couldn’t come out and say that; it would expose me to ridicule. I’d had my fill of that.
Willie had come to the firm conclusion that the Packers would win the game, which meant that John was positive the Colts would blow them out.
“If they could handle the Redskins as easy as they did, they’ll shut the Colts down. Colts are too one-dimensional,” Willie said.
“How can you be ‘too one-dimensional’?” John countered. “You’re either one-dimensional or you’re not.”
“Bullshit. There are varying degrees of one-dimensional.” The argument had reached a typical intellectual valley. “But either way they’ll shut them down.”
“Nobody shuts the Colts down, moron.”
I was only half listening, so it took maybe twenty seconds before it clicked in. By that time they were on to other disputes.
“Did you say the Packers handled the Redskins?” I asked, and they both looked at me, as if surprised I was there.
“Yeah,” Willie said. “Why?”
“What about the Giants?”
“What about them?”
It was no longer a time to mask my ignorance; it was time to reveal it. “The Giants beat the Redskins to get into the playoffs, so why did the Redskins play the Packers?”
Willie and John made eye contact with each other; they weren’t reflecting their confusion, but rather their concern and pity.
For me.
Willie spoke slowly and patiently, as if to a child. “Rich, the Redskins beat the Giants to get in the playoffs. It was one of the most bizarre endings to a game in NFL history. You’re not familiar with this?”
“I saw the game,” I said, not mentioning that I saw it with Jen. “The Giants won that game. It was close, but I don’t remember anything special about the ending.” They were looking incredulous, so I added, “I can’t be wrong about this.”
Willie turned to John, as if to give him the floor, and John spoke in that same patient tone. “The last play of the game, the Giants stopped them on the fourth down when the Washington receiver caught the ball with his foot on the out-of-bounds line in the back of the end zone. They reviewed the call, and it took like ten minutes, and the teams were just standing around waiting to hear who would go to the playoffs.”
I remembered the last play, but not the fact that it was reviewed.
John continued. “They ruled in Washington’s favor, and the Redskins won the game. Then later in the day somebody in the stands, a fan, showed a videotape he made of the play, and it was a different angle. It showed the guy was out of bounds, and the Giants should have won, but it was too late to change the call.”
“You don’t remember that game?” Willie asked.
The truth was I did remember the game; I remembered it well. When I described a lot of it, Willie and John said that I was exactly right. Yet I thought the Giants won; until that moment I had thought they won.
But they lost.
How was that possible?
“I’m going to try and re-create my life, or at least the part I forget.”
I was talking to Allie at the Carnegie Deli, which I chose for lunch because it was as non-small-town-Wisconsin a place as I could think of. If it turned out she was going to be in New York for only a short time, I figured I should give her a taste of it. And in this case, I meant “taste” in a literal sense.
The inside of the place was as it always was, barely controlled chaos. Customers are shuttled to large tables, where they sit adjacent to strangers. It’s not a problem, because everybody is focused on the food. It’s delicious, and the aroma it causes throughout the room is so thick that you feel you could chew on the air.
The waiters and waitresses, if not rude, are at the least brusque. They never write down an order; they could be serving a table for twenty and they would just nod dismissively as each request was given. But if they’ve ever made a mistake, I’ve never been witness to it. It is pure New York.
Allie seemed mesmerized by it
Willie had come to the firm conclusion that the Packers would win the game, which meant that John was positive the Colts would blow them out.
“If they could handle the Redskins as easy as they did, they’ll shut the Colts down. Colts are too one-dimensional,” Willie said.
“How can you be ‘too one-dimensional’?” John countered. “You’re either one-dimensional or you’re not.”
“Bullshit. There are varying degrees of one-dimensional.” The argument had reached a typical intellectual valley. “But either way they’ll shut them down.”
“Nobody shuts the Colts down, moron.”
I was only half listening, so it took maybe twenty seconds before it clicked in. By that time they were on to other disputes.
“Did you say the Packers handled the Redskins?” I asked, and they both looked at me, as if surprised I was there.
“Yeah,” Willie said. “Why?”
“What about the Giants?”
“What about them?”
It was no longer a time to mask my ignorance; it was time to reveal it. “The Giants beat the Redskins to get into the playoffs, so why did the Redskins play the Packers?”
Willie and John made eye contact with each other; they weren’t reflecting their confusion, but rather their concern and pity.
For me.
Willie spoke slowly and patiently, as if to a child. “Rich, the Redskins beat the Giants to get in the playoffs. It was one of the most bizarre endings to a game in NFL history. You’re not familiar with this?”
“I saw the game,” I said, not mentioning that I saw it with Jen. “The Giants won that game. It was close, but I don’t remember anything special about the ending.” They were looking incredulous, so I added, “I can’t be wrong about this.”
Willie turned to John, as if to give him the floor, and John spoke in that same patient tone. “The last play of the game, the Giants stopped them on the fourth down when the Washington receiver caught the ball with his foot on the out-of-bounds line in the back of the end zone. They reviewed the call, and it took like ten minutes, and the teams were just standing around waiting to hear who would go to the playoffs.”
I remembered the last play, but not the fact that it was reviewed.
John continued. “They ruled in Washington’s favor, and the Redskins won the game. Then later in the day somebody in the stands, a fan, showed a videotape he made of the play, and it was a different angle. It showed the guy was out of bounds, and the Giants should have won, but it was too late to change the call.”
“You don’t remember that game?” Willie asked.
The truth was I did remember the game; I remembered it well. When I described a lot of it, Willie and John said that I was exactly right. Yet I thought the Giants won; until that moment I had thought they won.
But they lost.
How was that possible?
“I’m going to try and re-create my life, or at least the part I forget.”
I was talking to Allie at the Carnegie Deli, which I chose for lunch because it was as non-small-town-Wisconsin a place as I could think of. If it turned out she was going to be in New York for only a short time, I figured I should give her a taste of it. And in this case, I meant “taste” in a literal sense.
The inside of the place was as it always was, barely controlled chaos. Customers are shuttled to large tables, where they sit adjacent to strangers. It’s not a problem, because everybody is focused on the food. It’s delicious, and the aroma it causes throughout the room is so thick that you feel you could chew on the air.
The waiters and waitresses, if not rude, are at the least brusque. They never write down an order; they could be serving a table for twenty and they would just nod dismissively as each request was given. But if they’ve ever made a mistake, I’ve never been witness to it. It is pure New York.
Allie seemed mesmerized by it
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