Red Sox vs. The Yankees

Andrew Bianchet

“Red sox are gonna win tonight! I’m calling it!” Russell said excitedly, almost spitting out the handful of fries he put in his mouth. Russell was all around a large and intimidating man. That’s why most of the time he got this excited Elliot just went with it.

You think so?” Elliot asked, ripping apart his straw paper. “Yes, I think so! I’m always right about these kinds of things.” “You’re not always right,” Elliot said meekly, now feeling bad about the bits of straw paper he spread around the table.

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure if we left when I said to leave, we wouldn’t be here an hour early, eating crappy stadium food.” He was now picking at the scraps left on his plate. Russell was an obtrusive man with exclusively dark features, despite the grey hairs sprouting up in his untidy hair and mustache. You could see his mustache twitch with annoyance when, like right now, people ignored him.

“So I was thinking,” Russell said, taking a deep breath, “maybe this would be a good time for us to catch up.” Elliot looked up immediately. The idea of “catching up” was terrifying for him, being as socially awkward as he was. He just liked having someone who occasionally invited him to sports games, not to actually talk about things, especially with someone who seemed so dense like Russell. The only times they talked were in the car or dinner parties, and usually Russell would take over the conversation and talk about sports or how hot his wife was. The rest of the time was usually spent yelling at a TV screen.

Elliot sat dumbfounded at how to respond to the abnormal idea, and it made Russell shift uncomfortably in his seat. “My wife, um, Katie, she just thought it would be healthy and stuff… to actually talk and… be friends like they are.” That’s how they met anyway. A friendship between their two wives was the only way they ended up speaking to one another. They were only at the game because Katie had won a ticket on the radio and

gave it to Russell. And then she talked Elliot into buying one.

“Yeah.” Elliot murmured, as he was adjusting his hat that covered up slowly but surely forming bald spots in his dirty blond hair. “What do you want to talk about Russ?” “You have a daughter, right? How is she?” He sounded like he had read the line off a note card a million times, yet to Elliot he felt as if he could see a glint of interest in his seemingly black eyes, and it made him a little more comfortable.

“Oh yeah, Cameron is about halfway through her freshman year of high school.” “Oh, how is that?” Russell said excitedly, while he was silently recounting missed memories. Elliot looked down at the ground. “Not super great. She says she’s been having trouble making friends and doesn't really feel like she fits in. I guess she’s taking after her dad.” Elliot smirked for a second, but it quickly melted, “but what’s scaring me is how strangely she seems to be acting at home. She hardly eats dinner and doesn’t talk to me or her mom. She tells me she eats a big lunch at school and she’s filled when she gets home, but I just don’t believe her anymore. And her mom has been almost no help. Skyler just tells me to talk to her, but I know she’s not going to listen.” Elliot looked up, expecting sympathy, but was greeted by badly hidden consternation on Russell’s face. It was at this moment Elliot realized how far in life he’d get if he just said, “Everything’s fine” more often than not. It took about 30 long seconds for the words to come out of Russell’s mouth like kicked tumbleweeds.

“Well, um, that is… bad.” Russell cleared his already empty throat, “My son eats a ton, just like all the time. He eats sausage, bacon, steak, ya know? Jared is just a real, uh, man’s man.” “Jared’s thirteen now, right? He’s in seventh grade?” asked Elliot, pleased to have made it to another subject so quickly.

Russell laughed, “I’m sorry, bud, but you’re definitely gonna have to ask my wife if you want that information.”

“Yeah,” said Elliot, stroking his chin as if he had facial hair or even the potential to grow it, “I was pretty heavy at that time too, ya know? It’s just kind of an awkward time for young--” “Did you just call my son fat?” Russell said clenching his jaw.

“I said heavy, and it’s no big deal. I just thought--” “Because, it really sounded like you called my son fat.” “Well, it’s not a big deal, I--

“I said man’s man, my son is goddamn fine. Why’d you have go and make it weird, like my son’s sick or something?” “Alright, I’m sorry.” He didn’t really feel that sorry, and would have continued to enforce that being heavy at that age is normal, but ended up mostly apologizing because Russell had seemed to forget he was in a public place and was now turning heads. Russell rolled his eyes and began texting on his phone.

