Football Fic: Every Point Counts
Jan. 1st, 2008 01:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: Every Point Counts
Author: Namaste
Summary: A season of football bets between House and Wilson (and Cuddy) comes to an end as Michigan plays the University of Florida at the Capitol One Bowl. This will be an unusual fic, updated “live” throughout the game, so refresh your page if you want to read it in action. (And feel free to point out any errors I can fix in the process.) For background, this football fic series began with the supposition that House and Wilson have a standing bet involving House’s alma mater. Read the progress here, starting with Go Blue and continued in Hail To the Victors?, Tailgating, College Game Day, Down The Badger Hole and finally Bowled Over.
“I mentioned the Heisman trophy, right?”
“I mentioned you’re annoying, right?”
Wilson ignored House. “The first time a sophomore wins the Heisman, and he’s Florida’s quarterback.”
“Ohio State’s guy won the Heisman last year, and they still lost their bowl game,” House pointed out.
“Pfft,” Wilson snorted. “A Big Ten team losing a bowl game. Is that supposed to be a surprise?”
“And USC’s guy won the Heisman the year before that, and they still lost their bowl game,” House said, “and their other guy won the Heisman the year before that and they didn’t even make it to the national championship game.”
Wilson stopped unloading his bags and stared at House. He was barefoot, still wearing his pajamas. “This is why you took off early on Friday? Researching the win-loss percentage of Heisman winners?”
“I took off early on Friday because I didn’t want to be at work,” House said. He stepped the rest of the way into the kitchen and reached for one of the bags. “Where are the chips?”
“I didn’t get any,” Wilson said.
“No chips? What about pretzels?”
“No pretzels.”
“What kind of a tailgate party is this?”
Wilson eased the rack of lamb out of the bag, still in the plastic bag where it had been for the past two days, marinating in its mixture of curry, mustard powder, honey, onions, garlic and other spices and juice. “My kind,” he said.
“Your kind sucks.” House tossed one of the empty bags on the floor.
“I’m taking pity on you,” Wilson said. “Since there’s no way you’re going to win the bet, you’ll be living on peanut butter sandwiches and canned soup for the next three months. I thought you should have one last moment of real food.”
House held out a bag of carrots. “You show up at the crack of dawn ...”
“It’s nearly ten o’clock, and good food takes time.”
House ignored him, “and you didn’t bring any chips but you brought chick food for Cuddy?”
Wilson took it from him. “It’s not just for Cuddy.”
“Why’d you ask her to come anyway?”
“Because it’ll be easier to collect from both of you at the same time.” Wilson pulled celery, green onions, mushrooms and broccoli from the bag. He left the yogurt he’d use to make a low fat dip in the bag, hoping House wouldn’t see it and start bitching. Cuddy would appreciate it, and House would never know the difference, if he didn’t spot the container. “And you agreed to it.”
“I was drunk,” House said. “You took advantage of me.”
“You got the cash, or not?”
House sighed and walked into the living room. Wilson took the yogurt and stuck it in the refrigerator, hiding it in the vegetable crisper. House was standing in the doorway when Wilson closed the door, his wallet in his hand.
“What are you hiding?” he asked.
“Nothing. You got the cash or not?”
House stared at him. Wilson stared back, told himself not to look away. He held out his hand. “Three hundred,” he said.
“Only if they don’t beat the spread,” House said, “and you haven’t won anything yet.”
House walked over and picked up a frying pan. “Here’s what you’ll need when Florida loses.” He put it on the butcher block table, then counted out ten twenty dollar bills and put them inside the pan. “There’s the two hundred,” he said, then counted out another five. “And the extra hundred if they don’t beat the spread.”
“When,” Wilson said. He reached for the money.
“Uh huh,” House said. He picked up the frying pan with the cash in it. “The pot stays in the pot.”
“It’s a pan.”
House rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He carried the pan into the living room, put it on the coffee table. “Wake me up when there’s something to eat.” He walked out of the living room, and down the hall. Wilson heard the bedroom door slam. He sighed, and walked back into the kitchen.
------
“Up With People?” House grabbed the remote out of Wilson’s hand.
“It’s the Rose Bowl Parade. It’s traditional. And I thought you went back to bed.”
“Traditional crap,” House said. The colorful floats disappeared, replaced by the orange and white of a University of Tennessee jersey on ESPN. “I’d forgotten how much noise you make in the morning.”
“It’s after eleven o’clock.”
“It’s still morning.” House sat on the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, nudging the frying pan with his heel so it was out of the way. “Got any coffee?”
