The Best
My brother Jim has taken charge as the host of the celebrations. He cooks enough for 50 people every time we get together even if there are only a dozen of us. Easter was no exception.
The food was tremendous and there was enough for our gathering as well as the neighbors and their families had they stopped by.
We ate, talked and watched the Yankees win...all great things.
After dinner my brother John disappeared with two of my kids and his daughters. I heard a lot of cheering coming up from the basement level. A half an hour later John was standing in front of me.
"Let's go, we're playing fooseball downstairs, and let me tell you, your kids are horrendous, but Sam never shuts up about what he's going to do."
I laughed.
Sounded about right. Even though Sam had never played the game before he was going to talk a great game.
So I headed down and took Sam on my team as we played John and Jake.
Everything was familiar about it. We were playing on the same table that had been in my parents home. I was back playing goal. Sam was chirping. John and Jake were laughing at him. We got killed, like 10-4.
So we ran it back.
The game started to come back to me a little and as we played I thought of the countless games we'd play in the basement of my parent's home. John and Jeff against me and Jim.
Hour after hour.
The game was much closer, but Sam was a bit of a liability. We lost again. 10-8.
Then Jim came down the stairs and suddenly it was even more weird.
Three-fourths of the game was intact.
Which sucked.
I didn't abandon Sam and together we faced John and Jim.
Five scores into the game Sam was caught up in the action.
"You guys take this seriously," he said.
I scored on a long shot.
"You're all a little intense," Sam added.
John's shots against me were familiar. I remembered Jim's go-to-moves from when he played on my team all those years.
We battled hard.
I know that all three of us were thinking the same sort of things. Jeff had been the best player of all of us. He had been lightning quick with his shots.
9-9.
We were playing for all the marbles. Sam was telling John about how he'd score the winner on a blast from the center.
But it wasn't to be.
Jim scored on me for the win.
As we headed home Sam was full of questions about how we had played so intensely.
"We played every night as kids," I said.
"Was Uncle Jeff good too?" Sam asked.
"The best," I said.
The best.
The food was tremendous and there was enough for our gathering as well as the neighbors and their families had they stopped by.
We ate, talked and watched the Yankees win...all great things.
After dinner my brother John disappeared with two of my kids and his daughters. I heard a lot of cheering coming up from the basement level. A half an hour later John was standing in front of me.
"Let's go, we're playing fooseball downstairs, and let me tell you, your kids are horrendous, but Sam never shuts up about what he's going to do."
I laughed.
Sounded about right. Even though Sam had never played the game before he was going to talk a great game.
So I headed down and took Sam on my team as we played John and Jake.
Everything was familiar about it. We were playing on the same table that had been in my parents home. I was back playing goal. Sam was chirping. John and Jake were laughing at him. We got killed, like 10-4.
So we ran it back.
The game started to come back to me a little and as we played I thought of the countless games we'd play in the basement of my parent's home. John and Jeff against me and Jim.
Hour after hour.
The game was much closer, but Sam was a bit of a liability. We lost again. 10-8.
Then Jim came down the stairs and suddenly it was even more weird.
Three-fourths of the game was intact.
Which sucked.
I didn't abandon Sam and together we faced John and Jim.
Five scores into the game Sam was caught up in the action.
"You guys take this seriously," he said.
I scored on a long shot.
"You're all a little intense," Sam added.
John's shots against me were familiar. I remembered Jim's go-to-moves from when he played on my team all those years.
We battled hard.
I know that all three of us were thinking the same sort of things. Jeff had been the best player of all of us. He had been lightning quick with his shots.
9-9.
We were playing for all the marbles. Sam was telling John about how he'd score the winner on a blast from the center.
But it wasn't to be.
Jim scored on me for the win.
As we headed home Sam was full of questions about how we had played so intensely.
"We played every night as kids," I said.
"Was Uncle Jeff good too?" Sam asked.
"The best," I said.
The best.
Comments