The Rivalry

“Yeah. You go to Michigan.”

There it was again, her tone of disgust. I felt stupid holding my phone and pocketed it as I struggled with what to say. “Come on,” I forced out. “This is a rivalry thing? That’s stupid.”

Smitty was listening to every word. “You expect her to be smart? She goes to Ohio State.”

Okay, watch it, pal. Not only was I taller and broader, I was guaranteed to be faster. Smitty would hit the floor before he realized I’d knocked the barstool out from under him. I swiveled my head back to her. It wasn’t a lie, at least not in comparison to my teammates. “I don’t care about the rivalry.”

“Yeah?” she fired back. “I do. It’s not stupid. It’s the greatest sports rivalry in history. And for the love of God, can someone please turn that off?” Her raised voice caught everyone’s attention, and we collectively looked up at the TV.

ESPN Classic. I recognized the stadium instantly as the camera hovered over the Big House, and the banner along the bottom announced the game. OSU versus UM at Michigan, 1997.

“We’re about to see Woodson’s awesome pick in Ohio’s end zone.” Smitty’s jerkoff attitude wasn’t helping my situation. “We could rewind to his touchdown from earlier.”

Did he see the same flash of a nuclear mushroom cloud in her eyes that I did? Her voice was steel. “I know I look small, but believe me when I say I could end you.”

He must not have, because he laughed like she was ridiculous. “Whatever.” He jabbed a finger at the girl who was staring him down, and he yelled toward the bartender, “Don’t serve her. She’s a Buckeye.”

I curled my hands into fists. Did my coworker want to get leveled? He’d just alerted a room full of Michigan fans that Kayla was from Ohio State. The enemy, as far as they were concerned. Add in a few drunks and some mob mentality, and things could go sideways quick. “Dude, what the hell?”

Two older men, one with a beer belly covered by a Michigan jersey, and the other with skinny arms hanging from a ‘Go Blue’ t-shirt, were sitting at a table in the back. Fat Jersey Guy set down his beer with a loud thud. “Get outta here, fuckeye.”

“Go back to Columbus, you loser!” Skinny T-shirt Guy chipped in.

Awesome. I clenched my teeth, expecting Kayla to startle and panic. Instead, her eyes narrowed into slits, focusing on the men in the back. Even the skinny one was at least twice her size, and both of them looked mean as hell.

“Ohio State sucks,” Skinny T-shirt continued. “Your quarterback throws like my two-year-old niece, only she’s more accurate.”

“Are you kidding?” Kayla said. “Michigan’s football team is so terrible those guys couldn’t find their own asses if they used both hands. And hired a detective.”

Every pair of eyes in the full bar flicked toward me, watching my reaction, but I didn’t have time. I sensed the bad situation coming at me just like the shadow of a defender over my shoulder. I had to move fast, or I’d find myself at the bottom of a pile.

“Miss,” the bartender said, “you might want to—”

The peanut gallery wasn’t finished laying into Kayla. “You know what the difference is between an Ohio State cheerleader and the Titanic?” Fat Jersey said. “Only a thousand went down on the Titanic.”

Red color splashed across her cheekbones as she shifted on her heels into a defensive position. She straightened her posture, and it was impressive. Instantly she seemed a foot taller. “I’m OSU’s cheerleading captain. Why don’t you come over here and say that again?”

Her menacing stance and hard-edged face was adorable, and almost intimidating. She was small, but I was smart enough to know never to underestimate size. Sometimes the more compact the player, the harder the hit.

When Fat Jersey launched to his unsteady feet, his gaze swung around wildly, and his face was sweaty. I could read the thought in his head. He wasn’t going to get in a fight with a girl, no matter how tough she acted, and his focus eventually landed on me. How loaded was he? I could take him down easily if needed, but that was a last resort. Getting into a fight at a bar? Yeah, that’d be real helpful in the upcoming semester.

He shuffled one step forward, but stopped when he got a good look at my scowl. Fat Jersey had no choice but to yell it at her. “What’re you going to do? Ask me to go outside? I’m not gonna fight a girl, and you’ll probably need directions. I mean, you couldn’t even figure out how to read the word ‘pull’ on the door.”

“You can gargle my buckeyes, loser!” Skinny T-Shirt didn’t want his friend to be the only one slinging the insults, apparently.