“So you don’t have a plan.”
“Excuse me, what do you call this?”
To Arthur’s dismay, Wren began doing what looked like the Macarena if performed by a robot. It was a jerky, elbowy dance routine that deeply upset him to his core. Somehow even the knees were getting involved. He was always so proud to have Wren on his arm, but now he found himself blushing and hiding his face, not wanting anyone to associate him with this atrocity, this desecration of the art of dance. Next time they had sex, instead of thinking about baseball he was sure he would be thinking about this.
Somehow, the innovative routine failed to capture the attention of the camera operators, and the screen cut to a bored-looking grandpa fiddling with his phone, unaware he was even on the screen.
“Come on, him?!” Wren cried, winded. “Up here, damn it.” She waved her arms back and forth, screamed and shouted variouswhoos andyeahs, but it was no use.
“I don’t think they’re ever going to pan up here,” Arthur said. “I honestly don’t know if the cameras can go that high.”
It was just meant to be an offhand comment. A harmless observation.
“Arthur.” She turned to him, deadly serious, hands on his shoulders. “You’re a genius.”
Only bad things happened when she said that to him.
Minutes later they were casually walking through the tunnel leading to Section 126. “This isn’t what I was suggesting,” he said.
“Just act like you belong.” Wren nudged him as they walked. Arthur inadvertently made eye contact at that moment with an ornery-looking usher.
“Hello…again,” Arthur said to the lady, adding a little wave for good measure, as if they were old friends. Theagainhad just come to him in the heat of the moment. He was quite proud of it.
“Smooth,” Wren said, audibly rolling her eyes.
Whatever, it worked. A few more strides and they were stepping into the glow of the stadium lights. So close they were practically on the field. Front and center, fifty-yard line. Best seats in the entire stadium.
Wren paused to soak it all in. She actually inhaled the air deeply, as if tasting the popcorn and cotton candy and stale beer. She ran her hand along the railing as they descended the stairs, feeling every bump and scratch on the metal. Arthur watched her. She was actually having a spiritual experience.
“How come you’ve never brought me here before?” she said, more curious than accusatory.
“I’ve thought about it, plenty of times.” That much was true. He looked at tickets at some point every season, but before now, he’d never wanted to settle for the cheap seats. He knew how much she loved this stuff; he wanted to be able to buy her Section 126, fifty-yard-line tickets. The best money could buy. When the stars finally aligned, it was going to be perfect. He dreamed of driving Wren and Charlie downtown and surprising them last minute with the tickets he’d scored.Being the hero. But he could never seem to get as good a deal as he wanted, and the car needed new brakes one season, and another he needed a crown at the dentist. Somehow his plans always ended up getting derailed by one thing or another, usually because something expensive broke. “But we’re here now, aren’t we?”
“Sure are,” she said.
“This really means a lot to you,” he said as they walked down the steps, getting closer and closer to the sideline.
“It does. I’ve never missed a game, on TV anyways, and I never will.”
He truly didn’t get it. Didn’t get what she saw in this violent, boring game. One thing he’d never considered, until now, was how they would spend their Sundays as a family. Would they have to give up trips to the park, say no to birthday parties, forgo visits to the museum, and basically structure their whole life around not missing the football game? Arthur didn’t mind throwing it on when it was just the two of them, but he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of it being such an integral part of their life for the rest of time.
“But why the jumbotron? Can you explain?” All this just to be on the big screen for, what, maybe five seconds? In front of a bunch of drunk middle-aged men wearing the quarterback’s jersey?
“I’ve never had a single person show up and cheer for me, let alone seventy thousand. Of course, I never gave anyone anything to cheer about,” she joked. “But I always imagined that maybe one day I would know what it felt like.”
Arthur could only put a comforting hand on the small of her back, as if he might be able to reach out and grab her if she were to begin tumbling.
“Look,” Wren said, pointing a finger toward a man in oneof the rows. Spiky purple armor guy. And a few more rows down was the shirtless kid. They were really in the sweet spot now.
“There are plenty of empty seats,” Arthur said. “Let’s grab some.”
“No.” Wren shrugged him off. “We can get closer.”
He followed her farther down the stairs, down, down, down, until they were standing at the barrier that separated the fans from the Ravens sideline. Beefy security personnel in bright yellow jackets stared up at them. Beyond that, actual NFL athletes. This close, they were gargantuan. Even Arthur was amazed. He imagined what it must feel like getting tackled by one of these human rhinoceroses. It would surely be the end of him.
“Here,” Wren said, shimmying down the front row of seats, squeezing past annoyed fans. Arthur followed until they reached a pair of empty chairs and sat. “How sweet are these?” He had to admit, pretty damn sweet. Almost exactly on the fifty-yard line and so close to the action, they could hear the players pads popping, helmets smacking together. He watched the next play. From above, it was one of those nothingburger runs right into the line for no gain. At field level, it was all-out war. It reminded him of the great historic battles he loved reading about, of gladiators in the arena, of Roman legion formations. The game, for now, had earned his begrudging respect.
“OK.” He sighed. “This is kind of cool.” Cool enough to dominate every single one of their weekends each fall? To be determined.
