"Dani, come on. We're supposed to be acting debonair and slightly bored, like we've been in luxury boxes before," I admonish her, still unable to keep from smiling. Laurie is sitting with her nose nearly pressed against the glass, her brand-new Troy Wood jersey nearly swallowing her body, since she insisted on getting one. "Remember?"
"You can act all aloof. You have a future of doing this as often as you want," Dani replies with a chuckle. "I'm just going to sit back and enjoy this. Seriously, Troy can do this for every home game?"
"Just twice a year up here," a voice from the side says, and a man in his mid-forties wearing a Hawks polo and slacks comes over, offering his hand. "Every player has the right to four tickets per home game, but the box seats are only used twice a year. The rest of the games have to be in the regular seats in the lower level. Hi, I'm Timothy Hauser, assistant General Manager of the team. You must be Whitney Nelson?"
"I am," I say, shaking his hand. "This is my close friend, Dani Barkovich, and that is—"
"Your daughter, Laurie," Hauser says with a smile. "Trust me, everyone on the team has heard about this little girl. Except for game prep, you two are about all that Troy talks about since the season started. And if I can say, your daughter is even cuter than he let on. Dani Barkovich . . . you're the friend of Troy's who just got married, right?"
Dani nods, smiling. "You have a good memory, Mr. Hauser."
"Not really. I'm just the guy who approved Troy's initial request for time off to attend the wedding," Hauser says. "Enjoy the game. We'll try and keep the commentary family friendly, but you know how football people get."
"Don't worry, Mr. Hauser. It's probably me who should be apologizing," I reply with a laugh. "Laurie's picked up some language when the two of us lived in Europe, and her main source of American culture and language was Netflix that, well, I'm still sometimes having problems getting her to stop."
"You lived in Europe? How entrancing," Hauser says. "Does she speak any foreign languages?"
"We both speak Italian," I say with a touch of pride. "If I need to, I'll just tell her to start yelling in Italian. She's able to curse like a sailor in Italian, but at least you won't understand it."
Hauser laughs and shakes his head. "No, actually, I should be asking your daughter for help. My daughter is in junior high school and hates foreign language. Getting tutored by a kindergartener might give her the kick in the pants she needs to actually study. Enjoy the game."
The food is a lot different than I expected, and a lot higher quality than the typical stadium fare that we ate last time, and Laurie's eyes get big when I set the meatball sandwich in front of her. "Really?"
"Really, sweetheart. So what's our time looking like?"
"Five minutes to kickoff. Daddy's already gone back inside. This is even better than last time, Mama!"
Dani and I take seats in the cushioned chairs that make up the seating area of the box, and Dani leans over. "Kinda like a good movie theater seat. Would you mind if I taught Laurie some of our old cheers?"
"Only if you promise not to be a drill sergeant like you used to be," I tease back, and Dani slaps my leg in mock outrage.
"Is that the thanks I get for getting you to try out and meeting the love of your life? Being called a drill sergeant? I’m no mere drill sergeant, Sis. I’m a domina!"
I laugh and take Dani's hand. "What you and Pete do is none of my business."
The game starts, and we cheer as the defense takes the field. I notice that Troy runs out this time with the starting players, and there's a small cheer as his presence is noticed. Watching him line up, I realize that this is only the second game where I've been able to really watch him play. In high school, I was busy half the time with cheers, and watching on television, the cameraman normally focuses on the offense and the ball in particular. In the pre-season game, I got to watch some, but with the higher vantage, it feels amazing.
"Go, Daddy! Kick their ass!"
"Laurie."
"Sorry, Mama. Get them, Daddy!"
In the first quarter, Troy's play is as dominant as ever as he quickly picks up another sack and tips away a pass. The quarter ends still scoreless, but I'm on the edge of my seat as the game pauses for a TV break during the changeover between the first and second quarter.
Dani turns to me and gives me a high five. "He's having a great game!"
"Too bad it's going to be his last," someone says behind us, and I turn around to see a black woman sitting behind us, giving us a commiserating but perhaps still sad smile. "Didn't you know?"
"Know what?" I ask, confused. "And you are?"
"Kim Winslow. I'm married to number 67, Gerald Winslow," she says, offering her hand. "Sorry, I guess you and Troy are still new together. We didn't have a chance to meet at the team social during training camp. The wire's been full of the news."
"What news?" I ask. "Why is it Troy's last game?"
"The Hawks are trading him to Jacksonville," Kim says. "They're sending Troy and their first and third round draft picks in next year's draft for the 'Cats' starting right tackle, and two of their backup wide receivers and some other picks."