The Fish Bowl

The Fish Bowl

I strolled into the café around one o’clock. It was a quaint little place, with musical memorabilia and various pieces of art, which I presumed had been collected by the owner, adorning the walls and shelves. I had to admit, this was a strange place to meet up with my brother. He was never a real big fan of the arts, mostly preferring baseball bats and caps over guitars and French berets. He was a lot like me. Big into sports, girls, drinking. The typical jock. I scanned the main section of the restaurant and finally spotted him sitting in one of the back corners, next to a large painting of a laurel encircling two hands, interlocking in a seemingly praying fashion, pictured in between. I waved and immediately started towards him. As I quickened my pace, I hadn’t realized how much I had missed him while he’d been away. When I got there, he stood and wrapped me in a tight bear hug that I’m sure would’ve killed me had he not let go. I was almost too stunned to speak, so he did. “Brother! Damn, it’s good to see you! You look great!”
“Yeah, same to you. It’s been a long fourteen months. How does it feel to be back?”
“ God, it’s great! Last night was the first time I wiped my ass with that fancy, quilted toilet paper since I can remember.”
“So how was it over there? No close calls I hope. I mean, I keep up with everything watching the news and I hear shit about ambushes and car bombs like it’s the daily weather, it happens so often.”
“Nah, I was lucky. Never really had much trouble. Kinda boring actually.”
“Better boring than dead.”
The waitress came by and took our drink orders. My brother got a crown and coke, explaining to me that he deserved a few luxuries. I got a gin and tonic, a favorite of mine, courtesy of my fake ID. When she left, we snickered to ourselves that we should’ve asked who her favorite poet was, or to at least read to us a couple of her own. She was dressed like an absolute beatnik. When she came back with the drinks, she asked us if we wanted to place our order, which we did. For my brother, it was the prime rib and mashed potatoes. For me, it was a club sandwich.
The next half hour or so was spent just getting caught up with each others lives again. I explained to him that I had broken up with my girlfriend, got a new one, broke up with her, and now have decided that girlfriends are too much trouble anyway. He had a good laugh at this. He told me all the stories of what it was like over in the desert, and I listened intently, as it was great to finally hear the up-close perspective of somebody who was over there instead of just the regular news. When we had finally gotten all of the reacquainting out of the way, the topic of conversation moved to more recent news. At some point, between the salad and entrée, the talk turned to football. I mentioned that St. Pius, our alma mater, was having somewhat of a disappointing season this year. Upon hearing the words “St. Pius”, my brother’s eyes lit up and he almost spit out his drink. “Oh yeah! Tell me about the Fish Bowl!” His excitement caught me be surprise, as I had forgotten he had missed last year’s “Fish Bowl”, the annual rivalry game between Pius and Marist. It had been an amazing game culminating in a comeback win that marked the end of a twenty-one year losing streak against Marist. All he knew about the game was the score, twenty to seventeen, and the fact that I had scored the winning touchdown. Of course, I was more than happy to talk about it. It was only the greatest day of my life.
“It was amazing! I completely forgot that you never got to see it. We gave those Marist sons of bitches a real licking.”
“Yeah, that’s what I hear. So the streak is over, huh? Damn, it feels good to have that monkey off our backs. I always thought that my class was going to be the one to end it. Wow!”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much how we felt too. Damn, you should’ve been there. It was absolutely crazy. They even had to have extra seating on the track because there wasn’t enough room in the stands. There were people almost pouring onto the field, it was so packed.”
“Man, it kills me that I couldn’t be there.”
I felt bad for him. He was proud of St. Pius football. It was something that he and his class had taken from the cellar of high school athletics back up to a perennial contender, and to know that he missed the apex of our rise to glory must have been tearing him up inside. He picked up his glass, looked at it like he was going to drink it, and set it back down. “How many people were there?” He asked, trying to piece together the scene of the stadium, filled to the brim with fans clad in blue and gold.
