I Love This Game 3

Posted by John

I have to really apologize that this story has been so long and drawn out; I’ve had a lot going on. I also have to apologize that this really isn’t the greatest story ever told. I wish I hadn’t said that. I wish I’d described it as something like, “A really decent story,” or “A pretty good story you should like just fine.”

At any rate, I just need to finish it now.

When we last left off it was Friday. The Sonics had just won Game 6 the night before and forced the epic Game 7 that I was longing for, which also forced the epic showdown with my girlfriend that earlier in the week I thought would be funny but in that moment realized was going to be absolute hell.

That afternoon I went to her house like I did every day after school, except that time I honestly was going with every intention of presenting her with a compromise. You see, the thing was the critical game 7 was to start at 3 PM the next day. That meant I could watch the game in its entirety if only we would change our pre-prom dinner plans – we could eat at a local restaurant in town and still make it to prom on time rather than drive an hour out of town to go to the Red Lobster in Akron. It was, in my opinion, a perfectly legitimate compromise.

Unfortunately when I arrived at her house I didn’t find someone interested in a compromise. Instead, I found my girlfriend positively hysterical with tears pouring down her swollen and red cheeks.

“Holy shit,” I thought, “I did not anticipate this.” Really I should have anticipated it though. What course of action did I leave her with other than to devolve into an unintelligible mess of sobs and tears? I went to her house armed with the best ammunition I knew – a logical compromise. She was waiting for me armed with the best defense she knew – hysteria.

I set out to calm and comfort her the best I could. “Do you want some Kleenex or some tea or some shit? Maybe like some chamomile or something?”

Making very little progress I decided to try to explain my compromised plan between her sobs. “Listen, it’s the perfect plan; We just change dinner around and we can watch the game and still make it to prom on time. It’s that easy…”

Unfortunately she wasn’t interested in a compromise.

“It’s my senior prom *cry* *cry* *cry*! I’ve been dreaming about this day since I was a little girl *cry* *cry* *cry*!”

“Well,” I countered, “I understand, but I’ve been dreaming about this game since I was a little boy…”

In retrospect that was perhaps the worst possible thing I could have said. The crying display she put on up until that point was nothing compared to the deluge she unleashed after it. It was at that moment that I realized a few other things: 1) I was not going to get out of there with a compromise; 2) If I decided not to go to prom I was going to regret it; 3) If I went to prom I was going to regret it; 4) I was going to break up with that girl sooner than sooner.

I’m sorry to say I walked out of her house that afternoon with my tail between my legs. I’d caved to the crying and agreed to record the game, go to dinner, go to prom, and watch the game later. At the time I thought I was doing the right thing.

The next day came around and I put everyone on notice: No television, no radio, no contact with anyone who would have watched a television or listened to a radio. That afternoon I put my tuxedo on with spite, posed for the requisite pre-prom pictures with spite, drove to Red Lobster with spite, had a tasty seafood platter with spite, and finally arrived at prom with spite.

I still distinctly remember walking into the high school for the prom. Every head in the entire place turned to look at us. Every girl in the place was thinking, “Oh my god, he’s so sweet! He skipped the game for the prom…” While every guy was like, “Oh man, the Sonics must have won the game and he still made it to prom. He is the man. He. Is. The. Man!”

Every single person we passed was like, “What happened in the game? Did they win? Did they win?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “I recorded it; I haven’t seen it yet.”

“You haven’t seen it yet???” They’d ask, astonished, “That is insane. You are the man!” It was insane but I certainly didn’t feel like the man; I felt more like a beaten and abused dog.

Then the unthinkable happened. After several dozen people asked me about the game, my girlfriend actually turned to me and said, I kid you not, “Wow, if I had known it would be this big of a deal I would have just let you watch the game…”

I shit you not. I. Shit. You. Not.

I just stopped dead in my tracks, looked back at her, and acknowledged several other thoughts that dawned on me in that moment: 1). I would never, ever in my life, ever compromise my principles again, even in the face of hysterical crying; 2). I was going to ruin her prom; 3). I was going to break up with that girl that night.

I can say now that I have made good on the first promise every day of my life since that day; I made good on the second promise that night; It took me a few extra months but I eventually made good on the third promise.

I spent the entire prom seated in the corner with my buddy, hating ever second of my life, just waiting until the moment when I could get the hell out of there to see my Sonics beat the Rockets in that Game 7 and salvage some sort of joy from the entire ordeal.

At some point late in the night I somehow grew a conscience and decided I needed to at least dance with my girlfriend for one song, so I ventured out onto the gymnasium floor to find her. In the process I bumped into a guy who I was going to describe as a friend but figured would more accurately be described as a raging douchebag I happened to know.

“Hey,” he said, “Sorry about your team…”

“I’m sorry?” I said, in complete shock as if I’d just been shot in the stomach.

“Sorry about the Sonics,” he said, “It was a good game though...”

I would have preferred to have been shot in the stomach. After everything I’d been through that week I managed to make it to within an hour of sitting down to see the game, only to have some ass-lick turd rocket ruin the outcome for me. I was devastated.

The rest of the details of the story are inconsequential. Suffice it to say I managed to ruin prom, which provided me little solace for what I’d been through, and then I managed to ruin that girl’s entire summer before she went off to college, a fact I’m not necessarily proud of but quite honestly she should have seen coming.

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This is one of the first stories I ever told Sara when we started dating. My intention was not to illustrate that I was an insensitive prick who holds meaningless sporting events in higher esteem than other legitimately important events. I simply needed to plant the seed early in our relationship so she wouldn’t be disappointed later in life to find out I’m an insensitive prick when I missed the birth of our first son in order to watch the Liverpool Futbol Club play in and win the Champions League Finals or something. I know what you’re thinking, “That’s a horrible thing to say.” Relax. My son, Steven Fernando Xabi Horst, will understand that I wasn’t there for his birth when he’s an international soccer sensation at the age of 16 because he’ll know if he’s not he won’t actually be my son because that’s what it means to have principles.