here! This is just something my brain came up with to keep from updating Max Martinez. ANYWAY, I'm a Packers fan all the way-at risk of being beat up by my die-hard fanatic brother-so it pained me greatly to put Max on the Steelers' side. But it was necessary.
"Max."
"Iggy."
Iggy closed his eyes as if dealing with unendurable pain, then said through
gritted teeth, "This is not 'just a football game.' This is THE football game."
"Super Bowl XLV!" Gazzy whooped from behind him, tossing a cheesehead into the air. "And the Packers are gonna win!"
"Oh, yeah!" Iggy replied, somehow giving him an impossibly perfect high-five.
"Um, how about no," Fang replied with a quirked eyebrow, sauntering over. "It's
Steelers all the way, make no mistake about that." He somehow produced a
Terrible Towel from his pocket and gave it a few spins, just to prove his point.
"You just say that so you can wear black for your team," Gazzy scoffed.
Since Iggy was looking at him so ferociously I was pretty sure one of them was
going to die soon, I cut in.
"I get that this is a big deal," I said slowly, "but I still don't think we can
just waltz into a Super Bowl party uninvited."
Fang and Iggy looked at me like I had just suggested that the moon was made out of cheese. "It's called a sports bar," Iggy said as if I was a bit slow. I glared.
"Well, I'm still not sure." I said stubbornly. "It just doesn't seem wise."
Suddenly, Nudge whirled around from where she had been talking with Angel.
"Are we talking about the Super Bowl?" Her eyes were wide. "Because the Black
Eyed Peas are on at halftime, and they're super awesome, so I have to see that!
Plus, the Packers are playing, and they are just the best team that has ever
existed ever, and that is just so true, and the Steelers are total losers and I
HATE THEM so we have to go so I can..." She was starting to look blue in the
face, so I cut her off.
"Exactly!" said Gazzy, looking at Nudge with renewed interest. "Well, not about
the Black-Eyed Peas, but the Packers are AWESOME and the Steelers SUCK and we have to..."
"Okay, I get it!" I yelled, holding up my hands in the universal gesture for
'shut up and let me think a minute'. "I get that you all want to go, but..."
"But we're going, right Max?" Fang was staring at me with such ferocity I almost
took a step back. "Because we absolutely have to."
I put my hands on my hips and bit my lip, unsure. "Guys, I just..."
Suddenly, Iggy and Gazzy ran forward. "You take left, Ig!" Gazzy hollered. Before I knew what was happening, they had linked their arms under mine, dragging me behind them and then leaping into the air, flinging out their wings in a running takeoff.
"GUYS!" I screamed, but we were already rising steadily. Fang, Nudge and Angel, the traitors, were trailing behind.
"This is a direct violation of my laws!" I added hopelessly, dangling in midair.
Iggy rolled his eyes and muttered something I couldn't quite catch.
"Ig, sports bar at 7 o'clock!" Fang called, pointing toward a brick building
with a neon sign proclaiming it 'Hickory Tavern'.
"Got the Max card?" Nudge asked innocently as we descended into the deserted
parking lot. "I'm craving a turkey club. Or maybe three."
I groaned in frustration, writhing and struggling until my feet touched the cement. "Actually, yes," I told her, gritting my teeth.
We crossed around to the front of the pub, where there was a huge poster saying that they had 50 cent wings during the Super Bowl.
"Excellent," Fang grinned. "I'll take 20."
I grumbled something indistinctly and pushed open the door. The entire sports
bar was split into two sections; one was covered with black and yellow pennants
and jerseys, while the other was a sea of cheese heads with green and yellow
jerseys and pennants. As we entered, a smiling waitress asked, "Would you like
Packers or Steelers seating?"
"Packers," Iggy said just as Fang said, "Steelers." They swiveled and glared at
each other, Iggy raising a fist.
The waitress let out a tinkling laugh. "Don't worry," she said. "I have two
opposing tables next to each other open; you can split up and stay loyal."
As we followed her through the packed restaurant, she pulled back her blonde
hair to reveal Steelers earrings and winked at Fang. My fists clenched inadvertently.
"Here you are," she said when we came to two round tables, each with four
chairs; a red duct tape line ran between, them and one had a green and yellow
centerpiece, the other's being black and yellow.
Iggy, Gazzy and Nudge slid into the Packers one without hesitation, Fang on
the Steelers one, until Angel and I were standing awkwardly to the side.
"This is the moment of truth," Gazzy said in a deep, suspenseful voice. "Packers
or Steelers? Steelers or Packers?"
Angel thought for only a moment, then smiled at her brother and sat down next to him. Gazzy whooped and looped a strand of green-and-yellow beads from the
centerpiece around her neck. To even things out, I sat next to Fang at the
Steelers table.
Uh-huh, Angel thought to me. THAT'S why you're sitting next to him. I almost
stuck my tongue out at her, at risk of seeming immature, but suddenly a hush
fell over the bar. The TVs all around the restaurant winked on, showing a girl
with platinum blonde hair-"Christina Aguilera," Nudge whispered in an awed
voice-singing the National Anthem. At the same time, everyone in the room rose
and put their Cheese Heads or Steelers baseball caps to their chest.
