By the end of the first half I was grumpy and crabby and oh so damp. G and I decided to split but remembered, once we got out to the street, that our keys were locked in the truck in the lot, and the keys to the truck were back in the arena in Jack's pocket. So we sweet-talked our way back in and watched the rest of the drubbing of ND by USC (41-10). Once we all straggled back to the trucks we loaded in and Joey hobbled onto the scene, having sprained his ankle. He was barely able to walk. We three had been walking into the stadium together. G & I turned around and, poof, Joey gone. We thought he might have sidled into a food court so we kept looking for a few minutes. Turns out he had slipped on a metal grate and fouled up his ankle something fierce. We got him back to his suite all full of piss and vinegar and howling with pain and refusing a hospital visit. (He went on Sunday and was diagnosed with a sprain; he'll be off his large feet for a couple of days -- visited him today with some deli sandwiches and matzo ball soup. He's doing fine but aggravated.) On the way home, unbeknownst to us, the lid flipped off the grill and was hanging off the back of the truck. A couple pulled up behind us and casually informed us of this. Jack got out to investigate. "Wow, Joey. Big." We lashed it down and proceeded home, shivering and damp.