coming home from a sunny, nail-biting USC/Oregon game to eat tacos, listen to the Beavs and watch the world series.
Ah, to displace my worries with sports.
…
There was a huge, fat man next to me at the Duck game today. My pops and I shared a glance when he scwooshed past us. But as the game began, he turned out to be the best type of fan — he gave high-fives to everyone. I was his main target, though.
See, he gave the 360-all-around high-five only when the Ducks scored or caught an interception. But me, I got a high-five after almost any play of any consequence.
There was the clinch-penalty high-five.
There was the quarterback-sack high-five.
There was the good-special-team-performance high-five. (The Ducks are having special-team problems this season, so a special-team play that ends with the Ducks in possession of the ball is, apparently, high-five worthy.)
And most importantly, there was the tough-hit high-five, which assured me some skin at least every third play when the Ducks were on defense.
By the end of the game, we had this whole system worked out. He would slap me one up high. Then, I would duck while pops got five up top, before the fat man continued slapping-five in a small circle, his belly dragging around one fan behind.
This guy, this wonderful fat man, even hooted for the marching band at halftime.
And wait for it… he cheered, vivaciously, for the poor sap who tried to kick a football through a giant Orowheat (the bread company) logo for $1 million. Obviously, the kick was what one would expect from a tipsy football fan performing in front of 60,000 strangers. Still, my hefty pal, with his normal pep, said to me, “High-five, cause that would have been sweet if he’d done it.”
Thank you fat Duck fan. Thank you.
we are kicking blog ASS.
That is a quality fat man you fan, sir. A good fat man indeed.