Clash (Crash 2)

“And one day, he’s going to be President of the United States of America,” he said, twisting in his seat as Jude led his offensive line into position at the sixty.

“So all those things make him a superhero, huh?” I said, continuing to make conversation. Partly because the kid could keep pace with me on a couple of my favorite topics: football and Jude. And secondly, because it felt good to talk. To someone. Even if that someone was a pint-sized, freckle faced, superhero worshipper.

“Well, yeah, that and…” He stared down at the field as Jude pulled one of his notorious quarterback fakes and ran that ball into the end zone before the other team had figured out what the hell was going on. “That,” Danny said, jumping in his seat and waving his hands towards where Jude had scored six points in the first minute of the game.

Once the cheering died down to a dull roar, Danny spun back around in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. “Now do you believe me?”

It would have been impossible to argue. “I believe you.”

And that’s how the first half of the game continued. Danny and I would banter back and forth in between hollering our heads off when home team got another ball into the end zone. I couldn’t have imagined a better Christmas present for myself.

Like every game Jude had played, he played this one like his life was hanging in the balance. He was good because he had the talent. He was the best because he believed he was and played accordingly.

And every one of us in the stands recognized that we were witnessing a legend in the making. Jude’s name wouldn’t fizzle into college football record books; it would be eternalized by the young boys like Danny who would tell stories of Jude around the dinner table to their sons.

I knew I might be sensitive to it, but it seemed like Jude couldn’t stop looking up into that front row whenever he was on the sidelines. I was probably just imagining it, hoping he was looking for me and wondering who the people were in my seats, but this was my Christmas present and I had carte blanche to jump to whatever conclusion I wanted.

At the half, we were ahead by two touchdowns‌—‌an unreal feat given how the analysts had called this to be one of the closest games in college football history‌—‌as Jude led the team off the field.

Danny had stayed mostly quiet once the game had kicked off, other than throwing up football, or more specifically Jude, praises. I was about to hop up and grab myself some concessions when Danny twisted in his seat, his eyes falling way up, rows above us.

His eyes couldn’t have widened any further. Then a bunch of other spectators started twisting in their seats, nudging their neighbors and waving their hands or heads up the stands.

“Holy‌—‌”

“Danny!” his mom warned, shooting him a look. “Language.”

Turning in my seat, I glanced over my shoulder and I almost immediately felt faint. I wouldn’t have believed Jude coming down the stairs was real if everyone around me wasn’t watching him like I was‌—‌in awe.

“Hey, Luce,” he said, stopping at the end of the row.

“Hi,” I replied, giving him a sheepish smile. I hadn’t expected him to know I was here‌—‌I hadn’t intended him to ever find out.

“Enjoying the game from here?” he asked, dropping his helmet and sliding into the empty seat beside me.

“I am,” I answered, not moving my arm settled on the rest when his pressed against mine. “You’re playing a great game. So much for every one saying this might be the first game you’ve ever lost.”

I could feel Danny’s eyes on us, not missing a single thing. He really did believe Jude was a superhero, and he acted accordingly.

“Well, once I knew you were here, I might have kicked it into another gear,” he said, smiling his tilted one at me.

“Lou told you, didn’t he?” I guessed.

“Lou didn’t need to tell me, Luce,” he said, looking between me and the field. “I don’t need someone to tell me when my girl’s in the stands. I could pick you out even if I was playing in the Superdome and you were tucked into the back row.”

Of course he could. Couldn’t I have done the same with him?

I was a fool to think I could pop into this game and pop out before he knew I was here. He knew I was here before I’d even known I was coming. That was the curse and the blessing of Jude’s and my relationship, among the many others.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the locker room, getting a pep talk from your coach? Maybe a second half action plan?” I knew Jude did what he wanted to, but I felt the need to remind him since I couldn’t have been squirming in my seat more from everyone around us watching us with unblinking interest, taking sips of soda and tossing popcorn into their mouths.

“The plan is always the same,” he answered, his eyes roaming over my face, likely inspecting the battle wounds a week later. The redness had gone down, but the bruises were still pretty gnarly. “Kick. Ass.”

“I think you’ve got that down,” I said, knowing a few members of the visiting team could personally relate to that.

“What are you doing here, Luce?” he asked, studying me.

“Watching you play,” I answered, knowing it wasn’t one he’d accept.

“Yeah,” he said, making a face. “That’s not going to work for me.”

Of course it wasn’t.

