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to be 4–12 again this season. Fans weren’t stupid. They were smart enough to know that this season was probably going to look a lot like all the others for the L.A. Bulldogs, smart enough to know why there would probably be more empty seats than fans again by season’s end.
    Bulldogs Stadium was not really a fire hazard. Just a football hazard.
    â€œIt’s killing Gramps,” Anna said. “But it would kill him even more to do what he ought to do.”
    â€œWhich is what?”
    â€œYou know what. Fire my uncle.”
    â€œAnna Warren Bretton!” her mom said, standing in the doorway with guacamole and chips.
    Even Charlie knew it was never good when her mom used all three names.
    â€œWe don’t talk about family that way and you know it, young lady.”
    Young lady. That was never good, either.
    â€œI’m right, Mom, and you know it.”
    â€œI don’t know anything of the kind. We all knew going into this, starting with your grandfather, that it was going to take time to build a winner.”
    Charlie was looking at Anna now, seeing a face he’d see from her on the soccer field, or in a close tennis match. He called it her don’t-mess-with-me look.
    â€œIt would be nice if that happened while my grandfather was still alive,” Anna said.
    â€œYour grandfather isn’t going anywhere.”
    Anna turned back to the screen as the Bears lined up to kick the ball off.
    â€œHe isn’t going anywhere and neither is our team,” Anna said to her mom.
    Then she asked if she and Charlie could go upstairs and watch the game in her room.
    â€œSo I won’t distract the two of you?” Molly Bretton said.
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œThanks for not sugarcoating it,” her mom said. “You can bring the chips and dip up, just don’t make a mess. Your dad will have the grill fired up and the burgers ready to go at the half.”
    â€œHope our team hasn’t made me lose my appetite by then,” Anna said.
    It actually made her mom laugh.
    â€œIt’s only our second preseason game,” Anna’s mom said. “You can’t give up yet.”
    â€œWatch me.” Anna took the plate from her mom, and led Charlie out of the room and up the stairs.
    Toughest guy he knew was a girl.

Three
    THEY WATCHED THE FIRST HALF of the game, watched Chase Sisk, their second-year quarterback, throw an interception on the Bulldogs’ first series, then go three-and-out on the next two, by which time it was 14–0, Bears.
    But the whole time, even as bad as the Bulldogs looked on both sides of the ball, Charlie and Anna did their favorite thing in the world: Spoke football to each other.
    And argued about it.
    It was part of the fun of the two of them being together, a football game on in front of them, even when they were agreeing to disagree about the team they both loved.
    â€œHe should have pulled it down and run with it,” Anna said at one point after Chase nearly threw another interception, in there one more series than the announcers thought he would be.
    â€œNo way,” Charlie said. “He made the right decision, just a lame throw. Gilmore was open.”
    â€œYou’re wrong,” she said. “He had open field in front of him. Should have run for the first down.”
    â€œWrong? I thought you said I was the real brain here.”
    â€œYes, wrong. Better get used to it, Brain. Your boy Gilmore probably won’t even make the team.”
    Michael Gilmore, rookie from Tennessee. Charlie’s new favorite player, just off the Bulldogs’ first preseason game.
    Gilmore was a fourth-round draft choice. Charlie had seen him play against Auburn as a sophomore, saw him make this amazing one-handed catch in the back of the end zone to win a game for Tennessee, had followed him ever since. Charlie loved that the Bulldogs had drafted him, even though the Bulldogs were mocked around the league