When it’s Sunday in the fall, it’s football.
Even when it’s Riot Fest. Even when I’m tired and just want to sleep. Even when there’s still some work to do, or to be thought out.
In Montréal, for years, it was wake up, get a coffee, go to Brian’s. We’d watch the first game, a bit of the second, and then I’d leave. Occasionally we’d go to a bar, but it was always better at his place, with a dog to clean the dropped chips up off the floor and a different meal every week: Bagels, cream cheese and lox from St-Viateur; Greek food; pizza; rotisserie chicken.
Once, we watched the 1:00 games, the 4:15 games, broke for dinner, watched the night game, and then watched the all-time worst movie in the history of movies just because it was on and we were enjoying each other’s company. Read the rest of this entry »