--------
Wilson was brushing hoisin sauce on the lamb when he heard the knock on the door.
A minute later, he heard it again.
“You gonna get that?” House asked.
“I’m busy,” Wilson said. “You get it.”
“My leg hurts,” House said.
Wilson stepped back until he could see House, stretched out comfortably on the couch. Wilson stared at him.
“You invited her, you open the door,” House said.
Wilson sighed, washed off his hands. He was still toweling them dry when he heard the knock again.
House didn’t look at him when he walked through the living room to the door.
“You almost missed kickoff,” Wilson told Cuddy as he opened the door.
“Funny thing,” she said, and unbuttoned her coat. “I got a page saying there was an emergency in the neonatal unit.” She walked into the apartment, a plastic bag in her hand. She stood in front of the TV, blocking House’s view. “Only thing is, when I get there, there’s no emergency, only a message telling me to bring chips.”
“It sounded like an emergency to me,” House said. He held out his hand, and Cuddy tossed him the bag.
Wilson went back into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he heard House yell. “These are reduced fat.”
“Happy New Year,” Cuddy said.
------
“Welcome to Orlando Florida, and the Capitol One Bowl,” ESPN’s anchor said.
Wilson slid the lamb into the oven and walked into the living room. Cuddy was sitting on one end of the couch. He shook his head to see her wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, the gray cotton was well worn and he wondered if she’d owned back then, back when she and House first met, first clashed.
“Who cares about the Rose Bowl?” House grumbled as ESPN cut away from field at Orlando in favor of California
“You did, last year,” Wilson pointed out.
“That was last year.”
---
“I think Michigan will be in attack mode against this Florida team today,” the announcer said.
“Why start now?” Cuddy mumbled.
“You’re supposed to be on our side,” House said.
“I am,” she said, “I’m also a realist.”
“A big, opening play mistake by Michigan.”
“See?” Cuddy asked.
----
First quarter, 12:32 left to play
“Hart down to the thirteen yard line,” the play-by-play guy said.
Cuddy scooted forward to the edge of the cushion.
“Henne to Manningham ... touchdown, Michigan!”
“I’m feeling hungry,” House said. “I think I’ll be a bit peckish for the next four months.”
“Too bad you’ll have to pay for your own lunches,” Wilson said. “Of course, your money will be paying for mine too.”
House walked into the kitchen as Florida took the field, and came back with two beers. Wilson held out his hand, but House kept walking. “Get your own,” he said.
House handed the bottle to Cuddy. She took it and they clanked the bottles in a toast before they both took a drink.
“Fine,” Wilson said.
He got up, then came back with a plate of vegetables, spinach dip and dark bread in one hand, a beer in the other.
House stared at him.
“Get your own,” Wilson said.
-----
First quarter, 8:36 left, Michigan 7, Florida 0
Tebow’s pass fell short, and Florida’s kicker came in.
“Heisman, huh?” House asked.
“It’s one play,” Wilson said, “doesn’t mean anything.”
The two teams lined up and Wilson watched the football go back
”Plenty of leg, but wide.”
Florida’s offense left the field.
“These guys were nationally ranked?” House asked.
-----
First quarter, 3:30 left, Michigan 7, Florida 0
Cuddy walked back from the kitchen, carrying trays filled with vegetables, bread and two kinds of dip. She put it on the coffee table, where everyone could reach it. She looked at the screen as Florida neared the goal line. She sighed, and picked up a carrot. She paused with it just over the dip.
“Go ahead,” Wilson said. He winked at her and she smiled. House looked up at him, but was too late to catch the signal. He stared for a minute, then looked back at the TV.
“Tebow throws, Ingram catches, and touchdown,” the anchor said.
Wilson stood, clapped his hands once, twice.
“There’s a late flag,” one of the other play-by-play guys said.
House grinned.
“Penalty on the receiver, downfield,” the ref said on the field. “Penalty five yards, replay second down.”
House chuckled.
“Tebow throws to Hardin, touchdown Florida”
Wilson helped himself to some more spinach dip.
---
Second quarter, 14:54 left, Michigan 7, Florida 7
Wilson pumped his fist as the Florida running back broke clear, found open space all the way into the end zone.
“Save your energy,” House said. “There’s a lot of time to go, and you still have food to make.”
“The food’s all in the oven,” Wilson said. Almost all of it. He’d put the vegetables in the oven to roast just before the lamb was done. He grabbed a mushroom, ran it across through the dip and popped it into his mouth, tasting the tang of the dill weed and garlic salt.
