Posted by nrm on 10/29/2006, 8:43 pm I just figured I’d stay up late getting loaded and sleep the entire day away since I had no reason to awake. “We will be leaving in about half an hour.” he tells me. It sank in after a few minutes of scratching my sleepless head.. I’m sorry man. I just don’t get group sports. I have no conception how people get into that shit. I mean sure, when I was a small boy and didn’t no any better, I was all into baseball, football and shit. But fuk. not anymore. I started puking in the shower from lack of sleep and worried thoughts. “why cant you ever go to these things with dad?” I asked with anger, trying to blame it all on her. she hated football just as much as me. I put on some smelly old road jeans. And found the only maroon shirt I had in my closet from my old job as a bookstore clerk. It was all stained and too tight on my ever expanding trucker gut. But it would have to do. I made sure I had my shades on me, my cigs, and went back next door to talk to dad about when we were leaving. For some reason I thought it would be really cold out. I put a long sleeve shirt on under my maroon shirt, and for some reason I put on long johns under my smelly jeans. Thinking back, I must have been truly out of my mind. Why in the fuk would it be freezing at the game in hot afternoon Texas sun? But my strange mind convinced me to bundle up. “What time does the game start?” I asked my dad. “About 2;15 p.m., but I want to leave early so we can get a good parking spot.” he told me. I nodded my tired head in agreement, going along with his plan. Dad got out his black expensive mustang he had bought about a year ago. It always sat in the garage, he only pulled it out on special occasions. Must be nice. I didn’t even own a car. We use to go to a Mexican restaurant and get all fuked up on tequila before games. But that was before my dads bleeding ulcer. Being fuked up made the silly football games more tolerable. Being fuked up always made everything better, had bin my philosophy for a long time. But times change, people change. We drove to the game, two sober men, a boy and father, with nothing much to say.
24.250.159.115
I had bin trying to drink myself into a final eternal death nap the night before. I had completely forgot that I had promised to go to a college football game with my dad the next day. He had season tickets. And me, his fresh out of jail jobless future felon son said days ago he would gladly go with him.
I think it was about 11 a.m., a Saturday, when my dad came up the stairs to the room I lived in above his garage. I’m a light sleeper. In fact I’m not sure anymore if I am ever a sleep. Always all stressed and in some panic mode.
“Leaving where?” I said, honestly confused, embarrassed I was still in bed.
“Don’t give me that shit, get up and get ready.” he said, looking somewhat pissed off.
oh fuk. Horrible jock fest with billions of people. Great. Fuk. I lifted body from bed, cursing the day away. My brain going into an instant panic mode, thinking of all those sheep in the same maroon colors yelling for men in tights chasing each other around a green field over some small brown ball.
that’s probably why I turned into a skate punk when I was 14. At least skateboarding is an individual sport. When I was growing up in the 80’s I was looked at as an outsider because of my appearance and my chosen rebellion through skateboarding. This was of course before skateboarding was plastered all over espn with greedy sponsors hogging the air waves and raping the sport of any originality it once had.
Ok, will get off my soap box.
What would I wear? Should I find a maroon shirt so I fit in better? All my clothes were dirty from living on the road as a trucker.
I got out of the shower, passing my mom’s flower garden, heading back up above the garage to pick my out fit for the day.
“It’s the least you can do for us, you loser! After all we put up with from you!” she spat back.
I gave her a nasty look, and headed back up the stairs with a towel rapped around me. Cursing the day away more.
I got mad when I heard things that I didn’t want to hear. Even if those things were the truth.
Fuk.
My panic attack had already started. good god, i was having trouble breathing, thinking of the large gathering of buffoons in maroon. steady boy, steady, deep breathing now...
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