started on Monday. Joey and his mother waited until Emilio cut a piece of steak, chewed and swallowed, and started on a second piece before they began to eat.
"Was a fire today on Bathgate." He downed half a glass of wine. "Carried out two kids." He tore off a piece of bread from a long loaf. "They was cooked more well done than this." He tapped the steak with his fork. Then he finished the wine in his glass. Joey and his mother were silent. They often had to listen to Emilio's horror stories at dinner. He was a fireman, and he would always compare somebody's burned body to something on his plate "Hey." He stared at Joey. "You playin' football tomorrah?"
"Yeah. Joey didn't look up.
"What?" He put his silverware down and stared at his son.
"Yes." Joey made the "s" hiss. Emilio grabbed his son's chin and jerked it up, his fingers digging deep into Joey's cheeks and jaw. "Yes. I am playing football tomorrow." Joey was scared because he wasn't sure what his father wanted.
Emilio dug his fingers deeper and pointed at Joey's nose. "You look at me when you talk."
Joey tried to meet his father's burning stare, but the pain was distracting.
Emilio turned his attention to his dinner. Joey's mother had learned never to interfere. "Whadya play, water boy?" Emilio laughed at his own wit.
Joey had no trouble staring at his father this time. "I'm halfback."
"Who you play ... cripples?" He laughed loudly, slapping the table. "Cripples," he chuckled, returning to his meal. Joey controlled himself, although he'd lost his appetite.
"Joey, eatcha dinner," his mother almost whispered.
"Yeah, eatcha dinner so you can get big an' strong an' beat the cripples."
"Whynchoo come down tomorrah an' watch me play?" Joey said with a mixture of anger and pride. Emilio looked amused. "Twelve-thirty at French Charlie's field."
Emilio was stumped for a comeback, so he just chuckled, mumbled something about cripples, and ate in silence.
Friday nights before the Saturday games were the best part of the football season. Each team in its own neighborhood would have a torchlight parade with banners, chants, and crowds. If the neighborhoods overlapped one procession would often collide with another, and nuclear war would break out. This happened in the past season between the Velvet Sharks of Olinville Avenue and the Red Devils of Gun Hill Road. The next day the game was canceled since the entire Red Devil backfield and half the Velvet Shark defensive team were in the hospital.
At ten, the Stingers assembled in Big Playground. Joey and Eugene had the rolled-up banner, a twenty-foot-long, six-foot-high piece of canvas, each end sewn around a mop handle. Two guys carried it through the streets, stretching the canvas so the road was blocked. Twenty team players were there, fifty or sixty younger kids, some older guys living in the project, a few curious adults, girl friends, and a few neutrals from nonfootball playing gangs. Every Stinger was there except Perry, who was K.O.'ed on Nembutals and couldn't have played the next day. Mops, brooms, and baseball bats were distributed. Joey sprayed lighter fluid on the mops and brooms, and everybody lit their makeshift torches. Dozens of small, fiery whoosh sounds were drowned out by a tremendous roar from the crowd as the banner was unfurled. It was a beauty. Lenny Arkadian fixed it up. The banner had STINGERS in dripping red letters. By each of the "S's" Lenny had painted (riant black and yellow bees wearing white gloves on tight fists, scowling faces, and a week's growth of beard stubble. The bees had giant cigars clamped between dagger teeth, and stingers coming out of their asses like golden scimitars. Lenny got the idea for the faces from the Woody Woodpecker racing decals.
Joey and Perry were supposed to carry the banner, but Joey wouldn't carry it without Perry, so the Tasso brothers were recruited. George and Vincent Tasso were twins, non-Wanderers, and according to consensus, good guys. They were
"Was a fire today on Bathgate." He downed half a glass of wine. "Carried out two kids." He tore off a piece of bread from a long loaf. "They was cooked more well done than this." He tapped the steak with his fork. Then he finished the wine in his glass. Joey and his mother were silent. They often had to listen to Emilio's horror stories at dinner. He was a fireman, and he would always compare somebody's burned body to something on his plate "Hey." He stared at Joey. "You playin' football tomorrah?"
"Yeah. Joey didn't look up.
"What?" He put his silverware down and stared at his son.
"Yes." Joey made the "s" hiss. Emilio grabbed his son's chin and jerked it up, his fingers digging deep into Joey's cheeks and jaw. "Yes. I am playing football tomorrow." Joey was scared because he wasn't sure what his father wanted.
Emilio dug his fingers deeper and pointed at Joey's nose. "You look at me when you talk."
Joey tried to meet his father's burning stare, but the pain was distracting.
Emilio turned his attention to his dinner. Joey's mother had learned never to interfere. "Whadya play, water boy?" Emilio laughed at his own wit.
Joey had no trouble staring at his father this time. "I'm halfback."
"Who you play ... cripples?" He laughed loudly, slapping the table. "Cripples," he chuckled, returning to his meal. Joey controlled himself, although he'd lost his appetite.
"Joey, eatcha dinner," his mother almost whispered.
"Yeah, eatcha dinner so you can get big an' strong an' beat the cripples."
"Whynchoo come down tomorrah an' watch me play?" Joey said with a mixture of anger and pride. Emilio looked amused. "Twelve-thirty at French Charlie's field."
Emilio was stumped for a comeback, so he just chuckled, mumbled something about cripples, and ate in silence.
Friday nights before the Saturday games were the best part of the football season. Each team in its own neighborhood would have a torchlight parade with banners, chants, and crowds. If the neighborhoods overlapped one procession would often collide with another, and nuclear war would break out. This happened in the past season between the Velvet Sharks of Olinville Avenue and the Red Devils of Gun Hill Road. The next day the game was canceled since the entire Red Devil backfield and half the Velvet Shark defensive team were in the hospital.
At ten, the Stingers assembled in Big Playground. Joey and Eugene had the rolled-up banner, a twenty-foot-long, six-foot-high piece of canvas, each end sewn around a mop handle. Two guys carried it through the streets, stretching the canvas so the road was blocked. Twenty team players were there, fifty or sixty younger kids, some older guys living in the project, a few curious adults, girl friends, and a few neutrals from nonfootball playing gangs. Every Stinger was there except Perry, who was K.O.'ed on Nembutals and couldn't have played the next day. Mops, brooms, and baseball bats were distributed. Joey sprayed lighter fluid on the mops and brooms, and everybody lit their makeshift torches. Dozens of small, fiery whoosh sounds were drowned out by a tremendous roar from the crowd as the banner was unfurled. It was a beauty. Lenny Arkadian fixed it up. The banner had STINGERS in dripping red letters. By each of the "S's" Lenny had painted (riant black and yellow bees wearing white gloves on tight fists, scowling faces, and a week's growth of beard stubble. The bees had giant cigars clamped between dagger teeth, and stingers coming out of their asses like golden scimitars. Lenny got the idea for the faces from the Woody Woodpecker racing decals.
Joey and Perry were supposed to carry the banner, but Joey wouldn't carry it without Perry, so the Tasso brothers were recruited. George and Vincent Tasso were twins, non-Wanderers, and according to consensus, good guys. They were
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