Title: Dot The I

Author: rekkidbraka

Rating: M

Pairings: Tony D. and Tim M.

Category: Friendship; Humor

Disclaimer: No infringement intended.

Spoilers: None

Summary: Tony invites McGee over to watch - what else? - Ohio State football.

-------------------- Dot The I ---------------------

"Ahhhhh... Ha ha HAH! Almost kickoff time, Probie!" Tony DiNozzo said, beaming with glee as he reclined on his couch before his brand new big-screen TV. "Tailgating... Game Day on campus... College girls in tight team t-shirts... Rush Week... Keggers... College girls in tight team t-shirts... The thrill of toe meeting leather on a crisp autumn Saturday afternoon... Did I mention the college girls in tight team t-shirts?"

"Three times," Tim McGee answered drily from a nearby chair, shifting his weight. He'd complained to Tony earlier that the chair was uncomfortable and tried to take a seat on the sofa but Tony told him that the couch was off-limits to him during the game.

"Men don't couch it together on Game Day, Probie," Tony had snapped while putting out a spread of snacks. "Goes against everything that's holy and righteous about college football. This is religion. Show some respect, McHeretic."

"So... Navy at Ohio State," Tim mused unenthusiastically. He looked around Tony's apartment, which was decked out with a slew of Ohio State paraphernalia -- flags, banners, posters of famous past Ohio State players, a huge blow-up Brutus mascot standing in the corner giving a thumbs-up, strings of red and gray icicle lights festooned about the living room ceiling area -- and shuddered. "Should be a good game, huh?"

Tony looked over at Tim from the couch, staring as if McGee had just grown an extra head.

"A good game? A good GAME, McGee?" Tony's eyes widened. He knitted his brow, fury turning his face a strange mix of scarlet and purple as he sprang up from the couch. "A 'good game' is when you beat someone at air hockey. A 'good game' is what you say to the other team you cream at tee-ball. A 'good GAME,' Probie, is a round of GOLF with the BOSS when you let HIM WIN! OHIO STATE HAS NEVER PLAYED ANYTHING RESEMBLING A 'GOOD GAME' IN ITS HISTORY, YOU MASTER OF THE McUNDERSTATEMENT! EVERY TIME THE BUCKEYES HIT THE FIELD, YOU'RE WATCHING A MONUMENTAL CONTEST OF EPIC PROPORTIONS!"

Tim started to respond but found himself speechless. He quickly turned his full attention to the TV. Tony, who was now once again lying back on the sofa, also glanced at the screen.

"Game's about to start, Probie," Tony said, calmly and casually, as if nothing had happened. "Wanna brewski?" Reaching into a huge red cooler next to the couch, he pulled out two bottles from the ice and flashed Tim a huge, toothy grin.

"Tony, it's noon," Tim said, a little taken aback at the idea of beer for brunch.

"Yeah," Tony answered, uncapping one of the bottles and taking a huge swig, "Gettin' a late start and it's only the season opener. It's OK. I'll get my timing down by the second game." He tossed the second bottle over to Tim, who bobbled it for a minute before getting a handle on it and studying the label.

"Buckeye Brew?" Tim asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Born 'n' bred in Columbus, O-hi-O, my little McBuddy. Game day essential. Have a case overnighted in whenever the Buckeyes are playin' on TV." Tony took another long pull from his bottle of beer.

"Wow, you're a really dedicated..." Tim began, but was interrupted by Tony, who upon seeing the ball leave the Ohio State kicker's foot, leapt from the couch and screamed "KICKOFF!" Tim screwed off the cap on his bottle, sniffed it, scrunched up his nose at the smell of Buckeye Beer, and took a tentative test sip. He coughed, gagging at the taste.

"Alright, Probie, your NAVY boys have first possession -- for NOW!" Tony smirked, finishing his beer. "I'm thinking three and out, McMidshipman. Ha HAH!"

"I'm not really a Navy fan, Tony," Tim said, taking another sip of his beer. "I went to MIT."

"Oh, right," Tony muttered, cracking open a second Buckeye Brew. "Guess the only football you eggheads played involved the use of joysticks."

"No," Tim replied defensively, "MIT has a football team -- the Engineers."

"Ha ha HAAAAH! Don't make me LAUGH, Probie!" Tony sneered, reaching for some snacks on the coffee table with his non-beer hand. "THAT's not FOOTBALL! It's glorified NERF! What you see on this 52-inch big screen TV before you, McPoser -- THAT is FOOTBALL! THAT is OHIO STATE, where we eat, sleep, breathe, walk, talk, drink and bear our firstborn in the name of COLLEGE FOOTBALL!"

Now Tim was getting angry.

"Y'know, the MIT games were a lot of fun. And I had a good time going to them when I was in college. So just because it isn't OHIO STATE on the field doesn't mean it isn't football. Same rules. Same guys playing same positions on the same type of field with the same type uniforms, helmets, pads and shoes. And with the same ball. Football, Tony? Ohio State and MIT? Play the SAME game!"

Tony stood up from the couch, furious. He pointed an index finger at Tim, his hand trembling with rage.

"YOU... watch... your... porky... MOUTH... you... you...," Tony snarled, searching for the perfect putdown nickname, "You ... PROBIE!" He yanked down his red OHIO STATE t-shirt, straightening it, lifted his chin haughtily and sat back down on the couch. Tony and Tim glared at one another, neither willing to give an inch in the great college football argument. Tim leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at Tony. Tony growled back at him.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Tony finally spoke.

"I think what we have here, McGEE," he said, trying to sound totally unconcerned, "is a case of the Buckeye Brew talking."

Tim looked at Tony as if he were crazy, then shook his head and found himself unable to keep from smiling at his friend.

"A case of the Buckeye Brew talking?" Tim laughed. "That's a good one, Tony."

Tony, unsure of what had just happened, glanced around uncertainly. But figuring he'd obviously gotten back on Tim's good side, he smiled and laughed, too.

"Heh... yeah, well... Game day brings out my special brand of humor." Tony offered Tim another cold beer from the cooler. "Mas cerveza, mi amigo? Chips WHY salsa?" Tim accepted both with a grin. "So, Probie... those MIT football cheerleaders pretty hot?"

"You do the math," Tim sighed, taking a long drink from his Buckeye Brew.