Cuddy took a piece of celery. Wilson could hear the crunch as she bit into it. “You didn’t have to cook,” she said.
“Yes he did,” House said. “It’ll get him in shape for when he loses the bet.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Florida’s winning,” Wilson pointed out.
“In case you haven’t noticed, the game’s not over,” House said. He nodded toward the TV, where a Michigan receiver grabbed the football for a long gain.
----
Second quarter, 6:30 left, Michigan 14, Florida 14
“Henne to Butler, Butler to the 20, to the 10, to the five...”
Wilson sat forward, saw House swinging his legs down off of the coffee table, scootching forward himself. Cuddy was already on her feet.
“Out of bounds at the one yard line. Michigan has stayed aggressive in this ball game.”
They showed the play again from the left, then from the right, then from above.
“I don’t believe it,” House said. He looked over at Cuddy. “Is Michigan actually playing a good bowl game?”
Cuddy shook her head. She couldn’t seem to find the right words.
Both teams collided at the goal line, then Florida’s players were on their feet, celebrating.
“Mike Hart fumbles, for the first time in more than 900 carries,” one of the anchors explained as Florida took possession.
“OK, now that I can believe,” House said.
------
Second quarter 0:38 left. Michigan 14, Florida 14
Wilson found himself holding his breath as the pass flew from Henne’s fingers down the field, finally landing in a receiver’s hands as he fell and rolled into the end zone. The game stopped as the officials reviewed the tape, trying to figure out if it was a touchdown.
“He’s short,” Wilson said. “His knee hit the ground.”
“Barely.”
“He’s short,” Cuddy agreed.
One of the refs finally stepped away, approached the field and turned on his mic. “The receiver did not break the plane of the end zone with the ball” he said. “First down, the ball will be placed at the half-yard line.”
The teams lined up as the on-air guys told the viewers that the smart thing would be for Michigan to spike the ball, set up an easy field goal to take a three-point lead.
“Three points isn’t as good as seven,” House said.
“Would you go for it?” Wilson asked.
House didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “You’re asking if I’d take a chance? What do you think?”
“Hell, I’d go for it,” Cuddy said.
“Henne throws to the corner of the end zone ... touchdown.”
House grinned. “Always take a chance.”
---
Halftime, Michigan 21, Florida, 14
Wilson took the lamb out of the oven, put the vegetables in. He could hear the olive oil he’d coated them with sizzling from the high heat.
Cuddy was on the other side of the kitchen, heating some rolls she’d bought at her favorite bakery on Monday.
“I’m hungry,” House said. He stood in the doorway.
“You’re always hungry,” wilson said.
“Yeah,” he said, and grinned, “but I think I’m going to be really hungry for the next couple of months.”
“It’s always nice to have a hot lunch, don’t you think?” Cuddy added. “It just warms you up, even on a cold winter day.”
“Hot lunch wasn’t part of the bet,” Wilson said, “just lunch.”
“Just because you’re losing is no reason to get into semantics,” House said. He reached out for the lamb, and Wilson slapped his hand away.
“It needs to sit for at least 30 minutes,” he said.
“Why?”
“To finish cooking.”
“It finishes cooking by not cooking?”
“Just ...” Wilson sighed. “Just go sit down. I’ll bring the food out when it’s ready.”
---
Third quarter, 12:48 left, Michigan 21, Florida 14
Wilson was cutting the lamb into servings when Florida lost possession. He was dishing up the vegetables when Michigan’s quarterback threw a long pass downfield. He was about to carry the plates in when someone turned up the volume.
“Hart, over the goal line, touchdown, Michigan.”
The volume increased again as the Michigan band began playing the fight song. He sighed. He was really beginning to hate that song.
---
Third Quarter, 7:55 left, Michigan 28, Florida 21
“What,” Wilson asked. “you aren’t going to turn up the volume to eleven just because it was Florida that scored this time?”
House cut another piece of meat and stuffed it in his mouth. “Florida’s supposed to be winning,” he mumbled. “Be sure and let us know when they actually do that.”
Cuddy nodded. “Something like this would be good for lunch, but not every week. Maybe once a month.”
---
Third quarter, 4:40 left, Michigan 28, Florida 21
“Hart has made two monster mistakes in this game,” the announcers said, as they showed the play again.
“Now that looks like Michigan,” Wilson said. He smiled and stabbed a piece of roasted artichoke heart.
House and Cuddy stared at him.
“What, you can mock Michigan, but I can’t?”
“You haven’t earned the right,” House said.
“Like you’ve earned the right to mock your patients?” Wilson asked.
