PETE
It was a Saturday evening, and I was at Don's home after he had invited me to watch a match with him. My team had just scored in the 89th minute.
“Yes, yes!” I yelled, pumping my fist on the couch. Don managed a weak smile. He was the unfortunate guy who had chosen to support the losing team.
“Unbelievable, Pete. This is unbelievable.”
“That's football, my friend, and I love it,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder.
We settled back in our seats, the echo of the winning team's chants from the television, a sweet melody to my ears. Don started packing up the empty bottles on the table.
“Another one?” He asked, holding up an empty bottle, but I shook my head to reject it. I already had so much to drink that I was sure I wouldn't have to eat tonight.
“Thanks, though. Even thou
