The Joey Wright was a king without a prince, even though the song 1999 pulsed in the background of the VIP section at Sticks, the only football-themed nightclub on the West Coast. The Battle of Lake Tahoe was won, but the War of the Razzbowl had taken its toll. 

“Another New Coke?” the bottle girl asked Joey, her referee-striped uniform reminding him of the Super Bowl Shuffle. 

“IT DOES NOTHING FOR ME!” Joey shouted, tossing a red flag on the floor to indicate he was done with his VIP session. The tech bros at the booth across the aisle poked their eyes up from their Nachos Grande and noticed Joey cradling a picture, whispering to it. One of them came over. 

“You OK, man?” the tech bro asked Joey. 

“Not since I lost The Mick,”


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