“We’re talking about football,” House said, “different rules apply to patients.”
“What rules?” Wilson asked.
“You have rules?” Cuddy added.
“There are rules for everything,” House said. “Although they may .... change on certain occasions.”
“Like, whenever I ask you to do anything,” she said.
“For example,” House said, and nodded.
---
Fourth quarter 12:12 left, Michigan 31, Florida 28
“Time now for a look back at Todd’s taste of the town,” the announcers said.
“What the hell?” Wilson spread his hands wide as the TV suddenly cut from the football action to video footage of the ESPN analyst hanging out at diners, eating food that was either deep fried or covered with sugar. Or both.
“Is he ... trying to make us all sick?” Cuddy asked, as the guy dipped dough into a deep frier.
“I thought it was a ploy by hospital administrators to increase the number of angioplasties,” House said. “Nothing like a cholesterol kick start to the fiscal year.”
“You like grease,” Wilson pointed out.
“I liked the game better,” House said.
---
Fourth quarter, 8:19 left, Michigan 31, Florida 28
“And that’s another mistake by Michigan.”
Wilson kept his mouth shut as Florida intercepted the Michigan pass, but smiled as the graphic on the screen showed Michigan with four turnovers compared to none for Florida.
“You haven’t won yet,” House pointed out. “You haven’t even taken the lead.”
“There’s a lot of time left,” Wilson said.
He cheered as Florida’s quarterback recovered his own fumble, and still managed to get it off for a pass for a first down, then cheered again as the running back scrambled into the end zone for a touchdown.
“They’re winning now,” he said.
"There's a lot of time left," House said.
---
Fourth quarter, 5:02 left, Florida 35, Michigan 31
“I need beer,” House said, and got up, walked into the kitchen.
“Make it two,” Cuddy said.
“Second and four, Michigan at this point is going to need a touchdown.”
“We already figured that out,” House yelled at the TV.
“He caught it! Watch this!”
House hurried back into the living room to watch the replay of the Michigan receiver snatching the football out of the air with one hand.
“Michigan is racking up some impressive offensive numbers.”
House stepped up close to the screen, blocking Wilson’s view.
“Henne looks for the end zone ...”
Wilson got up, stood next to House. Cuddy was on her feet too.
“Caught by Arrington, touchdown!”
“Champagne,” House said. “That seems more appropriate now, don’t you think?”
----
Fourth quarter, 2:42 left, Michigan 38, Florida, 35
“Now it’s up to the only person who has ever won the Heisman as a sophomore, Tim Tebow.”
Wilson flinched as the players clashed on the screen, the sound of their helmets cracking together. He was amazed to see them all get up and walk away.
“Tebow throws, it’s imcomplete!”
The Florida quarterback took off his helmet, seemed to shake his head as he left the field. Wilson knew how he felt.
“Why don’t I just put the money back in my pocket,” House said, and reached for the frying pan.
Wilson grabbed House’s arm. “Game’s not over yet.”
“Michigan gets a first down, it’s going to be over.”
“Oh, it’s over,” Cuddy said. She turned to Wison. “I’ve got a list of suggested lunches,” she said.
“It’s not over,” Wilson said.
He groaned as he heard the Michigan fight song again, marking another Michigan field goal, another three points.
“I hate that song,” he muttered.
---
Fourth quarter, 1:54 left, Michigan 41, Florida, 35
“What does Michigan do now?”
“How about winning?” House said.
“Lloyd Carr is about to get wet,” the announcers said, as the players massed behind the Michigan coach, ready to soak him.
Wilson sensed someone behind him. Realized that House had slipped into the kitchen without him noticing it. “Don’t even think about it,” he said. He turned to see House standing there with a glass in his hand.
“It’s tradition.”
“For winners,” Wilson pointed out.
“Cuddy and I are winners,” House said.
“Fine, let me put it in terms you’ll both understand.” Wilson pointed at each of them. “I can put things into your food, that you’ll never suspect, until it’s too late.”
“You wouldn’t,” Cuddy said.
House stared at him, took a step back. “He has,” he said, and drank down whatever was in the glass.
----
Final score, Michigan 41, Florida 35
House scooped up the cash from the pan, put it in his pocket.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said, “this doesn’t count as one of the meals you owe us.”
“It should.”
“But it doesn’t,” Cuddy said, “but we’ll give you a break. Feel free to use the leftovers to make our lunch.” She turned to House. “How do you feel about lamb curry.”
“Sounds perfect,” House said.
Wilson sighed. “This is going to be a long couple of months, isn’t it?”
House grinned. “Count on it.”