"...And the hooome of the BRAAAAAAAAAVE," Blondie sang finally, and applause rippled from the speakers set up all around the room.
"Surround sound," Iggy whispered in the same awed voice as Nudge had. "This is going to be beautiful."
"Now, the kickoff!" The voice reverberated around the room, setting off another
round of whoops and whistles.
"And so it begins," yelled the same blonde waitress who had served us earlier,
now standing in front of the largest TV. She waved a flag like it was a race,
and this time even Nudge and Angel screamed.
Insert a page break here. THAT IS IMPERATIVE.
"Oh, yeah!" Iggy screamed as he and Gazzy paraded around the Packers side, pumping their fists. Nudge squealed in her newly bought cheese head from the stand at the corner of the pub and joined the teenage girls at the front of the room who were standing with their arms around each others shoulders, doing a high kick for every point.
"…28!" They yelled, throwing their hands in the air and doing spirit fingers as they broke up. The whole side of the room was still in an uproar, screaming, whooping, whistling, slapping each other on the back, and tossing their cheese heads in the air. "Go, Pack, GO!" One man hollered from across the room as he clinked beer mugs with everyone at his table.
Meanwhile, the Steelers side was very solemn and quiet. Fang was looking more sad and desolate than I had ever seen him before; all around us, dejected fans decked out in Steelers garb were ordering stronger drinks. I patted Fang on the back.
"Maybe next year," I offered hopelessly. As the night wore on, I had really gotten caught up in the game. I had a Terrible Towel slung across my shoulder and Fang had splurged on a Roethlisberger-"Big Ben!" He had exclaimed when he saw it, grinning-jersey.
"Hey," I offered. "We're only nine points behind; we can still get this!"
He looked longingly over to where Iggy had Angel on his shoulders, wearing Nudge's cheese head and swirling her green-and-yellow beads over her head.
"We'll rub it in their faces," I assured him, though he looked doubtful. It didn't help that, at the moment, a particularly crude Packers fan next to us was waving a huge banner reading, "PACKERS: PACKING THE DIRT ON THE STEELER'S GRAVE" and whooping. A man on our side whose banner read "STEELERS: STEALING THE WIN" waved his feebly in reply with a halfhearted sort of yelp intermingled with a sob.
At that moment, Mike Wallace decided to catch the 25-yard pass from Ben Roethlisberger, launching the Steelers' score to 25. The noise spread like a ripple in water through the Steelers side, sending fans into a stamping and whistling uproar. Fang leaped up and let out an uncharacteristic whoop, grabbing my arm and pulling me up with him. A woman next to me grabbed me and pulled me to the front to do the same high-kick-per-point thing Nudge had; I was so full of screaming, hooting joy I didn't care, linking arms with them like we were old friends and kicking like a Radio City Rockette. I didn't realize how out of character this was until I had sat back down and began stuffing my face with wings with one hand, twirling a Terrible Towel over my head with the other. Fang snatched it out of my hand, twisted it, and flicked it toward Iggy like a bullwhip. Iggy, enraged, conked him upside the face with his cheese head. Fang gave him another snap of the Towel in retaliation, and just as Iggy was about to smack him with Angel's beads the waitress came up, pushing them apart and saying, "Break it up, now, boys, break it up!"
I didn't bother to hide my sniggers as Fang sat down, fuming. "Gosh, your first bar scuffle," I told him, which earned me a flick of the Towel.
The game continued relatively uneventfully for another five minutes; now we had finished our wings and were waiting for another round. Fang and Iggy had set aside their differences for now, settling to shoot each other hateful glances from across the red duct tape boundary. I had struck up a conversation with Nudge about the Black Eyed Peas performance; "They were awesome!" she gushed, while I was adamant that, while they had sucked, Slash from Guns N' Roses had been amazing. Fergie had totally messed up "Sweet Child o' Mine". Fang had expressed the opinion that Usher had been great, while Gazzy wondered where he could get himself one of those light-up suits. Even I had to admit they were pretty great.
And then a dead silence fell over the bar. As soon as it had begun, it ended; now replaced with screaming, foot-stomping, clapping, whistling, hooting, whooping, yelling, and hollering from the Packers side. The whole half did the wave, tossing their cheese heads in the air and screaming. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" yelled Nudge, doing a spontaneous victory dance. "Oh, yeah! Mason Crosby! Go Crosby! WHOO-HOO!" Gazzy and Angel were babbling, grabbing each other shoulders and jumping up and down. Iggy was just standing their in stunned silence, an expression of inexpressible joy on his face.
I looked toward Fang, who was watching the whole ordeal with a look of desolate despair, like maybe he needed some Cimbalta.
"Maybe next year," I offered hopelessly.
Oh yeah, baby! How 'bout them Packers?
Anyway, rate and review. You know the drill.