Apologies to Mountaineer nation. When you’re a parent, you have to edit your school cheers.
Tonight’s the final home game for the App bball team. I have plans to be there, with emphasis on “plans.” The wife gave me a not-so-subtle “do you really need to go to this game” look last night when I broached the subject over dinner. You see, it’s Thursday. aka. Survivor Night. Only Christmas and Thanksgiving rank higher on our family calendar.
But oh no, it’s not just Survivor Night, but American Idol night as well. It was for nights such as these that spilt screen televisions were created, and, alas, we have no such do-dad.
So tonight the wife and preteen are set to impersonate me – flipping back and forth between two channels like an overcaffinated squirrel. They ain’t got time to deal with no cryin babies fightin’ nite-nite. Simon .. no Jeff! .. now Simon again! .. is on! You deal with her!
So tonight’s game forecast is partly cloudy, with a slight chance I’ll be there. It interfers with Gabby’s bedtime, so she can’t go.
Gabrielle made it to just one game this year. And of all the games to attend, it had to be the Elon fiasco. Thankfully we missed most of the second-half collapse thanks to the 30-minute concession stand wait for nachos and drink (my nephew was starving and the arena has slower service than 28K dailup). But though we missed it, we smelled it. The Mountaineers stank. *Ugh* It pains me to remember.
On the bright side, the University bookstore had a sale yesterday on 2005 National Championship shirts. They had infant/youth sizes for $2 a pop. I nabbed Gab two new shirts and a sweatshirt, plus got a tiny T for Robertson v 2.0. The family that cheers together, stays together (just not on Thursday nights).