I’m huddled upstairs waiting for the next round of shouts, curses and excruciatingly loud handclaps, at which I invariably jump out of my skin and flip a blob of paint off my brush at random targets; this is college football season and there’s a large male on the couch right downstairs who gets heavily invested in this sort of thing. His team, and possibly his manhood, is at stake.
There was a time when the dog would freak out from the noise but in his dottage he’s gone deaf and can snooze through the worst of it. Lucky dog.
Based on all the noise from below, this game’s close. Lots of back and forth. If his team were losing altogether, he’d be very very quiet. If it were winning flat out he’d be screaming “Yes!” and applauding loud enough to carry all the way to the stadium. In Nebraska.
Meanwhile, in town, there’s another Big Game going on. We’re in OU country here and the population of Norman roughly doubles on game day. I was raised in a college town and I know better than to venture out in this kind of heavy weather.
So I’m huddled upstairs, putting paint on a commission I’m calling Walt the Wabbit. Walt, recently deceased, was a big, sweet, gentle lop-eared bunny much cherished by my friend Konrad, who is at this moment in the stands at Owen Field watching OU beat Miami. I’m sure it’s utter pandemonium out there. In his portrait, Walt is surrounded with his favorite food, parsley. It’s a very quiet serene scene; a small rectangle of peace and meditation. Downstairs the Nebraska game is still up for grabs. I know I have some earplugs around here somewhere.