-----
The End
Author: Namaste
Summary: A season of football bets between House and Wilson (and Cuddy) comes to an end as Michigan plays the University of Florida at the Capitol One Bowl. This will be an unusual fic, updated “live” throughout the game, so refresh your page if you want to read it in action. (And feel free to point out any errors I can fix in the process.) For background, this football fic series began with the supposition that House and Wilson have a standing bet involving House’s alma mater. Read the progress here, starting with Go Blue and continued in Hail To the Victors?, Tailgating, College Game Day, Down The Badger Hole and finally Bowled Over.
“I mentioned the Heisman trophy, right?”
“I mentioned you’re annoying, right?”
Wilson ignored House. “The first time a sophomore wins the Heisman, and he’s Florida’s quarterback.”
“Ohio State’s guy won the Heisman last year, and they still lost their bowl game,” House pointed out.
“Pfft,” Wilson snorted. “A Big Ten team losing a bowl game. Is that supposed to be a surprise?”
“And USC’s guy won the Heisman the year before that, and they still lost their bowl game,” House said, “and their other guy won the Heisman the year before that and they didn’t even make it to the national championship game.”
Wilson stopped unloading his bags and stared at House. He was barefoot, still wearing his pajamas. “This is why you took off early on Friday? Researching the win-loss percentage of Heisman winners?”
“I took off early on Friday because I didn’t want to be at work,” House said. He stepped the rest of the way into the kitchen and reached for one of the bags. “Where are the chips?”
“I didn’t get any,” Wilson said.
“No chips? What about pretzels?”
“No pretzels.”
“What kind of a tailgate party is this?”
Wilson eased the rack of lamb out of the bag, still in the plastic bag where it had been for the past two days, marinating in its mixture of curry, mustard powder, honey, onions, garlic and other spices and juice. “My kind,” he said.
“Your kind sucks.” House tossed one of the empty bags on the floor.
“I’m taking pity on you,” Wilson said. “Since there’s no way you’re going to win the bet, you’ll be living on peanut butter sandwiches and canned soup for the next three months. I thought you should have one last moment of real food.”
House held out a bag of carrots. “You show up at the crack of dawn ...”
“It’s nearly ten o’clock, and good food takes time.”
House ignored him, “and you didn’t bring any chips but you brought chick food for Cuddy?”
Wilson took it from him. “It’s not just for Cuddy.”
“Why’d you ask her to come anyway?”
“Because it’ll be easier to collect from both of you at the same time.” Wilson pulled celery, green onions, mushrooms and broccoli from the bag. He left the yogurt he’d use to make a low fat dip in the bag, hoping House wouldn’t see it and start bitching. Cuddy would appreciate it, and House would never know the difference, if he didn’t spot the container. “And you agreed to it.”
“I was drunk,” House said. “You took advantage of me.”
“You got the cash, or not?”
House sighed and walked into the living room. Wilson took the yogurt and stuck it in the refrigerator, hiding it in the vegetable crisper. House was standing in the doorway when Wilson closed the door, his wallet in his hand.
“What are you hiding?” he asked.
“Nothing. You got the cash or not?”
House stared at him. Wilson stared back, told himself not to look away. He held out his hand. “Three hundred,” he said.
“Only if they don’t beat the spread,” House said, “and you haven’t won anything yet.”
House walked over and picked up a frying pan. “Here’s what you’ll need when Florida loses.” He put it on the butcher block table, then counted out ten twenty dollar bills and put them inside the pan. “There’s the two hundred,” he said, then counted out another five. “And the extra hundred if they don’t beat the spread.”
“When,” Wilson said. He reached for the money.
“Uh huh,” House said. He picked up the frying pan with the cash in it. “The pot stays in the pot.”
“It’s a pan.”
House rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He carried the pan into the living room, put it on the coffee table. “Wake me up when there’s something to eat.” He walked out of the living room, and down the hall. Wilson heard the bedroom door slam. He sighed, and walked back into the kitchen.
------
“Up With People?” House grabbed the remote out of Wilson’s hand.
“It’s the Rose Bowl Parade. It’s traditional. And I thought you went back to bed.”
“Traditional crap,” House said. The colorful floats disappeared, replaced by the orange and white of a University of Tennessee jersey on ESPN. “I’d forgotten how much noise you make in the morning.”
“It’s after eleven o’clock.”
“It’s still morning.” House sat on the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, nudging the frying pan with his heel so it was out of the way. “Got any coffee?”
--------
Wilson was brushing hoisin sauce on the lamb when he heard the knock on the door.
