It’s 6.30 pm. The room is dark. The projector is on. The vent is blowing enough heat to keep our feet warm. A soft white throw covers us till our chin. A bag of hot buttery popcorn rests on our laps.
The projector comes alive with the face of Tom Brady and Julian Edelman. In anticipation, we watch the white and blue clad New England Patriots ram their heads into the blue and yellow chests of Los Angeles Rams.
We cut short our calls, ignore some; we skip dinner, and instead refill our cups with coke; after every loo break, we dash back to ask the other, “Any yet?”
No touchdowns, yet.
So we continue to sit, occasionally stretching our backs, and cracking our knuckles. Two quarters done.
Adam Levine goes shirtless on stage, and the web world starts comparing his tattooed torso to a Chipotle bag. It cracks us up, but we start itching for the game to be back on.
It’s the fourth quarter. No touchdowns yet. Each team is three points – one field goal strong.
And suddenly, the screen is stuck.
Is it the wifi? Is it the streaming app? Is it the laptop? The projector? We switch the devices off, and wait, with FOMO, while they get back to life.
It probably had been a few seconds – only they were the most important seconds of Superbowl 2019.
The screen comes alive with a new score board.
Patriots are now 10. We had missed the only touch down of the game that night.
I sink a little lower in the couch, and continue watching the game. Eyes now heavy – I see a heady concoction of blue, white, yellow. Voices fade, and the green field extends beyond the television.
I wake up with a jerk to see pink confetti fall all around Brady’s face. Now, without helmet. In a feeble voice, I hear myself ask: “Any yet?”