Mo gets free Suns tickets for Christmas Day. Bad tickets. REALLY bad tickets. The kind of tickets they give away on Christmas Day. Oxygen-required tickets.
We decide early on we’re not going. I am riddled with guilt that we’re wasting the tickets, so I half-heartedly ask at work if anyone wants them.
Newlywed designer’s eyes light up. Her new brother-in-law loiters constantly at her house. He’s a huge Suns fan and she won’t let him watch games at their place. Sending new hubby and brother-in-law to the game is the perfect peace offering.
I stress that the seats are bad. Really bad. She assures me that just getting in the arena is enough. I remind her that the seats are really bad. She assures me they won’t care. I point out that the seats are really bad. She ponders whether it’s bad etiquette to clock me so soon after accepting tickets.
Fast forward. First day back at work after Christmas. Newlywed designer is beaming.
Apparently hubby and new brother-in-law make the trek to the upper stratosphere of the Suns arena. They enjoy their first beer in relative solitude, since not a lot of people are inclined to sit in the upper levels on Christmas Day. Security guys approach them. (Yes, at this point I began to worry. Did I provide them with stolen tickets and they’re now going to prison on Christmas Day? I look around nervously for the nearest exit.)
But, as a proper Christmas Day story would have it, the security guys are not there to arrest them. The security guys tell them that a lot of season ticket holders aren’t here today, given that it’s Christmas. They ask if they’d like to move to the 10th row. They ponder for a moment, and then say yes, that seems like a fine idea.
They watch the game from the best seats in the house, thanks to some really great Santa’s helpers. And the Suns win, 124-93. A happy ending.
And yet I keep thinking, damn. Now I wish we’d gone to the game …