While Della was busy balling with her boss in the motel, her husband, George, was at home watching television. He'd looked forward to this evening as channel 32 was showing a Super Bowl game that had been played six years ago, and George had played one of his best games in this one.

Betty, his eighteen-year-old daughter was sitting by her dad, while her twin brother, Bobby, was sprawled on the floor, watching their father's finest hour.

"Now watch this one," George said, taking a long sip of whiskey from the bottle that was on the floor by his chair. "Watch how I knock that quarterback on his ass on this play."

The three of them watched excitedly as the offensive team broke huddle and lined up over the ball. When it was snapped, a hulk of a man crashed through the line throwing the quarterback for a big loss.

"That's me!" shouted the man. "Boy, did I sack that bastard!"

"Was that really you, Daddy?" Betty asked.

"Sure, dummy," said her brother from the floor. "Can't you tell?"

"Oh, shut up," she snapped at her twin. "I was talking to Daddy."

"Shhhhh," said her father, reaching down for his bottle when the team went into punt formation. "Watch me block that kick."

Once again they stared at the screen as the linebacker crashed through and leaped high in the air, blocking the punted ball with his huge hand.

"Oh, Daddy!" Betty gasped. "You were really good!"

"I know," her father panted excitedly. "I was the best, and I'd still be if it weren't for this damned knee."

George was vividly reliving the game as play after play unfolded before their eyes. He could remember each and every detail of that glorious Sunday afternoon as if it were only yesterday. Watching the game was making him feel youthful and vigorous again. God, how he'd loved the brutality and glory of those wonderful years spent on the gridiron.