The cry that unites the fans no matter what the code goes out, “Friday night football!”
It meant nothing to me except I would be busy. I knew what everyone would be doing. It didn’t matter. I would wait for no game, especially football. I would stride up to any door and bang on it or press the doorbell.
Shouts would come from inside, “Who’s that? Don’t they know the game is on?”
I would hear angry footsteps approaching but would stand firm. The door would fling open.
Anger would turn to a smile as they would call out, “The pizzas are here.”