Playoffs? Playoffs?

The Giants-Packers NFC Championship game is on TV, so the bar has more on-lookers than usual tonight. This isn’t a “sports bar” by any means, but even people eating filet mignon and organic salmon like football. From time to time, a few of the restaurant staff pop in and out to check the score and watch a play or two. Me, I’m just here because this is where I come Sunday nights.

Occasionally, a play elicits clapping from the well-dressed crowd. Or, on a particular play, where Eli Manning broke out of the pocket to open field but slid short of a first down — to avoid the ten 300-pound guys lumbering his way — there were boos. And a lone voice in a bar full of pretty literal Monday Morning Quarterbacks spoke honestly.

It was a man in an argyle sweater vest, glass of bourbon in his hand (neat), standing watching the game with his teenage son.

“I don’t know, ten guys coming at me? I’m sliding, too.”

Later, the phone behind the bar rings. I only hear Greg’s side of the conversation:

“Yeah.”

“It’s 30-13 now.”

“Six-thirteen left.”

“Yeah.”

Apparently, the kitchen's nervous about this one, too.


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