Monday morning quarterback

"So how are you?" I ask as I get out the workbooks and the papers for this beginning class-within-a-class.

"I am very fine!" comes the response, and I have to smile. Enthusiasm is so foreign to Monday

"The Hams! The game was very good!" and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Enthusiasm is so foreign to football in St. Louis, these days.

"Really!" I reply. My new Brazilian friend has been resistant to the appeal of football. After all, he believes football to be a game played, without hands, to a scoreless tie, by men in shorts. Silly boy.

He asks me if I watched, and I explain there was no TV ("not even Fox?") and tease that they're no good anyway (he knows my team's the Packers), and he keeps speaking English to tell me, "No, no, they win!" He even sustains his excitement through his recounting of the scoring and my explanation of why people were shouting "dog killer" at the Falcons and my insistance that the Ed Jones dome is actually a terrible place to watch a football game (it's important to tell the truth).

Finally, he says, "my chairs were very good, too!"

"Oh, really? Where were they?"

"Six from the game."

"Six rows up?" I say, drawing the scene on the board. "Wow. That's very good."

"Yes!"

My eyes narrow, as finally, I get it: "Were you by the cheerleaders?"

"Yes!"

And I laugh right out loud, "You don't like the fooball! You just like the girls!"