“Probably about six or seven thousand. I don’t think there has ever been that many people come to see a Pius game, Fish Bowls included.”
“Yeah….I bet.” He said, looking down at the table, obviously disappointed in his absence at the game. He snapped out of his reverie and continued his questions.
“So give me the rundown. You were a captain weren’t you?”
“Yeah, I was. And let me tell you something. Before the game even started, I could tell this was going to be more of a dogfight than usual. I mean, this was probably the biggest Fish Bowl in history. You’ve got us, seven and two, just clinched a playoff berth and looking for a fight with nothing to lose. And then you have Marist, undefeated, number one playoff seed, looking to finish their season on a high note. People all over the place were talking about it. And of course, everybody except for Pius folks…”
“Thought we were going to get our asses kicked like always.” My brother offered.
“You know it. And you know what the funny thing was? You know that high school football message board website? GAVS something something? The whole week, Pius people are the ones who start talking shit, saying things like ‘this is the year the streak ends’ and ‘Marist is gonna get killed’ and the Marist people start talkin’ shit back. Pretty soon, it was getting pretty heated.”
“So Marist can’t blame losing due to not taking ya’ll seriously.”
“Exactly. They were ready. Believe me. It was a war.”
My brother’s eyes were wide open, ready for a good story, and I was prepared to tell it. I took a long pull on my drink, not wanting my throat to go dry as I recounted the game of a lifetime.
“We were jacked” I began “I don’t know why this year was different, but everyone knew we were going to win. There was not a doubt in our minds from the start.”
“That’s a good mindset.”
“Yeah, and you know what? As if I wasn’t already pumped enough, you know what happens on the way down to the field?”
“What?”
“Alright, so me and the other captains are walking to our sideline from the locker room, and there are Marist fans tailgating right around there. One of those fuckers actually yells to us ‘Good luck, ladies!’ I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t even a kid. It was a goddamn parent.”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” My brother yelled and instantly recoiled, peered around and restrained himself as he realized that he just yelled an obscenity in a fairly quiet room. A few people gave us some dirty looks as I continued.
“Yeah, those Marist jackasses are some real class acts. I actually had to grab Dylan, you remember Dylan?”
“Fiery guy, kinda short?” My brother described.
“That’s him. He wanted to go get in a fight with that guy right there and then. Hell, I wanted to go kick his ass too, but I doubted the team would get very far with two of their captains being ejected for fighting. Especially for fighting a fan.”
“Definitely. What was it like at the beginning of the game? I mean, if ya’ll were down at halftime, something didn’t go right, huh?”
“Well, they got to a good start. We kickoff to them to start the game and Chris Davis…”
“The guy who went to Duke to play ball?” my brother interrupted.
“Yeah. He takes the opening kickoff about sixty yards and bang! Marist has the ball on our own forty. From there, they run that damn option about three times and on third down, they’re QB breaks one and scores from thirty yards out. I couldn’t believe it. I was pissed. We were the ones who were supposed to set the tones.”
“You didn’t play defense, did you?”
“No, just running back. I played defense a little bit when the starter took a breather. Anyways, I go over to the bench right after the defense gets back and I start rippin’ on ‘em. You know, just to get them pissed too.”
Just then, the waitress arrived with our food and placed our plates on the table. I kept right on talking. We didn’t even realize it when the waitress asked if we needed anything else. My sandwich looked delicious, but it could wait. My brother glanced down at his steak, grabbed some A-1 at the end of the table, and poured some onto his plate just like he always did. However, his attention immediately turned back to me and my story.
“So ya’ll couldn’t get it going on offense much in the first half?”
“Yeah, we had problems. I guess we were surprised a little bit by how hard they came out. Hell, I took a shot to my thigh on our first possession. Hurt like hell. I had to go over to the trainer for a quick rehab session. Fuckin’ helmet right to my thigh. I had a huge-ass bruise for the rest of the game.”
“Been there.”