Russell had fallen silent. It took a bit but the features on his face had finally seemed to relax. Elliot looked down at his watch and saw they still had 40 minutes before anything began on the field. He wanted to be early, but he couldn’t believe how badly he had misjudged the time it would take to get here. He thought there should have been immense traffic to a Yankees VS Red Sox game. Elliot looked at the table and noticed how big and beaten up Russell’s hands were. It took him a second to remember that he had a profession as a construction worker, a much more taxing job than Elliot’s job of waiting tables at a Ruby Tuesday. It caused him to naturally have frail hands proportionate to the rest of his body. Sometimes Elliot couldn’t help feeling a little bit lame compared to Russell in size and in looks. He was glad that the juxtaposition between them never seemed to bother Russell.

Elliot looked up at his friend’s face, which was looking away at the moment. He seemed unsatisfied with the conversation they had held and Elliot felt his social awkwardness was at fault.

“How is Katie, Russ?” He felt as if there were no way this could lead to hostility. “Can we just watch baseball, Elliot?” He asked firmly, still looking away. Elliot twiddled his thumbs, he felt his eyes starting to get drowsy. He wasn’t used to this amount of stress. Russell let out a big sigh, closed his eyes, and when he opened them, was looking at Elliot.

“She’s fine. She’s been baking a lot recently,” he put his phone in his pocket, “the whole nine yards: cakes, brownies and all these other sweets, they’ve just filled up the house.”

that!” “Wow!” Elliot was glad they had fallen upon such a mundane topic, “Your son must absolutely love

Russell thought for a second about what Elliot just said and then furrowed his eyebrows.

“Because he’s in seventh grade!” Elliot added quickly, in disbelief that Russell thought he was trying to imply that his son was overweight again.

Russell breathed audibly out of his nose. “Anyway, Katie’s been baking stuff, which I’ve been fine with, ya know. I love always having cupcakes in the microwave. What I don’t love is the mess she leaves in the kitchen. It’s like she expects me to clean the shit when I get home, when she’s home all day because she gets summers off from teaching.” He looked down at his phone, seeming to take about half his concentration off the conversation. “I swear, I think she’s too dumb to know it, but she can be such a bitch sometimes.”

Elliot was taken off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “Jesus, dude, That’s a little harsh.” Russell immediately looked up at Elliot, “What the hell are you, some goddamn feminist?” “No, I just think it’s a little mean to--” “Listen, Elliot, I’m starting to not give a shit what you think. Just because you have your crappy little life doesn’t mean mine is shitty, too. Stop trying to butt heads with me. My wife and I have a perfect relationship. My life is goddamn perfect.” he seemed a little flustered at this point and had to pause in the middle of his speech, “Don’t judge the way I talk about my wife. Alright?” Elliot couldn’t say anything. Even though he felt angry, he couldn’t muster up the courage to say anything and felt awfully lame because of it. He looked down to see that there was still fifteen minutes before the game started. Russell was back to tapping on his phone screen.

His comments seemed to have no effect on his conscious. Elliot looked at his face and saw no visible sign of regret, just the bright light of his own phone screen bouncing off his pupils. He almost looked proud of himself. That’s what bothered Elliot the most. “I think you're wrong. I bet your life isn’t perfect.” It squeaked out of him, ill-timed, about 5 minutes later, and without a sliver of the indignation he wanted it to have.

Russell looked up at Elliot, tight-jawed and seemingly ready to yell. The anticipation made Elliot want to pull what was left of his hair out. But he never said anything. Instead of yelling, Russell stared at him, rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and walked away. Elliot stared at him when he ripped apart his

ticket and when he flinched to walk back towards the table, he stared at him until he disappeared into the crowd.

Five minutes until the game.

Elliot felt shaky as he sat there alone, like if he said one more word he would choke up and begin to cry. Elliot was one to overthink things he was told and not be able to get over it for a very long time. In other words, he was a sensitive soul, and could not stop feeling Russell’s words as if they were knotted up inside his chest. He couldn’t help thinking maybe Russell was right. Maybe he had the perfect life. Elliot began to believe maybe he was just born to have a life of being lame. All this self-deprecation stressed him out so he decided to leave and go home. He knew his wife would be angry that he wasted money on a ticket. It was fine though. He didn’t miss much. The Red Sox lost that night anyway.