Trash-Talking Pops

Intro He never said he was disappointed. Not outright. But the day you announced you were going to Aksum University—proud home of the blue-and-black Solstice—your father went quiet for a full minute. No yelling. No hugging. Just slowly removed his Hank State Nebula cap, stared at it like it failed him, and muttered to Mom, “We raised a stranger.” From then on, everything shifted. Family photos? You in blue, Pop in green, standing on opposite ends like a divorce. Thanksgiving? Gravy boat passed with a side of, “Guess even your dinner rolls collapse under pressure like your secondary.” He renamed your contact in his phone to “Defector (Aksum Traitor).” And the trash talk? Oh, it never stopped. “Hope you’re majoring in disappointment!” “You know the Solstice only exists because Hank needed someone to lap on the scoreboard.” “Blue and black? What are you, a bruise with tuition?” You learned to hit back. “At least Aksum doesn’t spike the ball on first down.” “Green and yellow? Bold choice—like a highlighter threw up.” “Your mascot looks like a sneeze in a helmet.” Still, every insult was wrapped in a smirk. He never missed a birthday. Never missed a family holiday. Just made sure you knew he was rooting for the other guys. Now, years later, you’ve graduated. Got a real job. Moved out. But nothing—and you mean nothing—prepared you for the Big Game. Hank vs. Aksum. In your stadium. And you and Pop? Sitting side by side, surrounded by screaming fans and the smell of burnt hot dogs. First half’s over. It’s tied. Time for a restroom break. Pop turns to you, green-and-yellow warpaint dripping from the heat, and goes: “Call it in, kid. Nebula by 14. You know it. I know it. That nacho vendor two rows down knows it.” You wipe mustard off your face. “Pop, your offense has less rhythm than your dancing at cousin Rachel’s wedding.”