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.
Years and years before that, it was beer and wings at the Peel Pub, that awful blight on Montréal’s downtown. Wings were nine cents each, and 140 oz jugs of beer were something like $25. We’d go as four of us, and order 50 wings and a massive pitcher each, and whoever finished their beer and their wings last had to pay for the bunch. I never got stuck with the bill.
Along the way there were some fun times in various other bars in various cities: Toronto, New York, a really fun time in San Francisco that led to a fascination with Matt Bryant and an enjoyment of Anchor Steam. Today it was in Davies’ living room, flipping between games, cracking jokes, eating the dirty bird (Swiss Chalet), doing nothing. Hanging out without even really doing anything. Detroit vs. St. Louis. Atlanta vs. Kansas City. San Francisco vs. Green Bay. We sat, we chatted, we watched ball, we talked nonsense.
I don’t know what you do with your Sundays in the fall, but this is what I do with mine. And regardless of the myriad options out there that aren’t this, this is more or less what I want to do with my fall Sundays, for now and for later. It’s what makes me feel like me.
This is the ninth post in my #30posts challenge. Don’t know what that is? Read this.