A Game Within A Game

Yesterday was the day,
of the Sugar Bowl.
I left the library, and walked down Canal Street, where I noticed that some people, clad in Michigan blue and yellow, or Virginia Tech rusty maroon, were walking in the direction of the Superdome, but others, with 4 hours until gametime, were heading into the French Quarter.
I was at the spot near the dome about 2 hours before kickoff, and had a steady flow of people, about a dozen wide, walking past me. There was about a 4 to 1 ratio in favor of Michigan people.
I started with the Michigan Fight Song, which only produced one handful of change.
I then switched to a bipartisan approach and played a vamp, singing lines like "Disembowel them! Eat their entrails on the 50 yard line. Kick their butts from one end of the field to the other, but do it in a sportsmanlike way!" Which produced a few smiles, but very few stopped, probably out of fear of being trampled, to throw me anything.
I felt very patient, though. By the time most of them were inside the dome, I had about 7 bucks.
Signs of Wealth

A Hokie's helmet comes to rest in an upright
position, after being dislodged from the head
of a Freshman running back; one of the few things
that went "right" for VA Tech that night
-your sports correspondent, Daniel

There was a black man and lady who came and stood a few feet away from me, as I was putting my guitar away, in order to run to Rouse's Market for a Paulaner Double Bock. They looked like they were perhaps up to something like ticket scalping. They had signs of wealth; gold jewelry and teeth for example. (not gold teeth, just teeth)
"It's a game within a game," I said to them. "They all walked past me, and didn't throw me anything, but, when they see me still here, on their way out, after they've had a few beers and their team's won, then they'll probably throw me something."
"They didn't give you anything?" asked the man.
"About 7 bucks," I said, noticing a fat wad of money in his hands, which he was leafing through.
He handed me a bunch of one's, which turned out to be 10 of them, and said "Here you go, man. I don't need to hear you play, I can tell that you're good."
The game went into overtime, which meant that the lions share of the people were glued to their seats until the very end, and were left en masse, like the running of the bulls.
I had broken into playing "I Know You Rider," by the Grateful Dead, taking little solos, when it appeared that the people right in front of me, who were the only ones that could hear me, weren't impressed. I might have made about another 17 bucks, to go with the 17 from before the game.
I then went into the French Quarter, where I encountered John B. ("the clean guy"), who was complaining about the stinginess of Michigan people. He wasn't wearing his sports coat, but a rather toned down shirt and wool slacks. He was impressed with the 35 bucks or so that I made, so I guess he had made less than 35 bucks off of those stingy Michigan people.