A Fan's Notes

I went to a high school football game down at the stadium the other night. One of the high schools, the one that is sponsored by the Vatican here in the People's Republic of Hillcrest, was playing in the semi-finals of the state championships. I was not about to miss. The Headmaster over there is a buddy of mine. I know some of the kids on the team and their parents. Besides, the Catholic High Rockets contend for a football title about once an evolutionary cycle. I may be in the nursing home the next time they pull this off.

I got there about kickoff. I found a seat high up in the bleachers where I settled in with my mini-pizza and bottled water that I bought from the Boy Scouts down below, perfectly content to be all bundled up out in the cold night air watching kids play ball. I had just taken a bite of what passed for my
dinner when I heard a man call out my name followed by " Hey! Mind if I join you?" Before I had a chance to answer Bill and his youngest son scooted in beside me.

Now let me be quite honest. I do not like Bill. There are no two ways around it. He is the ex-husband of a woman I cared deeply about once upon a time. That is not why I do not like Bill. Without going into lurid detail, suffice it to say that until he stopped drinking, he was spectacularly unstable and unreliable, a man who one of his old Rocket teammates described to me as "the worst alcoholic he ever saw" a remarkable statement coming from this informant who I know full well has seen his fair share of serious bad drunks. But that is not why I don't like Bill.

I don't like Bill because he is a narcissistic mama's boy who, insofar as I could tell, was never made to take responsibility for his actions. He ran any of a number of businesses straight into the dumper only to be repeatedly bailed out by his mother and her apparently limitless supply of cash which she spent on him like it was water. I don't like him because I saw firsthand the pain and frustration that was frequently visited upon the mother of his children-a good and brave woman- whenever his irresponsibility was in its full flower. I don't like him because I think I might otherwise like him. Like many alcoholics, he is the outwardly affable sort of guy that could charm the chrome off of a trailer hitch. But his charm and bravado were frequently offset by recurrent bouts of self-pity, a dichotomy I didn't fully understand having no formal training in psychiatry.

His son ran off to play with some other boys. And there I was, left alone with this man that I do not like. Eventually he spoke.

" I want you to know something." he said.

" Oh great." I thought. " Now he wants to chat." I turned to look at him. I noticed that my arms were folded tightly across my chest.

" I want you to know that I have been sober for two years now."

There was an awkward silence between us. I noticed the sadness in his eyes as they searched my face. I extended my hand.

" Hey, man." I said as I reached for his hand. " That's great. That's really great. Congratulations. I'm really proud of you." And I meant it. I never thought he would get this far. I mean, this is a guy who drank vodka for breakfast. I always kind of figured that wrapping a car around a tree somewhere at 2 a.m. was his destiny.

That seemed to relax him.

" I want you to know that means a lot to me to hear you say that." he replied.

" No really. It's not about me. You are to be commended for getting on top of it. It's all you."

" Well, thanks."

Silence mercifully returned as we turned back to the game below us. It didn't last long.

" I want you to know that I have kept my job. I've even been promoted. I'm strictly 9 to 5 now. I need that structure. It amazes me to think of myself working somewhere at a job where I have good benefits. I've even got vacation time coming. I can't believe it. I will never run a restaurant again. Things are going too good for me right now."

" I'm really glad to hear it, Bill. Good for you." I said. I almost added, "Maybe you can get current on child support now." Bad on me, I know. At least I didn't actually say it.

His boy-who at one time was kind of my boy too-returned. Knowing that he is as much a human garbage disposal as he is a little boy, I gave him my pizza.

" I guess I kept you from eating your dinner." Bill said, sheepishly. " It probably isn't good cold."

" Nah. Not much good cold." I replied. I was lying. Actually, I had lost my appetite.

I left at halftime. I manufactured an excuse about having to get up early. Quite frankly, and no disrespect to Bill, I needed a drink.

My head was humming as I walked up the hill back to the relative sanity of my little house. I mean, the man is not stupid. He knows that I have no use for him. Out of all the people at the stadium that night why did he sit with me? My friend Dr. GG opined that it might have been an inept attempt to do the "making amends" thing that guys in AA are supposed to do. Another friend who knows a lot about this stuff said that alcoholics sometimes confuse sobriety with the acquisition of social skills and that maybe it just didn't occur to him that, while I wish him no harm, I sure as hell don't want to socialize with him. And I know a couple of people in AA and God love 'em they all tend to talk, talk, talk.

Maybe he derives some false comfort from the fact that his ex gave us both the heave-ho. It would be just like him, given the cocoon of denial he has always operated out of, to draw some sort of moral equivalence between our shared experience. "See? There ain't no living with her." I can hear him say. Which infuriates me when I think about it. But this would explain why he honks and waves like we're big buddies when he sees me out running in the neighborhood. Listen pal, I ain't running a personal chapter of the VFW. And if I were I wouldn't let you join.

So why didn't I tell him to buzz off? I am perfectly capable of such behavior. I do not suffer fools gladly. And as I grow older, I am less inclined to take stuff lying down or to tolerate being taken for granted. I have burned-nay- blown up bridges. I have kept lists of names just for the pleasure of marking them off. So why on earth did irascible combative me sit for and hour-an hour of my life that I will never get back-and listen to a man that once treated a person I cared for so very badly?

Dr. GG says this is proof that I am a good man. That is nice of her to say. But I am not a good man. I am not a very good Christian either. But I'm a pretty good Methodist. And we Methodists are hard-wired incapable of turning away from people in need. Like I said, I always saw the pain in Bill's eyes, pain that was for the most part self-inflicted, but it was there nonetheless. For whatever reason, he needed to tell me the things he told me on that cold night at War Memorial Stadium. If talking to me helped him keep it together for one more night then I couldn't turn away. He is the father of two little boys that I love. I owed the son of a bitch that much.

But I ain't running a personal VFW. And just because I am very pleased that he has done so well in his recovery from addiction, we aren't going to become friends.

Because I do not like Bill. There are no two ways around it.