“Our offense is stuck in a rut, but on our third possession of the night, we call that tight end delay play. You know what I’m talking about?”
“Yeah, it works like a charm.”
“It worked a helluvalot better than a charm this time. We’re at our own forty-three, and Benedict, our QB, drops back and tosses it to Seglem, whose wide open of course, and Seglem takes it and turns straight upfield.”
“Defense never had a chance, did they?”
“They had plenty of chances. The blocking was amazing. At around the fifty, Dylan completely takes out two guys on Seglem’s trail and puts ‘em both on the ground. Then at the twenty Bo Zimmerman comes out of nowhere and completely clocks this Marist son of a bitch.” I said, smacking my fist against an open palm for effect. “The stands went crazy. When the play was over, there were four Marist guys still on the ground.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, but that was probably the only highlight of the first half for us except for an amazing interception by Nick Hogan.”
“The all-state kid?”
“Yep. Marist, though, had plenty of highlights. Their fullback broke a couple of big runs and put’em up fourteen to six.”
“Six?”
“We missed the extra point.”
“Since when do Pius kickers miss extra points?”
“Halton didn’t miss many kicks, but he blew that one. Tell you what though. Marist had a good kicker. He nailed a forty-eight yarder to end the half with the score at seventeen to six.”
Deciding that halftime is a good time for a break, I pick up my, otherwise untouched, sandwich, and took a large bite. My brother got the hint and began on his steak as well. I didn’t realize how hungry I was, but then remembered that I hadn’t eaten all day. Suddenly, I was starving.
“So what was the locker room like during halftime?” My brother asked, in between bites of his prime rib.
“Silent.” I said, mentally bringing myself back to the locker room one year ago.
“Silent? No yelling? No coaches yelling at anybody?” My brother asked.
“Nope. We made the necessary adjustments and then everybody kinda just fell quiet. We didn’t need a pep talk. We knew exactly what we needed to do.”
“Ya’ll never had any doubts? I mean, down by eleven at the half to the best team in the state. That’s not exactly the most desirable position to be in.”
“We didn’t care. We knew we we’re going to win before the game started. We knew we were going to win then. It didn’t make any difference how much we were down by. I won’t lie though; we dug deep for the second half of that game. Everybody on that team found some sort of inspiration inside them and pulled it out.”
Before I knew it, I had finished my sandwich, and just continued to munch on the fries that came with it. My brother was still working on his steak. “So,” he said, with a mouth full of steak. Obviously, he couldn’t wait to hear the rest of the story. “What was the second half like?”
“Incredible. We kicked their asses up and down the field. We completely dominated them. Offense. Defense. Everything. They didn’t stand a chance. We get the kickoff to start the half and start our drive at about the twenty. In three plays, all rushes, we’re at midfield. Our line was just completely blowing them off the ball.”
“How’d ya’ll score?”
“Another pass to Seglem. That kid can play some ball. Long touchdown, about forty or so yards, but not like the first. This time Seglem just beat his man, Benedict threw a perfect pass, and all of a sudden, we’re back in this ballgame.”
I saw the waitress walking back to the kitchen and asked her for a glass of water. “Our defense completely shut them down in that half.” I said. “They couldn’t do anything. If I remember the stats right, they had about two-hundred-fifty yards in the first half and less then fifty in the second.”
“Ya’ll figured out that damn option?” My brother asked.
“Yeah, they couldn’t tell their heads from their asses. Every play completely shut down. Our defense was everywhere, playing like men possessed. I think Marist’s longest gain in that half was, like, six yards.”
“And the offense found its groove.”
“You can say that again. Two hundred forty-seven yards that half, after a hundred-twenty in the first.”
“How’d you do, yardage wise?”
“One-fifty. But I didn’t do a lick of work. Our line opened these massive holes every time I got the ball. All I had to do was run straight ahead.”
