The Silver Linings Playbook - By Matthew Quick Page 0,9

that young receiver Freddie Mitchell number 84? I think but do not say, because I don't want to insult my brother, who was nice enough to buy me a present.

"Who's Baskett?" I ask, which is the name on the jersey.

"Undrafted rookie sensation Hank Baskett? He's the preseason story. These jerseys are hot on the streets of Philadelphia. And now you have one to wear to the games this year."

"Wear to the games?"

"Now that you're home, you're gonna want your old seat back, right?"

"At the Vet?"

"The Vet?" Jake laughs and looks at my mother. My mother looks scared. "No - at Lincoln Financial Field."

"What's Lincoln Financial Field?"

"Didn't they let you watch TV in that place? It's the home of the Eagles, the stadium your team's played three seasons in now."

I know Jake is lying to me, but I don't say anything.

"Anyway, you got a seat right next to mine and Scott's. Season tickets, bro. Are you psyched, or what?"

"I don't have any money for season tickets," I say, because I let Nikki have the house and the cars and the bank accounts when apart time began.

"I got your back." Jake punches me in the arm. "I might not have been a good brother for the past few years, but I'm gonna make up for all that now that you're home."

I thank my brother, and then Mom starts crying again. She cries so hard that she has to leave the room, which is weird, since Jake and I are making up and season tickets to the Eagles are quite a nice present - not to mention the jersey.

"Put on your Baskett jersey, bro."

I put it on, and it feels good to be wearing Eagles green, especially a jersey that Jake picked out special for me.

"You wait and see how good your boy Baskett is going to be this year," Jake says in a strange way, as if my future were somehow linked to the Eagles' rookie wide receiver - Hank Baskett.
Chapter 6
The Concrete Doughnut

I notice that my father waits until the game is just about to begin before he comes into the family room. It is only preseason, so we do not engage in any of the regular-season game-day rituals, but Dad has put on his number 5 McNabb jersey and now sits on the edge of the couch, ready to jump out of his seat. He nods at my brother solemnly but completely ignores me, even after I heard my mother say, "Please, just try to talk to Pat" when they were arguing in the kitchen. Mom puts the food on folding tables, takes a seat next to Jake, and we all start to eat.

The food is excellent, but I am the only one to say so. Mom seems happy to get the compliment, saying, "Are you sure it's all right?" like she does, because she is modest when it comes to cooking, even though she is a great cook.

"What do you think the Birds will do this year, Dad?" Jake asks.

"Eight and eight," my dad answers pessimistically, like he always does at the beginning of every NFL season.

"Eleven and five," my brother says, to which my father shakes his head and blows air through his teeth. "Eleven and five?" my brother asks me, and I nod because I am optimistic, and winning eleven games would most likely put the Eagles in the play-offs. Since we have season tickets, I know we are assured play-off tickets should the Birds earn a home game, and there's nothing better than an Eagles play-off game.

Now, I admit that I have not been keeping up with the Birds in the off-season, but when the starting lineups are announced, I am really surprised that many of my favorite players are no longer on the team. Duce Staley. Hugh Douglas. James Thrash. Corey Simon. All gone. I want to ask, "When? Why?" but don't, fearing my father and brother will think I am not a true fan anymore, which they said would happen when I first moved to Baltimore with Nikki and gave up my season ticket.

To my surprise, the Birds are also not playing in Veterans Stadium, but at Lincoln Financial Field, just like Jake had said. Somehow they have built an entire stadium since last season, and I must have missed all the hype because I was stuck in the bad place. Still, something does not really seem right to me.

"Where is Lincoln Financial Field?" I try to ask nonchalantly when the commercials come on