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Dearest Rachel –

To address the question you wouldn’t have to ask if you were actually present – since conversation with a live person doesn’t require adding titles to one’s topics – yes, this is about sports in general, but no, this doesn’t have to do with baseball, from whence the term itself hails. You’d probably have wondered about that, because despite your general lack of interest in sportsball, you’d be thinking it isn’t remotely baseball season, and you’d be quite right to do so.

However, you might at least have been aware of one cultural tradition regarding New Year’s Day in America having to do with football. I still remember at least one such New Year, when we were still living in the condominium, when I managed to persuade you to watch the Rose Bowl because Northwestern had – however improbably, since, you know, this is Northwestern we’re talking about – made it into the game by dint of having the best record in the Big Ten. You always enjoyed a good Cinderella story (although, more true to form, they ultimately lost the big game, and badly, I believe), and their school colors included purple, so what wasn’t to love? So you’re aware of the tradition, at the very least.

At the same time, this is the first New Year’s Day to fall on a Thursday since your passing, leaving us momentarily wondering if this would be treated like a typical Thursday insofar as Daniel and myself being invited over to the folks’ for dinner. I say only momentarily because it’s not as if the folks would be having other holiday plans that would take them elsewhere. And in fairness, it wasn’t a typical Thursday in any event, as I didn’t report in to my ‘office’ there or anything, either. But we didn’t have to fear in terms of whether Mom and Dad would be willing to have us over for the evening; in fact, Dad asked me several days beforehand if we would be willing to arrive several hours earlier than we would on a typical Thursday specifically because of the opportunity to take in some college football.

To be honest, even setting aside the fact that I mostly gave up watching sports because you showed little interest in it (and it’s not much fun watching a game when you can’t discuss strategy and tactics with your viewing companions as it unfolds), I’ve never been much for college sports. Part of that has to do with our having attended a Division III school that didn’t merit broadcast time; what schools were on the air are generally Division I schools that I never attended, leaving me basically uninterested as to whether they won or lost. If you’re not invested in the teams or the players, there’s little point to watching – another reason as to why it became easier over time to let go of the practice for your sake, although occasionally, there would be additional backstory, like Northwestern’s hapless history (or, likewise, the Cubs’) that allowed me to pique your interest in the game for a time.

But I come from a line of sports fans, if not necessarily fanatics. My paternal grandmother, as you remember, was the one who always had the Cubs game on at her place during the summer (which led to your suggestion to put a “W” flag on her gravesite after their World Series win, and ultimately to your bringing the folks to the island to illustrate why you wanted your ashes poured out there). And while my dad doesn’t have an alma mater to root for any more than I do – quite literally, as he attended a rival CCIW school to ours – he still gets into the collegiate games when they’re on. He even has a favorite ‘team,’ although since Notre Dame has, in a fit of pique at not being in the championship series, refused any invitations to any other year-end bowl game as being apparently beneath them, there will be no opponent of theirs for him to cheer on.

And since, as long as one is not dedicated religiously to one team or another, sports is a great unifier around which men of every generation or persuasion can gather ’round and enjoy, he thought we could augment our usual Thursday evening meal by enjoying what bowl games were on – two of them in sequence, hence the title of this missive. And since we had no other plans for the day, we were happy to join him and Mom in doing so. Dinner was to be a simple affair; she’d prepared a large batch of chili in the runup to Christmas, but between my duties on the booth and preparations for Christmas brunch, we weren’t able to have any on Christmas Eve, in the manner than your folks used to spend it. No matter; she’d boxed the stuff up in containers and stowed it away in her freezer for later, and now, ‘later’ had arrived. All she needed to do was to thaw and heat it, and we would be good to go.

I will say that, throughout the games, one of which was a blowout (albeit a master class in how the game is played – and how to be magnanimous in victory – by the victorious team) and the other a barnburner that essentially came down to the last couple of plays (topped off by an upset victory, which would have pleased you), there wasn’t a whole lot of profound conversation between us. There was plenty of commentary about the tactics and strategy (just the way I like it), admiration for the cleanliness of the game play (very few penalties in either one; very unlike the professional version of the game), but little more than that. Indeed, there were slow stretches in each game, during which one or another of us would nod off, or check our news feed, or even in my case, look online for some new manga to check out, as opposed to actually making conversation.

It wasn’t until after I was home that it occurred to me that we wouldn’t have a similar such day at the folks like this (where the day falls on a Thursday) until 2032 – and somehow, I doubt we’ll all be here for that, or be in any position to maintain this weekly tradition. In general, the folks don’t seem to me to be that much worse off, physically, than they were at the time of your departure; but that bears in mind the fact that Dad was still recovering from his near-fatal bout with sepsis, so in his case, that’s a low bar to clear. In the meantime, the next Thursday New Year is six years away, and a lot can happen in that amount of time; these letters don’t even amount to five years, for perspective.

So I wonder if I should have paid the folks that much more attention; was this a once-in-six-years moment, or was it just a slight variation on our standing weekly invitation? Does it matter? We don’t have an infinite number of days like this to enjoy together; best to drink them in and enjoy them. Then again, paying too much attention, and noticing every detail of the moment, might distract from the moment itself just as much. If you hang on every word said, will you miss the big play (which is what we were invited over to watch in the first place)? Which is the real thing to focus on, or is it okay to just acknowledge its importance now? It gets harder to tell every time.

I wish I could ask for an extra dose of wisdom, some way to organize these memories – however trivial – while they’re still being made. But all I can ask of you is that you watch over us, honey, and wish us luck. We’re going to need it.