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"You have four attempts to gain ten yards," he says. "If you succeed, the count resets. If you fail after four attempts, the other team takes possession."

I watch the screen. "Why four."

"That's just the rule."

"There must be a reason."

"There is. It creates a tension between attempting to score and managing field position."

I watch for another minute. "And the scoring system."

He explains it. I ask three more questions. He answers them. At some point he puts the book I am holding to one side and I don't object because I am watching third and eight and the tension between the passing play and the coverage scheme is, I find, genuinely interesting.

By halftime I have looked up the current standings on my phone.

"Your team is third in their division," I say.

"I know," Patrick says. He is looking at me with the expression.

"The playoff structure is a single elimination tournament."

"Yes."

"Seeding is determined by…”

"Jan."

"Yes."

"You're going to become a football fan," he says. With complete certainty.

I consider this. "I've watched the Super Bowl before," I say.

He looks at me. "You have."

"The halftime show," I say. "I don't miss the halftime show."

He is very still. "You watch the Super Bowl for the halftime show."

"JLo and Shakira was the best," I say. "Objectively. Followed closely by Rihanna. I have opinions about this."

He stares at me for a long moment. Then he starts laughing, the full version, the real one.

"Of course you do," he says. "Of course."

"The performance structure, the staging, the…”

"Jan." He is still laughing. "I love you."

"The Rihanna one was technically very impressive," I say. "The pregnancy reveal added a dimension that…”

"I know," he says. "I know. I was watching it too." He shakes his head, still smiling. "I would love to go to a Super Bowl sometime," he says. More to himself than to me. "Just… to see it. The whole thing."

I look at the television.

I look at the standings on my phone.

I look at Patrick.