The waitress returned with my water. I thanked her, and took a sip. Then I paused to recollect my thoughts. My brother dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, and then said “Tell me about your touchdown.” I put my glass down and looked at him. He still had food on his plate, but was no longer eating. His utensils lay uselessly on the edge of his serving dish. “It’s not as dramatic as you would think.” I said.
“I think you’re just being humble.” He said. “Don’t bullshit me. Tell me the whole thing.”
“Well, it came with about a minute to go in the third quarter. We had just pulled off a trick play on third down. A double pass, from Benedict to Dylan to Seglem. Marist fell for it hook, line, and sinker. The play put us down on about Marist’s twenty. From there we run a screen to Brandon Echols, who weaves his way to the nine. Then from nine yards out, I get the ball and I score.”
“Great description, asshole. What was the run like?”
“Like I said, not as dramatic as you would think. I wish I could say that I broke five tackles and barely made it into the endzone, but our line just exploded off the ball. A sixteen-wheeler could have driven through the hole that I ran through. I went untouched.” I paused. “Well, almost untouched. Some Marist fucker was a little mad, I guess, that I had just scored the go-ahead touchdown, and tried to tackle me once I was already in the endzone. I spun that son of a bitch off me and left him on the ground. The team photographer got a great picture of it. Remind me to show it to you.”
“Sounds like a pretty bad ass touchdown to me.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling “I guess.”
“So, you scored to close out the third quarter? What was the fourth like?”
“Just like the third. Our defense completely dominated them. They couldn’t move the ball, and we were able to hold on to the ball long enough to eat up the clock. Those last few minutes were tense though. Marist actually got something going with about three minutes left to play, but our defense shut the door on our forty yard-line. We get the ball back, make a couple of first downs, and start running the ol’ QB kneel.”
“Victory formation, huh?”
“Yep. Victory formation. When the last seconds ticked off the clock, the place erupted. Students, parents, everybody was storming the field. Everyone was going crazy. A lot of people broke down in tears, me included. It was just an unbelievable feeling to have all that futility off our backs.”
“I bet.” My brother said as he went back to staring at the table. I could feel his disappointment. He couldn’t have felt any worse than if he had missed Jesus Christ himself rise from the grave.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t be there.” I said, desperately trying to console him.
The waitress came by to see if we were finished. I had been done for quite awhile, but she asked my brother if he was through. He said he was, despite the fact that almost half the food he was served still remained on the plate. She asked if we cared for any dessert and I just asked for the check. My brother was finished staring at the table and now was just gazing off into the distance. I didn’t bother interrupting him. For a while, both of us just sat in a trance-like state. I couldn’t explain it.
When we got the check, my brother and I finally snapped back to reality and argued over who would pay. I won the argument on the basis that I couldn’t remember the last time I treated him to a meal. He had paid for me more times than I could count. When we were ready to go, we strolled out the doors and headed towards my car. Then I remembered something.
“Hey!” I said “You know what? I’ve got something I want you to have.”
“What’s that?” He asked.
I unlocked my car and opened the door. I then reached up, lowered the visor, and grabbed a piece of athletic tape that had very special meaning to me.
“You know how I always got my wrist wrapped before games because of the sprain I got when I was younger?” I said.
“Yeah, you always wrote how many yards you were going to run for on it.”
“Yeah, but for the Marist game, I didn’t do that. Here.” I said, handing the tape to him. Inscribed on the tape, in blue ink, was my number, twenty-six, with a Celtic cross behind it. Underneath my number was a picture of a banner with the words “Domini Sumus”, which was our school motto “We are the Lord’s.” Most importantly, however, was what was written directly beneath my number, right above the banner. With painstaking care, the number sixty-one, my brother’s number, was printed. Its position made it seem that it was supporting the twenty-six. My brother held the tape up and, with tear in his eye, gave me the largest hug I’ve ever received in my life. I had to tap him on the back just to signal that I was running short of air. When he let go, he smiled at me and simply said “Thanks, man.” He then turned and headed towards his car. When he got there, he spun around and said “I’ll see you at home. I want to see that picture you were telling me about.”