"And there she is. Just staring at me, pushing football snacks as if the kitchen were her very own Frito-Lay showroom."
"There’s the wheel of smoked cheese, perspiring on its blue plate like an old man’s forehead in July."
"Up on the TV, the Redskins defense resembles a bunch of trapeze artists, flying all over FedExField, forcing Trent Green to toss bad balls."
"I always wished her one more season, maybe even one more Super Bowl victory."
"I can pour out a cup and try to forget it is Shiva ginger ale."
This has never been said before!
"Tradition has a funny way of sneaking up on you."
Trenchant game analysis:
"Especially if they were complaining about coach Marty Schottenheimer. She intuitively saw him as a grumpy field general who brought nothing to the team except boot-camp style practices and dull offensive schemes. Nana hated Marty Ball." [Sheesh--that figures!]
"It is 27-3 with 3:06 to go. The Skins are really executing out there." [Oooh...you think?
And, typical reminders of his calculated contempt for common people:
"But I don’t have a TV."
"The folks at Union Jack’s in Bethesda have their own Redskins-watching traditions. I arrive late, right in the middle of halftime. When Nana and I talked Skins, we had our own language. Now I am surrounded by Cooley jerseys, and X-and-O heads half gone on $4 Bud Lights."
That's before we get to the fact that your whole conceit is stolen from Fever Pitch.
Here's the shorter version: My grandma drank too much ginger ale and died. Also some football happened. But I got a GREAT STORY!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007