your Saturday and destroy Sunday," she said. "If you lose, you'll spend
all next week making lists of what you could have bought with the
care," I said, which was a lie, and eventually placed the wager with a
friendly bookie. I got seven points, but all bets were off if San Diego won by
Red was right. I
sat moping on my stoop all day Saturday, convinced I'd made a stupid mistake,
conjuring up a multitude of tangible items that would have been mine had I not
lost the $50 I was surely bound to lose. I envisioned dozens of Charleston
Chews, a month's worth of Thrifty Drug Store ice cream cones, 10 nights of tips
for parking attendants, seven breakfasts at Nate & Al's delicatessen and
endless quantities of Dubble Bubble and Necco wafers. Saturday was a bad
If Saturday was
bad, Sunday was worse. The sun was hardly up when I returned my pancakes at
Du-pars' restaurant, claiming they were cold, something I normally would never
do. But not that Sunday. I spent the hours before the kickoff of the
Raiders-Chargers game stomping around the house, sulking violently. My mood was
so intensely nasty, I seemed to produce a terrible odor, something akin to that
of a threatened skunk. Red gave me the widest of berths.
And then it was
game time. I was a wreck. My shirt clung to my chest as though I'd been
swimming. I bit several fingernails down to gnarly shreds, and wouldn't speak
even if spoken to. To make matters worse, San Diego scored first. And third. I
couldn't stand the pressure.
leaving!" I announced.
"Where are we
going?" asked Red.
to drive to the beach and watch the sun set."
you want to wait until—"