Monday Night Football and the Greenwich Village Packer haunt, the Kettle of Fish, is heaving. There are orgasmic spurts of happiness as the Packers recover four interceptions in the first half. Seattle’s fair weather fans are distraught as the Pack dominates in the heavy snowfall. Brett wants this one. You can see the fire burning in his eyes. And he deserves to win. But in the end Shaun Alexander runs all over the Packer’s poor defense and we lose a heartbreaker in Latteland.

The next morning I trudge down my street with an aching head. I need a coffee and an orange juice. The obese sexually ambiguous superintendent who takes care of the building at the end of the block is wearing a worn Green Bay Packer shirt.

“Did you see the game last night?” I ask. The super looks puzzled. He is a little slow, and I don’t mean the glacier speed at which he sweeps the sidewalk. Of course, he is just wearing a shirt. It’s not a badge of honor.

“What game?” he says.

“Never mind.”

“Hey Matt, can I borrow a dollar for the train?”

Once a week the super asks to borrow a dollar for the train. The subway costs two bucks, but he only ever needs a dollar. Every week I give him one. Today I say, “Get your own goddamn dollar for the train.”

I feel terrible. But it passes. Back home I write about the encounter.

A day later the super is still sweeping the sidewalk in the same spot. He stops me.

“I read what you wrote,” he says.

“What?”

“What you wrote about me on your blog.”»