This is a quiet bus ride. Even when I ride the ungodly early bus with my two coworkers, it's quiet. I either read or listen to a book. They read the paper. This is usually the second crowded bus of the rush hour. I think that's why my coworkers ride it. I ride it 'cause I can't stand someone in my department getting to work before me.
But today, I was tired and caught the last morning bus into downtown. I've ridden this one before and I'm usually alone. I was surprised to see 6 people already aboard when I got on. I swing into my regular seat and get ready to read.
Two older heavyset ladies start talking. Loudly. To each other. They are not sitting together. They are sitting a few seats apart and across the aisle. So they are not really talking to each other, they are lecturing to the rest of the riders. I start reading until I catch the words "chicken and football." I realize they are rehashing last week's local football game, "The Miracle at Arrowhead." You know the one. Where LoJo descended into the endzone with a loaf of bread and some fish, clad in a toga and riding an oyster shell. On the sidelines St. Carl of the Headphones spread his arms and turned a tumbling pile of red and gold ballers into a lake of affordable shiraz. That one. You heard about it.
It won't last. But that's just me. And Joe Posnanski. He's got the right line.
Anyway, these two ladysports fans, start hailing each other and talking about today's wildcard playoff game and last week's game:
"I wuz servin' up de shicken an' I look up and daaaaaayyyyyy--uuuummmm!"
"Way-ull. Yuh know whut dey say. It ain't over til de fat lady sing. Maaaaayyyyy-uuuunnnn. She mustah bin one heavy-ass muthah!"
Cackling ensues. Evil eyes are shot around the bus at the silent riders. We have been hexed into rooting for the pigskin disciples.
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