Hoisted
Walter tried not to think. He tried not to think about the work on his desk after a week of vacation or the pile of mail at home or the empty seat beside him.
A beach ball hit him on the head, jarring him from his non-thoughts. Now Walter tried to enjoy the game. The Red Sox were leading the Yankees 1-0. About thirty black-shirted Yankees fans were sitting in front of him. Behind him, four college kids were jousting with polysyllabic Latinates. Walter didn’t know which team they were rooting for.
The Yankees fans were smoking big cigars and trading fighting words with the sea of angry Red Sox fans around them. But the Yankees fans were all big enough to play college football and they had an intricate beer run relay that made them smile bravely under their hollow eyes and their crew cuts. Every five minutes or so, they chanted “Let’s-go, Yan-kees.” or “Nine-teen Eight-teen.”
“We need to empower the have-nots,” said one of the women behind Walter.
As the Red Sox came to bat in the bottom of the fifth, the Yankees fan in front of Walter stood up and started throwing peanuts. When the Red Sox fans started throwing them back, the Yankees fan got on his seat and turned his rear toward them. Walter prayed the guy wouldn’t drop his pants.
