Among the Players

My brother’s university team won an American football game in Eskişehir, and the celebration lasted well beyond the final whistle. I was not certain enough about the exact score to record it like a journalist. What mattered to me was that his team had won and that he was among the players.

A sibling’s victory creates a pleasant kind of borrowed happiness. You did not train, take the hits, or earn the result, so there is nothing to claim. Still, the success enters the family as if somebody has opened a window and let good weather into the house.

I remember calling the players warriors, which was exactly the kind of exaggeration the occasion deserved. My brother was not presented as the hero of the match. He was simply one of them, and somehow that made the pride cleaner.

The city mattered too. Eskişehir already existed in my memory through work trips, streets, food, and people I knew there. For that night it gained another small layer: a team celebrating a win, with my brother somewhere inside the noise.

Sports never allow celebration to last very long. Another match was already waiting in March, another opponent already had a name, and the victory had begun turning into preparation almost immediately.

But on that night, none of that needed much attention. His team had won.

For once, somebody else’s good day was enough.