“You know why,” I added with a whisper.

o;And one day, he’s going to be President of the United States of America,” he said, twisting in his seat as Jude led his offensive line into position at the sixty.

“So all those things make him a superhero, huh?” I said, continuing to make conversation. Partly because the kid could keep pace with me on a couple of my favorite topics: football and Jude. And secondly, because it felt good to talk. To someone. Even if that someone was a pint-sized, freckle faced, superhero worshipper.

“Well, yeah, that and…” He stared down at the field as Jude pulled one of his notorious quarterback fakes and ran that ball into the end zone before the other team had figured out what the hell was going on. “That,” Danny said, jumping in his seat and waving his hands towards where Jude had scored six points in the first minute of the game.

Once the cheering died down to a dull roar, Danny spun back around in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. “Now do you believe me?”

It would have been impossible to argue. “I believe you.”

And that’s how the first half of the game continued. Danny and I would banter back and forth in between hollering our heads off when home team got another ball into the end zone. I couldn’t have imagined a better Christmas present for myself.

Like every game Jude had played, he played this one like his life was hanging in the balance. He was good because he had the talent. He was the best because he believed he was and played accordingly.

And every one of us in the stands recognized that we were witnessing a legend in the making. Jude’s name wouldn’t fizzle into college football record books; it would be eternalized by the young boys like Danny who would tell stories of Jude around the dinner table to their sons.

I knew I might be sensitive to it, but it seemed like Jude couldn’t stop looking up into that front row whenever he was on the sidelines. I was probably just imagining it, hoping he was looking for me and wondering who the people were in my seats, but this was my Christmas present and I had carte blanche to jump to whatever conclusion I wanted.

At the half, we were ahead by two touchdowns‌—‌an unreal feat given how the analysts had called this to be one of the closest games in college football history‌—‌as Jude led the team off the field.

Danny had stayed mostly quiet once the game had kicked off, other than throwing up football, or more specifically Jude, praises. I was about to hop up and grab myself some concessions when Danny twisted in his seat, his eyes falling way up, rows above us.

His eyes couldn’t have widened any further. Then a bunch of other spectators started twisting in their seats, nudging their neighbors and waving their hands or heads up the stands.

“Holy‌—‌”

“Danny!” his mom warned, shooting him a look. “Language.”

Turning in my seat, I glanced over my shoulder and I almost immediately felt faint. I wouldn’t have believed Jude coming down the stairs was real if everyone around me wasn’t watching him like I was‌—‌in awe.

“Hey, Luce,” he said, stopping at the end of the row.

“Hi,” I replied, giving him a sheepish smile. I hadn’t expected him to know I was here‌—‌I hadn’t intended him to ever find out.

“Enjoying the game from here?” he asked, dropping his helmet and sliding into the empty seat beside me.

“I am,” I answered, not moving my arm settled on the rest when his pressed against mine. “You’re playing a great game. So much for every one saying this might be the first game you’ve ever lost.”

I could feel Danny’s eyes on us, not missing a single thing. He really did believe Jude was a superhero, and he acted accordingly.

“Well, once I knew you were here, I might have kicked it into another gear,” he said, smiling his tilted one at me.

“Lou told you, didn’t he?” I guessed.

“Lou didn’t need to tell me, Luce,” he said, looking between me and the field. “I don’t need someone to tell me when my girl’s in the stands. I could pick you out even if I was playing in the Superdome and you were tucked into the back row.”

Of course he could. Couldn’t I have done the same with him?

I was a fool to think I could pop into this game and pop out before he knew I was here. He knew I was here before I’d even known I was coming. That was the curse and the blessing of Jude’s and my relationship, among the many others.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the locker room, getting a pep talk from your coach? Maybe a second half action plan?” I knew Jude did what he wanted to, but I felt the need to remind him since I couldn’t have been squirming in my seat more from everyone around us watching us with unblinking interest, taking sips of soda and tossing popcorn into their mouths.

“The plan is always the same,” he answered, his eyes roaming over my face, likely inspecting the battle wounds a week later. The redness had gone down, but the bruises were still pretty gnarly. “Kick. Ass.”

“I think you’ve got that down,” I said, knowing a few members of the visiting team could personally relate to that.

“What are you doing here, Luce?” he asked, studying me.

“Watching you play,” I answered, knowing it wasn’t one he’d accept.

“Yeah,” he said, making a face. “That’s not going to work for me.”

Of course it wasn’t.

“You know why,” I added with a whisper.