One of my closest friends called to see if I wanted to join him for the Lady Longhorns NCAA Women’s Basketball Tournament game in Austin. That was an easy yes—I wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity.
The seats were solid, giving us a clear view of the court, and the arena was packed with Longhorn fans. Missouri State brought energy too, with a surprisingly rowdy section and a lively student band.
While my friend—Vietnamese and fully committed to his slice of pizza—kept it simple, I went a different route with an $18, 8-ounce can of sangria. Yes, I’m the guy drinking wine at a college basketball game. Judge if you want; I’m fine with it.
We’ve been friends for over 25 years, so we know each other well—what we like, what annoys us, and how to push each other’s buttons. Vegas trips, shared rooms, no surprises. So when he nudged me mid-game and said, “Hey, check out that chick on the left—she’s got nice boobs,” I knew something was coming.
At 50, my eyes don’t snap into focus like they used to. As I turned and tried to zero in on where he was pointing, I noticed the woman already looking in my direction. Our eyes locked. I quickly looked away, pretending to scan the crowd. Too late.
“She saw me,” I muttered.
He started laughing. Got me again.