A minute later, he heard it again.
“You gonna get that?” House asked.
“I’m busy,” Wilson said. “You get it.”
“My leg hurts,” House said.
Wilson stepped back until he could see House, stretched out comfortably on the couch. Wilson stared at him.
“You invited her, you open the door,” House said.
Wilson sighed, washed off his hands. He was still toweling them dry when he heard the knock again.
House didn’t look at him when he walked through the living room to the door.
“You almost missed kickoff,” Wilson told Cuddy as he opened the door.
“Funny thing,” she said, and unbuttoned her coat. “I got a page saying there was an emergency in the neonatal unit.” She walked into the apartment, a plastic bag in her hand. She stood in front of the TV, blocking House’s view. “Only thing is, when I get there, there’s no emergency, only a message telling me to bring chips.”
“It sounded like an emergency to me,” House said. He held out his hand, and Cuddy tossed him the bag.
Wilson went back into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he heard House yell. “These are reduced fat.”
“Happy New Year,” Cuddy said.
------
“Welcome to Orlando Florida, and the Capitol One Bowl,” ESPN’s anchor said.
Wilson slid the lamb into the oven and walked into the living room. Cuddy was sitting on one end of the couch. He shook his head to see her wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, the gray cotton was well worn and he wondered if she’d owned back then, back when she and House first met, first clashed.
“Who cares about the Rose Bowl?” House grumbled as ESPN cut away from field at Orlando in favor of California
“You did, last year,” Wilson pointed out.
“That was last year.”
---
“I think Michigan will be in attack mode against this Florida team today,” the announcer said.
“Why start now?” Cuddy mumbled.
“You’re supposed to be on our side,” House said.
“I am,” she said, “I’m also a realist.”
“A big, opening play mistake by Michigan.”
“See?” Cuddy asked.
----
First quarter, 12:32 left to play
“Hart down to the thirteen yard line,” the play-by-play guy said.
Cuddy scooted forward to the edge of the cushion.
“Henne to Manningham ... touchdown, Michigan!”
“I’m feeling hungry,” House said. “I think I’ll be a bit peckish for the next four months.”
“Too bad you’ll have to pay for your own lunches,” Wilson said. “Of course, your money will be paying for mine too.”
House walked into the kitchen as Florida took the field, and came back with two beers. Wilson held out his hand, but House kept walking. “Get your own,” he said.
House handed the bottle to Cuddy. She took it and they clanked the bottles in a toast before they both took a drink.
“Fine,” Wilson said.
He got up, then came back with a plate of vegetables, spinach dip and dark bread in one hand, a beer in the other.
House stared at him.
“Get your own,” Wilson said.
-----
First quarter, 8:36 left, Michigan 7, Florida 0
Tebow’s pass fell short, and Florida’s kicker came in.
“Heisman, huh?” House asked.
“It’s one play,” Wilson said, “doesn’t mean anything.”
The two teams lined up and Wilson watched the football go back
”Plenty of leg, but wide.”
Florida’s offense left the field.
“These guys were nationally ranked?” House asked.
-----
First quarter, 3:30 left, Michigan 7, Florida 0
Cuddy walked back from the kitchen, carrying trays filled with vegetables, bread and two kinds of dip. She put it on the coffee table, where everyone could reach it. She looked at the screen as Florida neared the goal line. She sighed, and picked up a carrot. She paused with it just over the dip.
“Go ahead,” Wilson said. He winked at her and she smiled. House looked up at him, but was too late to catch the signal. He stared for a minute, then looked back at the TV.
“Tebow throws, Ingram catches, and touchdown,” the anchor said.
Wilson stood, clapped his hands once, twice.
“There’s a late flag,” one of the other play-by-play guys said.
House grinned.
“Penalty on the receiver, downfield,” the ref said on the field. “Penalty five yards, replay second down.”
House chuckled.
“Tebow throws to Hardin, touchdown Florida”
Wilson helped himself to some more spinach dip.
---
Second quarter, 14:54 left, Michigan 7, Florida 7
Wilson pumped his fist as the Florida running back broke clear, found open space all the way into the end zone.
“Save your energy,” House said. “There’s a lot of time to go, and you still have food to make.”
“The food’s all in the oven,” Wilson said. Almost all of it. He’d put the vegetables in the oven to roast just before the lamb was done. He grabbed a mushroom, ran it across through the dip and popped it into his mouth, tasting the tang of the dill weed and garlic salt.
Cuddy took a piece of celery. Wilson could hear the crunch as she bit into it. “You didn’t have to cook,” she said.
