The Art of Thinking Clearly

Mateo had worn the blue scarf because everyone from the office had worn blue. They had taken a group photo outside the ground, holding their tickets up like they had won something already. He stood at the edge of it, trying to keep the scarf loose around his neck.

His brother, Andrés, had texted before kickoff: I can see your stand from the bench.

Mateo had replied with a thumbs-up. He had not mentioned the scarf.

The home end was loud before the teams came out. Mateo's manager passed him a small flag and said, “You have to wave this when we score. It is in the rules.”

“Whose rules?” Mateo asked.

“Mine.”

Andrés started at right back for the visitors. From the upper rows he looked smaller than Mateo expected, just another shirt moving through the wet grass. The office group shouted advice at him whenever he came near the touchline. Mateo did not shout. He held the flag across his knees and watched his brother keep turning his head before the ball arrived.

Near halftime, Andrés intercepted a pass, ran half the length of the field, and crossed for a goal. The away end lifted all at once. Mateo's manager grabbed the flag from his lap and waved it upside down.

“That does not count,” she said. “Offside. Obviously.”

The referee pointed to the centre circle.

Mateo stood before he meant to. He walked down the concrete steps, past the snack kiosk, and along the fence behind the away bench. A steward raised a hand but did not stop him. Andrés was jogging back toward the halfway line and saw Mateo only long enough to lift two fingers from his side.

Mateo lifted his hand back. Then the whistle went and people began moving around him toward the bar. He walked back up the steps. His manager had kept his place with one foot on the seat beside her. Mateo sat down as the second half started.