Ninety Minutes Of Brotherhood
Ninety Minutes Of Brotherhood
The second half of the football game had thirty minutes left when I realized I had completely forgotten about the time.
I was sitting comfortably in the single-seater sofa in Bruce's living room, one leg tucked beneath me, while Crane and Bruce occupied the three-seater opposite me.
The television dominated the room.
The volume was loud enough that we didn't have to strain to hear the commentators, but not so loud that our other neighbors would have a reason to complain.
On the coffee table were two boxes of half eaten pizza, napkins, and the three of us held in our hands a can of beer each.
Bruce had ordered the pizza earlier, insisting that nobody should have to watch a football game without something to munch on.
On the screen, the Philadelphia Eagles were playing the Dallas Cowboys.
The score was tied.
One goal each.
"Come on!" Bruce shouted at the television.
I laughed.
"They are not going to hear you."
"That's not the point."
Crane shook his head.
"He's been doing that since the first half."
"And you've been doing the same thing."
"Yeah, but mine is different."
I looked at him.
"How?"
He paused.
"It just is."
Bruce laughed.
We had become unexpectedly comfortable around one another over the past few weeks.
It still surprises me sometimes. He had gone from being the unfamiliar new neighbor to someone we regularly saw around campus and the building.
He'd even joined us the previous Sunday when Crane and I went to the farmers' market and grocery store to do his own shopping too.
It had been a surprisingly enjoyable morning.
Bruce had bought enough groceries to make it obvious he was serious about settling into the neighborhood.
Tonight was another example of how quickly familiarity could develop between people.
The three of us had discovered that we enjoyed watching football together.
Apparently, we also supported the same team.
That had been the deciding factor.
"You know," Bruce said, reaching for another slice of pizza, "I was beginning to think Dallas was going to score again."
"They still might," Crane said.
"Don't say that."
"It's possible."
"Don't."
I laughed.
Crane pointed toward the television.
"Look."
The Eagles were moving forward.
All three of us leaned slightly toward the screen.
"Come on," I muttered.
Bruce slapped his knee.
"Yes!"
The ball moved quickly.
The crowd on television erupted.
Then—
"YES!"
The Eagles scored.
All three of us jumped up.
Bruce nearly dropped his beer can on the floor.
Crane shouted so loudly that I instinctively covered one ear.
I was laughing as I stood.
"That's it!"
Bruce slapped Crane's shoulder.
"We've got this!"
"We've got this!"
For several seconds, none of us seemed capable of doing anything except celebrate.
Then we slowly sank back into our seats.
Bruce looked at the clock.
"Ten minutes."
"Ten minutes," Crane repeated.
I shook my head.
"This is going to be the longest ten minutes of the night."
Bruce pointed at me.
"Don't say things like that."
"Why?"
"Because football has a way of punishing confidence."
Crane laughed.
"He's right."
The final minutes were tense.
Every movement on the field had us reacting.
A missed opportunity.
A defensive play.
A near score.
Every time Dallas got close, Bruce groaned.
Every time Philadelphia moved forward, Crane and I leaned toward the television.
At one point, all three of us shouted at exactly the same time.
"COME ON!"
The moment passed.
We looked at each other.
Then laughed.
It was ridiculous.
Three grown men yelling at a television as though the players could somehow hear us.
But there was something wonderful about it. For those ninety minutes, we were simply three guys enjoying a football game.
The final whistle eventually sounded.
Bruce jumped to his feet.
"Yes!"
Crane laughed.
"We survived."
"More importantly, they survived."
I finished the last sip of my beer.
"Good game."
Bruce nodded.
"Definitely."
I glanced at my phone.
Then I frowned.
"What time is it?"
Crane checked his own phone.
"After ten."
"Seriously?"
"Yep."
I stood.
"We should probably head downstairs."
Bruce nodded.
"Yeah."
We gathered our things.
The pizza boxes remained on the coffee table, evidence of an evening that had somehow passed much faster than expected.
Bruce opened the door.
"Thanks for coming over."
"Thanks for the pizza," Crane said.
"And the game."
"Anytime."
We walked down the stairs together.
Bruce followed us to the lower floor.
At the bottom, Crane turned around.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
I smiled.
"See you tomorrow."
"Definitely."
Crane and I watched him disappear around the corner.
Then we turned toward our apartment.
The building was quiet.
The game was over.
The pizza was gone.
And somehow, an ordinary Wednesday night had become one of those evenings I'd remember simply because it had been easy.