“Yes he did,” House said. “It’ll get him in shape for when he loses the bet.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Florida’s winning,” Wilson pointed out.
“In case you haven’t noticed, the game’s not over,” House said. He nodded toward the TV, where a Michigan receiver grabbed the football for a long gain.
----
Second quarter, 6:30 left, Michigan 14, Florida 14
“Henne to Butler, Butler to the 20, to the 10, to the five...”
Wilson sat forward, saw House swinging his legs down off of the coffee table, scootching forward himself. Cuddy was already on her feet.
“Out of bounds at the one yard line. Michigan has stayed aggressive in this ball game.”
They showed the play again from the left, then from the right, then from above.
“I don’t believe it,” House said. He looked over at Cuddy. “Is Michigan actually playing a good bowl game?”
Cuddy shook her head. She couldn’t seem to find the right words.
Both teams collided at the goal line, then Florida’s players were on their feet, celebrating.
“Mike Hart fumbles, for the first time in more than 900 carries,” one of the anchors explained as Florida took possession.
“OK, now that I can believe,” House said.
------
Second quarter 0:38 left. Michigan 14, Florida 14
Wilson found himself holding his breath as the pass flew from Henne’s fingers down the field, finally landing in a receiver’s hands as he fell and rolled into the end zone. The game stopped as the officials reviewed the tape, trying to figure out if it was a touchdown.
“He’s short,” Wilson said. “His knee hit the ground.”
“Barely.”
“He’s short,” Cuddy agreed.
One of the refs finally stepped away, approached the field and turned on his mic. “The receiver did not break the plane of the end zone with the ball” he said. “First down, the ball will be placed at the half-yard line.”
The teams lined up as the on-air guys told the viewers that the smart thing would be for Michigan to spike the ball, set up an easy field goal to take a three-point lead.
“Three points isn’t as good as seven,” House said.
“Would you go for it?” Wilson asked.
House didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “You’re asking if I’d take a chance? What do you think?”
“Hell, I’d go for it,” Cuddy said.
“Henne throws to the corner of the end zone ... touchdown.”
House grinned. “Always take a chance.”
---
Halftime, Michigan 21, Florida, 14
Wilson took the lamb out of the oven, put the vegetables in. He could hear the olive oil he’d coated them with sizzling from the high heat.
Cuddy was on the other side of the kitchen, heating some rolls she’d bought at her favorite bakery on Monday.
“I’m hungry,” House said. He stood in the doorway.
“You’re always hungry,” wilson said.
“Yeah,” he said, and grinned, “but I think I’m going to be really hungry for the next couple of months.”
“It’s always nice to have a hot lunch, don’t you think?” Cuddy added. “It just warms you up, even on a cold winter day.”
“Hot lunch wasn’t part of the bet,” Wilson said, “just lunch.”
“Just because you’re losing is no reason to get into semantics,” House said. He reached out for the lamb, and Wilson slapped his hand away.
“It needs to sit for at least 30 minutes,” he said.
“Why?”
“To finish cooking.”
“It finishes cooking by not cooking?”
“Just ...” Wilson sighed. “Just go sit down. I’ll bring the food out when it’s ready.”
---
Third quarter, 12:48 left, Michigan 21, Florida 14
Wilson was cutting the lamb into servings when Florida lost possession. He was dishing up the vegetables when Michigan’s quarterback threw a long pass downfield. He was about to carry the plates in when someone turned up the volume.
“Hart, over the goal line, touchdown, Michigan.”
The volume increased again as the Michigan band began playing the fight song. He sighed. He was really beginning to hate that song.
---
Third Quarter, 7:55 left, Michigan 28, Florida 21
“What,” Wilson asked. “you aren’t going to turn up the volume to eleven just because it was Florida that scored this time?”
House cut another piece of meat and stuffed it in his mouth. “Florida’s supposed to be winning,” he mumbled. “Be sure and let us know when they actually do that.”
Cuddy nodded. “Something like this would be good for lunch, but not every week. Maybe once a month.”
---
Third quarter, 4:40 left, Michigan 28, Florida 21
“Hart has made two monster mistakes in this game,” the announcers said, as they showed the play again.
“Now that looks like Michigan,” Wilson said. He smiled and stabbed a piece of roasted artichoke heart.
House and Cuddy stared at him.
“What, you can mock Michigan, but I can’t?”
“You haven’t earned the right,” House said.
“Like you’ve earned the right to mock your patients?” Wilson asked.
“We’re talking about football,” House said, “different rules apply to patients.”
“What rules?” Wilson asked.
