Tiempo

And then it happens...

It's a reasonably big deal, probably over three million dollars. Yet the deadline doesn't leave much time, everything has to be wrapped up this week. The wry voice of his boss filters over the phone, "We'll have to make a decision by Thursday night at the latest. You've been through this drill, you know what we'll need to see. Any questions?"

The various numbers and contract particulars are filtering through his head, but he knows there's one thing he has to make clear. "There's a game Thursday night at RFK. I should be there."

His boss may be suppressing laughter, it's difficult to tell over the phone. "Outdoor soccer? Already?"

And then it happens...

Nick Rimando's eyes dart around the field as Castro's shot deflects away. Only down by one, he knows they can recover if they can just find a way to regroup. Only it's not happening. He can see Botero moving into space, sees that the ball from Marioni will find him. Boswell's doesn't have the experience to contain him, it'll be up to Nick to shut it down. It's not even really a conscious decision as he moves off his line.

And then it happens...

One of the nice perks of being the president of the student run amateur theatre organization is the key to the office. Pittsburgh's bitingly cold winter has arrived two months ago, but the small room is warm and brightly lit. The computer has high-speed access, much better than the dial-up he'd get in the off-campus apartment he shares. Nobody seems to be around this weekend, no doubt in various rehearsals. He should be typing up an agenda, but instead refreshes the Yahoo! page again, to see if they've posted that DC-LA score yet.

And then it happens...

Thomas Rongren allows himself an internal smile as Eddie Pope puts United in the lead. It's a storybook ending, Bruce gets a chance to give the faithful that traveled to Florida one final thrill, and now it is his team. It'll be a good team, he has ideas, plans, tactics, and the talent to execute them. He'll be here for some time.

And then it happens...

The small digital clock reads 2:43 A.M., which is an absurd time to wake up, especially to wake up thinking about a soccer game several days off. Up 4-1, there's no chance they can blow a lead like that, right? It's not like anyone would notice if he didn't show up, and the next round is pretty much assured. No, time to focus on this deal. Get the numbers right. Prove that it is profitable. Double check the by-now overly complicated MS Excel formulas. C'mon, it's a big deal. That's it. It's the deal that's keeping him up, not that weird dream where Facundo Erpen threw an Olimpia striker down on the box right in front of the ref, who may or may not have been a giant brown bear in a yellow FIFA uniform. Maybe he should work on the deal now, get it out of the way before Thursday night. Not that it's really that important that he be there. Of course not. It's just a game, and he's just a fan. But if he can finish it now...

It happens Thursday.