Walking down the Boulevard, Peter, Sarah and Walter were slowly making their way to the stadium, stopping momentarily at tables that offered free food. That is, of course, until they came across a most peculiar scene.

In full alumni band regalia, a zaftig woman with tomato red hair and a yellow bow was belittling her husband, a small, frail man carrying more weight in skin and bones than anything else, in front of an ever-growing crowd for failing to remember to bring the sunscreen with him from their hotel room.

“I set it out,” she said. “It was on counter. How could you have forgotten it?!”

“I’m sorry, Maggie,” he stuttered, cowering before her. “It won’t happen again.”

“Whoa!” exclaimed Walter. “What a domineering bitch. I’d hate to be that guy.”

“No kidding,” agreed Peter.

“Hey, where’s Teddy?” asked Sarah.

Walter was too busy staring and laughing at the scene in front of him to answer so Peter did. “He’s at his frat house,” answered Peter. “He’s gonna meet us at the game.”

“What?!” she replied.

“I know,” Peter continued. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

After enjoying a bit more of the comical scene of the wife scolding the husband, they continued down the Boulevard toward the stadium, stopping at a few more places and admiring the big-screen televisions tuned to various football games.

They found Teddy waiting for them where he promised, and they entered the stadium and found a couple of seats near the band. And, for the most part, they enjoyed the game and the atmosphere until a few minutes before halftime during a timeout.

At this particular break in the action, the cheerleaders decided to rouse the crowd by throwing free T-shirts into the student section. It worked. The ravenous masses rose to their feet, yelling “Hey!” and “Over here!” and cheering loudly, arms waving wildly. Walter was no exception.

Peter and Teddy exchanged looks of disdain. Sarah, however, decided to join Walter in his antics, whether out of support or desire is not important – at least not to Walter who was glad someone he knew had joined him.

To Walter’s genuine surprise, however, the cheerleaders did not recognize his frantic pleas for a T-shirt, quickly moving over to the adjacent section and out of throwing range of Walter.

As the cries from their section died down, Peter turned to Teddy. “It is amazing how a cheap T-shirt that was probably made in a Dickensian sweatshop can be so dearly sought after,” commented Peter sardonically.

“It certainly is,” agreed Teddy.

Just then, a lone cheerleader returned to their section with two more T-shirts, hurling one T-shirt a few rows below them and the other into the abandoned seats to their left, recently vacated by the band.

The spectators who noticed the resting spot of the final free T-shirt, however, were not bold enough to cross into the band’s designated section, except for one: Walter.

Before thinking, he barreled over the aisle railing and tripped over a tuba in his pursuit of the coveted T-shirt. When he reached his prize, he thrust it into the air with the zeal of a captain of a European football club thrusting a hard won trophy into the air.

Unfortunately his jubilation crashed to a halt as the tuba he tripped over finally fell after teetering on its rim for several suspenseful seconds. The loud, echoing sound made by the tuba instantaneously brought the fervor of the immediate crowd to a halt as all eyes found Walter.

His face was stricken with fear and regret. Were his actions to attain the T-shirt worth the imminent consequences that would arise from what had just happened?

He hurried back to his seat and the shelter of his friends. All around him people were laughing and sharing the story with their friends who had not witnessed the event. But for once, Walter was not content being the center of attention – especially attention that inspired laughter.

Then, out of nowhere, a roar of hellish fury erupted in unabated verbal battering directed at Walter. It was the member of the alumni band they had witnessed earlier unabashedly and unnecessarily scolding her husband on the Boulevard.

“Why, you ungrateful, bullish hoodlum,” screeched Maggie. “Do you have any idea how much that tuba is worth?!”

Walter was quick to counter with an apology, but the woman, so intent to scold, failed to accept it-or perhaps hear it. And although Walter truly felt remorse, he was growing weary of this woman’s tirade of insults and reiteration of “Do you know how much that tuba is worth?”

So Walter decided to fully interrupt her unpleasant screeching. “Look, lady, I’ve apologized, and I am sorry . . . truly . . .”

“You’re not sorry,” said Maggie. “Look at all of your friends laughing and joking.”

Walter turned to his friends, none of whom were laughing or showing any sign of joy, at least when he glanced at them. He did, however, realize that the woman was referring to the plethora of laughing students around him.

“Friends? Those people aren’t my friends. And I can’t help it if they are laughing at you.”

He realized his mistake instantaneously and immediately wished he could take it back.

“Me?” she inquired. “No, they’re laughing at you for mocking me. And because you knocked over that tuba – What a cruel joke, thoughtless joke.”

“What?” he exclaimed, shocked.

But before he continued, she rushed into accusations again. “You have no respect for music or for people . . . or their things . . . . That instrument is worth over 5,000 dollars, you little twerp.”

“Uh . . . what?!” replied Walter, completely taken aback.

But again she interrupted. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” And then she turned and left almost as quickly as she came.

It was in the brief moment of silence after she left that Walter realized how much people were, in fact, laughing. Although he was certain it was not because he knocked over the tuba, at least not anymore, he still felt embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“Well, that was unexpected,” said Peter, breaking the silence.

Sarah and Teddy laughed, enjoying the understatement. Walter, however, did not find it amusing. He was embarrassed at how the situation had played out, which is saying something because he is not the type that is easily embarrassed.

“Do y’all want to get out of here?” implored Walter.

“Nope,” replied Peter tersely, laughing a little. However, he quickly responded differently after seeing Walter’s expression. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As they stood up to leave, Peter expected some jeer of “wussy,” or something similar to come from the students behind them, but to his surprise none ever came. Perhaps they did not realize the opportunity, or perhaps they were being nice-though probably the former.

“Where are we going?” inquired Sarah, as lovingly as possible.

“I’m not sure,” he responded quietly. “Somewhere where we can watch the game in peace.”

“But not in the stadium?” questioned Teddy.

Walter thought a moment and then spoke. “I dunno. Just follow me.”

‘”Follow me’?” repeated Peter. “Those sound like the words of a leader. Your act of cowardice, that is fleeing the verbal fight in the stands, however, dictates otherwise. I’m not sure I can, in good consciousness, follow you.”

Walter did not respond.

Peter, a little puzzled at Walter’s demeanor, looked at Sarah inquiringly. But he could illicit no more than a shrug from her.

Teddy, noticing Peter’s confusion, placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let it be,” he whispered. “He just needs some time.”

Peter nodded and smiled, thankful for the advice.

“Come on,” said Peter, stepping in front of the group. “I saw a TV tuned to our game on the Boulevard. We can watch the rest of it there.

“And Walter, forget about the whole tuba incident, man. The way I see it, you’re better off now than when you entered the stadium. For one, you’ve got a new story to tell. But more importantly, you won a free T-shirt at a sporting event – Who wouldn’t want to be you right now?”