The bar is ringed with television screens.
Around each screen, people at tables are drinking beer,
eating French Fries,
watching Bowl games, hockey games, basketball games, horse races.
Overheard conversation consists almost entirely of
"YES!," "ALLRIGHT!!" or "GET HIM!!!"

In this dark corner three or four people are watching the game that I am watching.
The fact that Cal is ahead of Iowa is of little concern here in Arizona.
I glance furtively around me.
Solid, corn-fed, humorless male faces.
Smooth, sharp, wet-curl-edged female faces.
Maybe it is the lighting.

Two men at the table next to mine are cheering for Cal.
"We're from Iowa. We hate Iowa,"
they explain without my asking.
"I'm from Berkeley," I say.
"I just got here, and I don't have a television set."
We look at each other curiously - alien species exchanging greetings.
Smile. Look down at our empty beer glasses.
They order more beer,
and so do I.



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