“You have rules?” Cuddy added.
“There are rules for everything,” House said. “Although they may .... change on certain occasions.”
“Like, whenever I ask you to do anything,” she said.
“For example,” House said, and nodded.
---
Fourth quarter 12:12 left, Michigan 31, Florida 28
“Time now for a look back at Todd’s taste of the town,” the announcers said.
“What the hell?” Wilson spread his hands wide as the TV suddenly cut from the football action to video footage of the ESPN analyst hanging out at diners, eating food that was either deep fried or covered with sugar. Or both.
“Is he ... trying to make us all sick?” Cuddy asked, as the guy dipped dough into a deep frier.
“I thought it was a ploy by hospital administrators to increase the number of angioplasties,” House said. “Nothing like a cholesterol kick start to the fiscal year.”
“You like grease,” Wilson pointed out.
“I liked the game better,” House said.
---
Fourth quarter, 8:19 left, Michigan 31, Florida 28
“And that’s another mistake by Michigan.”
Wilson kept his mouth shut as Florida intercepted the Michigan pass, but smiled as the graphic on the screen showed Michigan with four turnovers compared to none for Florida.
“You haven’t won yet,” House pointed out. “You haven’t even taken the lead.”
“There’s a lot of time left,” Wilson said.
He cheered as Florida’s quarterback recovered his own fumble, and still managed to get it off for a pass for a first down, then cheered again as the running back scrambled into the end zone for a touchdown.
“They’re winning now,” he said.
"There's a lot of time left," House said.
---
Fourth quarter, 5:02 left, Florida 35, Michigan 31
“I need beer,” House said, and got up, walked into the kitchen.
“Make it two,” Cuddy said.
“Second and four, Michigan at this point is going to need a touchdown.”
“We already figured that out,” House yelled at the TV.
“He caught it! Watch this!”
House hurried back into the living room to watch the replay of the Michigan receiver snatching the football out of the air with one hand.
“Michigan is racking up some impressive offensive numbers.”
House stepped up close to the screen, blocking Wilson’s view.
“Henne looks for the end zone ...”
Wilson got up, stood next to House. Cuddy was on her feet too.
“Caught by Arrington, touchdown!”
“Champagne,” House said. “That seems more appropriate now, don’t you think?”
----
Fourth quarter, 2:42 left, Michigan 38, Florida, 35
“Now it’s up to the only person who has ever won the Heisman as a sophomore, Tim Tebow.”
Wilson flinched as the players clashed on the screen, the sound of their helmets cracking together. He was amazed to see them all get up and walk away.
“Tebow throws, it’s imcomplete!”
The Florida quarterback took off his helmet, seemed to shake his head as he left the field. Wilson knew how he felt.
“Why don’t I just put the money back in my pocket,” House said, and reached for the frying pan.
Wilson grabbed House’s arm. “Game’s not over yet.”
“Michigan gets a first down, it’s going to be over.”
“Oh, it’s over,” Cuddy said. She turned to Wison. “I’ve got a list of suggested lunches,” she said.
“It’s not over,” Wilson said.
He groaned as he heard the Michigan fight song again, marking another Michigan field goal, another three points.
“I hate that song,” he muttered.
---
Fourth quarter, 1:54 left, Michigan 41, Florida, 35
“What does Michigan do now?”
“How about winning?” House said.
“Lloyd Carr is about to get wet,” the announcers said, as the players massed behind the Michigan coach, ready to soak him.
Wilson sensed someone behind him. Realized that House had slipped into the kitchen without him noticing it. “Don’t even think about it,” he said. He turned to see House standing there with a glass in his hand.
“It’s tradition.”
“For winners,” Wilson pointed out.
“Cuddy and I are winners,” House said.
“Fine, let me put it in terms you’ll both understand.” Wilson pointed at each of them. “I can put things into your food, that you’ll never suspect, until it’s too late.”
“You wouldn’t,” Cuddy said.
House stared at him, took a step back. “He has,” he said, and drank down whatever was in the glass.
----
Final score, Michigan 41, Florida 35
House scooped up the cash from the pan, put it in his pocket.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said, “this doesn’t count as one of the meals you owe us.”
“It should.”
“But it doesn’t,” Cuddy said, “but we’ll give you a break. Feel free to use the leftovers to make our lunch.” She turned to House. “How do you feel about lamb curry.”
“Sounds perfect,” House said.
Wilson sighed. “This is going to be a long couple of months, isn’t it?”
House grinned. “Count on it.”
-----
The End
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Date: 2008-01-01 10:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-01 10:46 pm (UTC)