Apparently there was this big football game on Saturday and the San Francisco 49ers won. Husband and I were listening to the game as we drove over to the east bay for a party. Imagine this scene:
[radio in the background, the radio announcer says,”and WHAT an AMAZING thing to do and feel for Alex Smith to have JOE MONTANA here to witness this win!” (or somesuch, and p.s. Alex Smith is the 49ers quarterback)]
me: Why does it matter if Joe Montana’s there to see it?
Husband (incredulous): Because, he’s Joe Montana, the best quarterback of all time, and he was a 49er.
me: I know, I know, but why does it matter so much that he was there?
Husband, incredulous and speechless, says nothing, keeps driving
me: Would it be kind of like if Seamus Heaney came to somebody’s poetry reading?
me (incredulous): Seamus Heaney
husband (looks at me like I just sprouted a third eye; mumbles): Uh, yeah, I dunno.