“Girls only pretend to know anything about football.” My brother, Mark, complained to the gym junkie moonlighting as a bartender. If his nametag was accurate, his name was Kyle.
“That’s not true, I know quite a bit about football,” I countered, swirling the umbrella in my Shirley Temple.
“Oh you do?” Kyle winked at me. “Who’s your team?” he asked.
Mark cleared his throat while trying to hide his smirk. He’d set it up perfectly; it would be a slam dunk.
“Hmm.” I pretended to think for a moment, “Well, who’s your favorite team?” I asked with enthusiasm.
Shot glass in hand and a knowing smile on his face, Kyle leaned forward to say, “I’m a Bears fan.” He clearly expected me to mimic his answer.
This was too easy.
“Oh, well, then the Packers are my team.” Leaning back and feigning innocence, I watched his face crunch up in confusion at the name of his prized team’s rivals.
It took him a moment, and whether he was just brighter than the other two bartenders who’d been victims of our bored little game or if it was the way Mark was giggling like a school girl, Kyle caught on quickly.
Mark and I had been playing this game since high school. It never got old.
“And if I said I liked the Cowboys?” Kyle squinted his eyes as he spoke.
“Redskins of course.” I shrugged.
“Ravens?”
“Steelers.”
“Tarheels?”
“Trick question. That’s college.”
“You’re good.”
“I know.”
"If his name tag was accurate..." Nicely played.
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