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The loud screams and cheers of the fans filled the crowed stadium as the players on the winning team scored yet another goal, getting closer to their inevitable victory.
“Yeah!” Cheered Ryan, watching as his brother got a touchdown on the field. “You see Uncle Axel down there?” Ryan asked his young daughter, Amber, who sat on his shoulders, pointing out his older brother on the field to his little girl. Ryan looked over to you, Amber’s full-time babysitter, who Ryan had brought along to the game. you had been working for him for what felt like forever, but it was probably more like a year. Amber loved the shit out of you, and so did Ryan, who thought that you was kind of the best babysitter’s he’d hired yet. “You see my brother down there?” He asked excitedly for what was probably the tenth time. “He’s so cool, right?”
Ryan loved going to football games, especially his brother’s. He rarely missed a game, and his brother would always give him, his daughter, and whoever Ryan wanted to drag along free VIP tickets. It was the perks of being related to a NFL player. It had been Ryan’s dream to be a football player. But life had decided to fuck him sideways and bless him with a permanent limp after he was mugged when he was younger, and those dreams were flushed right down the toilet. So instead, he had to go *back* to college, and got a bullshit degree and became a college football coach. It wasn’t the worst job. He got to be down on the field, helping out the players, but it wasn’t like it was the same.
Meanwhile, fucking Axel got to live out *his* dreams. To say Ryan was jealous was an understatement. It was like a punch to the gut every time he saw Axel play, every time he saw him score, every time he saw his fans cheer for him. It fucking sucked.
“Okay, I can’t hold you anymore, baby.” Ryan chuckled as he sat Amber down on the ground, who whined and sat in her seat with a pouty look that made Ryan roll his eyes.
“You *are* having fun right?” Ryan turned to you. “I mean, *I’m* having fun.” He nodded enthusiastically.
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