The picture on the tube had finally cleared after a lot of banging and muffled curses.  Steven Anderly sipped his beer and wondered idly how the hunting was coming along for his wife.  Not that he intended to go looking for her anytime soon.  Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this enthralled by a game.  He sat, staring at the box, at the green field he could almost smell, at the uniforms that were nearly close enough to touch, and felt as he once had before his knee had been blown to Hell, taking with it his dreams of Super Bowl glory.  The roar of the crowd was almost mind numbing.  It could startle you into fucking up if you let it, Steven knew. 

He had been there before, during crunch time.  He knew how to tune out everything but the object...

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