The other commentator nods. “Absolutely. Truth is, I think Finn is the stronger player. Adams, you can tell, is playing for the crowd— he likes being the football hero. But Thorne is all about the game, always has been. The Florida scandal seems pretty well behind him now, and honestly, I can’t wait to see how this guy plays compared to Adams against the same opponent, so we can really compares apples to apples.”
Mandy turns to me. “He’s going to play terribly, that’s how. They’re all going to play terrible! Harton’s going to lose! My sister gets her football-y revenge!”
I laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I can’t believe I dated a football player and only saw him play live once. I feel cheated.”
“Don’t. You see one game, you’ve seen them all. Trust me— you know how many regattas I’ve had to go to since I started dating someone on the rowing team?”
“Three? Four?”
“Eleven,” she says. “And they’re not even real regattas— those are in the spring. These are like…training rows. Training regattas. Or something. And he gets all emo if I don’t go.”
The camera pans across the field via the blimp I know is hovering above it. Just as I’m about to reply, they change shots, to a close up of the seats right at the fifty on the Harton side. They’re the seats reserved for friends and family of the players— though getting them isn’t easy even if you are friends or family, since eacb player only gets a handful for the entire season. The pan across those seated, the announcers mentioning who today’s guests are— Steven Franklin’s twin sister, Reece Dawson’s girlfriend and her mother, and—
“And that’s Finn Thorne’s father here, at today’s game. Always so nice to see a father and son bonding over the game,” the commentator says.
My jaw drops. Finn gave his father one of the friends and family tickets? No. There’s no way.
“You okay?” Mandy asks, frowning at me.
“That’s Finn’s dad.”
“I know. They just said that.”
“No, I mean— Finn hates his dad. Like, really hates his dad. No way would he give him a ticket to the game.”
Mandy shrugs and eats another carrot with hummus on it— probably so much hummus that it undoes any calorie-saving the carrot might have gained her. “Maybe he’s changed his mind in the last few days. Or maybe someone else gave him the ticket.”
I give her a look. “Why would someone else give Finn’s dad a ticket to the game?”
“I don’t know. Why would his dad wear that shirt? It looks like something from an eighties Western bar,” Mandy says, motioning toward the television. Finn’s father was indeed wearing a rather ridiculous rhinestone shirt, with RIDE HARD emblazoned across the back.
The camera lingers on Finn’s father a touch longer, then goes to the tunnel where the players will appear. When it happens— doors open, balloons go up, cameras flash, cheerleaders perform feats of gravity— Finn is leading the pack into the stadium, barely recognizable in all the pads and protective gear. The cameras toy around with different shots for a moment, then close in on Finn again once the team is on their sideline.
“That’s Stewart Adams talking with Finn Thorne— maybe giving the guy some tips on the second half!” one of the commentators jokes. I make a face. Whatever Adams is saying, it’s definitely not helpful. Adams and Finn exchange a few words, then Adams points toward the stands. Finn looks where he’s pointing—
The camera has already moved on to another player, but I can see Finn in the background— can see his body go stiff when he sees his father in the friends and family section.
“Adams got Finn’s dad in. To psych him out,” I realize out loud.
“Seriously? Damn. That’s cold,” Mandy says, though she looks almost impressed at the level of sabotage.
“Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let him get to you,” I say— still out loud.
“Are you seriously talking to your ex-boyfriend to the TV right now?” Mandy asks.
“Shhh, I’m watching,” I say, flailing an arm at her.
The second half begins, and Adams has found the perfect distraction. Hyper-focused Finn was now struggling, fighting to keep the team together, commanding them by virtue of their following skills rather than his own leadership skills. The Rams miss a chance to intercept the ball, and the commentators came down hard on Finn for it.
“I have to tell you, this isn’t really what I was expecting to see. Might just be an off day, but at this level, you can’t have those,” one of them says.
“No one asked you, dick,” I snap at the television.
“Geez, calm down,” Mandy says, looking at me like I’ve got two heads. “I thought you were going to root against him.”
I ignore her. The rest of the game goes by in a flash— for the first time in my life, I find myself hanging on the edge of every play, every move, every moment. Finn manages to get it together toward the end, though the commentators barely give him credit for it. They also keep panning back to his father celebrating Finn’s every success, like it’s the most tender thing they’ve ever seen. Which I guess it is, if you don’t know that it really, seriously, totally isn’t.