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Its Indian Summer. The last weekend of warm weather in the Connecticut Lakes Region of northern New Hampshire. The Bayley boys are North, very North -- only 15 miles from the Canadian border. In the distance the pop, pop of heavy artillery is heard: its the first day of moose hunting season. The sun rises over a First Connecticut Lake covered in mist. It breaks through the fog and zaps Ed right between the eyes. Next year he’ll remember to sleep on the other couch, the one that doesn’t face the window. Too late. Time to get up. Time to stoke the fire. Bob is already up. He’s usually the first to rise. He’s out on the porch alone watching the mist rise from the lake. Its still cold.
The lodge begins to stir. One by one bodies begin to gather in the kitchen, all aware that someone has brought a football. The boys have all seen it. It was sitting on the mantle last night. Perhaps more ominous, before leaving home, everyone received a comic depicting a bunch of middle-aged porkers in a football huddle. Is this a joke, an insult to their middle-aged bodies? Are the football gods dissing them? Can they do it? Can it be done? Can they still play the game? Most important, what about Ed? He seems stronger this year, quicker, and more agile. He wants no part of climbing the mountain, but he seems up for a little game of ”touch.” No one can back out now.
A quick cup of coffee. A croissant. A piece of toast. Two of the guys begin to toss the ball around on the lawn between the lodge and the lake. The surface of the lake is smooth, like a mirror. There’s no wind at all. Someone kicks the ball. Miraculously, it rises. Someone catches the ball. Someone calls for a simulated double-reverse, option pass. It works. Mullen catches the ball. Bob doesn’t fall down. Ed’s cigarette is dangling from his lips, but it doesn’t fall. Ed can bend over. Ed can be the center!
Its time for someone to take charge. Den steps into the void, “Let’s go. Let’s go into town and find that field that Wilson’s been talking about.” “What, no breakfast?” someone is heard to remark. ”We’ll eat when we get back.” Its beginning to get serious. No one wants to lose their breakfast on the football field. In a couple of hours the analgesic effect of all the wine and beer, consumed the night before, will begin to wear off. There’s a window of opportunity here that must be exploited. Den, the VP, has grasped this fact. He urges his old teammates towards the cars. Its time to find that field. Its time to go.
.... to be continued.
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