box. I fold my arms across my chest and watch intently as the starting lineup for the Washington Spirit is announced. Next up will be the Blaze. I’m always here inthe box when the starters are announced. It’s a ritual with me. I don’t eat or drink until they announce the team. I let the nerves calm down a bit before grabbing my beer and street nachos, and settling into my chair.
The announcements for the Blaze are about to begin. I hear Drew saying something behind me, but I wave him off. “I want to hear this,” I say quickly over my shoulder.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he has come to stand beside me. “You and this ritual. The girls will either play well or they won’t. It has nothing to do with whether or not you are standing here watching them.”
“So, you’ve said.” I say, without a glance in his direction.
The announcer runs through the lineup; the usuals are there—Mac, Cassie, Carrie, and finally he reaches Hendrix. She steps forward and raises her arms to the crowd, pivots and engages the fans behind her. Just as the others had. I grin at her, watching the way she interacts with the crowd. I raise my hand slightly like I’m giving her a high five in return, even though that’s not actually what she’s doing. I steal a glance at the monitor so that I can see her smiling face up close. You can’t make out expressions in the box.
Most people would assume that Hendrix would be stoic and show no emotion when she’s announced. I’ve seen other keepers do it. Hell, the Washington Spirit’s goalie did that. I love that she smiles.
I catch Drew watching me. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I say, turning to face him as the girls are circling up and getting ready for kickoff. “I was just acknowledging the players.”
“No, you didn’t do that with the others. Just the goalie.” He stares at me pointedly. “Who is she?”
“Hendrix Monroe, our starting goalie,” I tell him, like I have no idea where he’s going with this line of questioning.
“And she went to UNC with you, didn’t she?” Drew moves to the chair to grab one of the programs that the event staff places in the suite before every game. It includes the lineups for each team and a small biography on our Blaze players. I don’t bother to stop him. I know what he’s going to find. “She sure did,” he says when he finds Hendrix’s bio.
“Yeah, she did,” I say quietly.
Drew doesn’t say another word about it. In true Drew fashion, I’m sure he’s pocketing that information for later use. I watch the girls and every once in a while, I notice him glancing in my direction. But I don’t react to him or question him. Only speaking to add a few bits of commentary on the game.
Danny eventually comes to join us. “Good to see you again, Drew.” He extends his hand. The two men shake.
“You too, Danny. Mac is looking good out there tonight,” Drew remarks.
I turn and see the pride shining in Danny’s eyes as he watches the field. Drew is right, she’s had some pretty impressive runs out there.
“Thanks, she’s having a great game,” he replies, grinning.
I clap him on the back. “She’s playing really well tonight.”
“They all are,” Danny remarks.
I nod and sip on my drink, watching the field. I do my best to follow the ball and the action. But my eyes always end up back on the goal box that she’s defending. There she stands in the bright pink goalie uniform, on her toes waiting for the action to head her way.
And she doesn’t have to wait long.
A long ball is sent from the Spirit defense and manages to make it past the defenders. One of the Spirit forwards sprints past our defense. Amelia, our best defender, is out with a tear in her meniscus. I know had she been in game, she could have run them down. She’s just that fast. I look over at Hendrix andsee she’s coming out to square off with the opponent, effectively cutting the shooter’s angle. It almost works.
Almost.
The player pivots slightly to the left and manages to get a shot off. Hendrix pivots just as quickly and lunges in the direction of the ball. She executes a perfect dive and nabs the ball before it makes its way into the goal. The crowd goes wild. I jump to my feet, drips of my drink falling onto my hand. I shake it off and turn to Drew, grinning widely. His excitement doesn’t quite mirror mine. He’s more reserved than me, even with his own team. But I don’t care how loud I am, I’m damn proud of this team.
I’m whooping and hollering in the box like she can hear me. I know she can’t. But still, I do it.
