The Game

Sports bars are mysterious places. Walking into the bar, I've realize I've entered enemy territory. Not only am I not properly attired to be a sports bar wife in my no-makeup-fuzzie and jeans state, but I am in the football sector. I stand awkwardly at a table reserved for OU alumni and join our friends. The entire room has been transformed into a spirited area. Shiny red pom-poms and OU alumni stickers cover the tables. Everyone except Ben and I are wearing red. They stare at us as we smile back.

Eyeing us, they allow us to sit at the table until more alumni show up. I have a feeling we'll be booted when the next people drenched in red and looking for blood arrive.

Everyone sits transfixed, staring at the T.V. Even our friend from Baylor is decked out in OU gear, and he yells louder than anyone else. I rolled my eyes and strained to hear the music in the next room.

Armed with beer and nachos, the men sit next to their wives and discuss strategy.

"This is a Texas Bar," one of them states. "That's probably why we're not having as good of a turnout. Damn longhorns."

"Yup." Another one says. "But this year, I thinks we're going to beat them. I think we're headed for nationals."

As I try to ponder how exactly different alumni mark their bars (I wonder if peeing is involved and stare in alarm at my seat), the MAN of the group has arrived. The MAN is decked out in a jersey and jeans, while his simpering wife is wearing a tailored jacket in red and an alumni fitted shirt. Even her nails are painted a glowing red, as she primly sits and examines herself in the mirror. Her job is to shake the pom-poms and make sure everyone has a pom-pom. She watches as I began braiding the strings of the pom-pom and glares at me. I put the pom-pom down. The more I try not to touch the pom-pom, the more it calls me. The shiny red metallics just begged to be played with. I resist.

While a few of our friends have begun the beer-guzzling and yelling ritual, I begin to examine the ceiling. Suddenly, a fierce yell startles me.

"YYEAAAAAAAAAAA! BEAT THEM! BEAT THEM DOWN! SOOONNNERRRRSSS!"

A deranged man is standing in front of me beating on his chest. He chest bumps his fellow members and hugs his wife, shaking her as he jumps up and down. He humps the air and bellows out a school song, while his drunken alumni chant along holding up their beer mugs. He strides over to us and stares at the only people who are not wearing red. His eyes narrow.

"Who are you?" he roars, looking as though he may strike us down.

We point to our friend. "He invited us."

He looks at the friend who waves and gives a thumbs up as he guzzles his beer. "Ok," he nods. "Ok."

Soon, the deranged man begins to decorate the room. He's adding Sooners wagons, pom-poms and more red balloons. His frenzied movements suggests that he thinks the more decorations, the more points the team will gain. His wife just smiles and sits calmly staring at her nails.

A few minutes later, the man is roaring and bellowing at the television, along with the rest of his followers. He jumps up and slams himself into a chair at every 10 yards. I began to wonder if the deranged man truly believes he is on the field and is actually playing the game. I'm not quite certain he can distinguish between reality and television.

After a few points are won, he slams his hands on our table. We all stare at him. "Let's do a wave!" he shouts.

"A wave?" we question.

"A wave." he nods. "You, start."

His wife stands up and quickly waves his hands, and we all follow except a man who is busy staring at the Victoria's Secret commercial.

"You ruined the wave!" he bellowed. "This is unacceptable. Again!"

We all stand up again, except for a woman whose small child has dropped something on the floor. The man roared in frustration.

"AGAIN!" he commanded.

Again, we all stood and waved. As the man turned to see the others, Ben grabbed my hand. "Let's get out of here," he said. We quickly left as the man shook his arms in anger at the television.

As we hurried outside in the night, we could see the deranged man jumping through the window. We were lucky to have escaped with our lives.