Fans of the Game

So, the other night, during the seventh game of the Blues and Blackhawks series, my husband laughed and said, “Look at those fans.”

I looked up from the essay I was grading to where my husband sat hunched on a tiny, yellow, plastic child’s chair positioned three feet from the television screen, yelling at professional athletes — who were actually located in Saint Louis and not the tiny box in our living room — and explaining how one actually plays hockey, real in-depth commentary like “shoot the puck.”

“I can see better from here,” he told me defensively when he noticed my raised eyebrow.


That makes it all okay.



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