“Oh, no!” Chad half groaned and half exclaimed.

“Oh, yeah!” Randy took a swig of his beer. “And I call him. And when he gets there, he asks me to ‘please leave.’ As if she was his.”

Chad hissed. And took a swig of his beer.

“He’s as small as she is,” added Randy wryly.

And Chad laughed. And the beer he had just drunk sprayed out of his mouth and up his nose.

And Randy laughed, too. At Yvonne’s tiny boyfriend. And at the absurdity of it all. And at Chad’s spit take.

And Chad coughed for a while and eventually recovered from the beer that had gone up his nose.

And then the guys sat in silence for a bit.

And Randy relived his drive to the hospital in Fort Kent.

And Chad imagined Randy’s drive to the hospital in Fort Kent. With Yvonne. And all her blood. And all her tears.

And then he made a weird sound—a combination of a snort and a chortle and a scoff.

“What?” asked Randy.

“That’s just pretty bad,” said Chad in grand understatement.

“Yup,” nodded Randy, almost triumphantly.

“And sad.”

“Yup.”

“So … I guess you win,” Chad capitulated.

Randy raised his arms, fists clenched, assuming a championship pose. “Yes!” he bellowed.

Chad laughed and said, “That right there might make you the big winner of all time!”

“Yup!” Randy bellowed louder, fists still clenched, arms still raised.

“Baddest-date guy of all time!” announced Chad, egging Randy on.

“Yaaaaaaah!” cheered Randy, strutting like a rooster.

“Congratulations!” cheered Chad.

“Thank you!” grunted Randy and he assumed the championship pose again and opened his mouth wide and made a sound like there was an imaginary crowd cheering for him.

And Chad laughed.

And then Randy dropped the championship pose.

And it was quiet again.

And the guys fell into a deep sadness as they contemplated their worst dates ever.

And then Chad managed to pull himself out of his sadness and asked Randy, “So what do you pick tomorrow?”

Randy shrugged and said what the winner always said. “Bowlin’. Supper at the Snowmobile Club. Coupla beers at the Moose Paddy. Hang out.”

Chad said, “Good.”

And then he wondered if someday they’d pick something else as the prize.

And then he air-toasted Randy.

And Randy air-toasted back.

And then Chad finished his beer.

And Randy finished his.

And crushed his empty can on his head.

And Chad didn’t quite crush his empty can on his head.

And then Randy made like his crushed beer can was a basketball and he pretended he was in the closing seconds of a championship game, and he counted down, “Three!… Two!… One!” and made a buzzer-beating shot into the paper bag that he had brought the Natty Light in. And then he made like an imaginary crowd was roaring for him in adoration. And then said, “And now, Chad Buzza for the win!” to let Chad know it was his turn to be the hero.

And Chad got up and fake-dribbled and pulled up.