I went to a football game today. Nico's older brother Matthew who's in eighth grade, plays for his school. Three and a half quarters without a touchdown. When the home team finally scored with three minutes to go, there was an explosion of celebration from the crowd. The cheerleaders were bouncing up and down in red, white and black outfits, doing flips, clapping and crying out things like, "Yeah! Go Cardinals! Whoooo!" The other team's defense, dressed in blue uniforms with red helmets, dragged back to the sideline, devastated, their coach yelling at them to the sound of the home team's celebration. An overweight man with his hat turned backwards and a red and black shirt with a cardinal on it, jumped out of his seat and spilled his large soda on one of my shoes; he didn't even notice and proceeded to cheer and pump his fists madly in the air along with everyone else in the home team crowd.
The poor devils. The football players. The crowd. The cheerleaders. Even the people passing by in cars on the nearby street who were not interested in the game in any way whatsoever. The overweight man who spilled his drink on me. They have no idea, no idea whatsoever what's happening to them.