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When Booker slams down the rest of his beer and puts his face in his hands, Andy wonders if the storm has passed. Nicky, sitting in the opposite armchair, seems this close to a rant about Italy’s victory being the definitive proof that God was on their side, but contains himself for now. Good. A tentative peace seems to have been reached, for which Andy - who cares about men’s football as much as she cares about men’s anything, so not a whole lot - is grateful. But Booker looks up again, and she knows it’s not over.
“It was his last match," he says mournfully.
“Oh, cheer up, will you?” retorts Joe next to her, hitting Booker with a light punch. “It may have been a very boring match, but at least it was a good headbutt.”
Here we go. Nicky’s face is the picture of outrage.
“Unsportsmanlike! Unsportmanlike is what it was!”
Aaaaand they’re yelling again, Booker louder than ever: “And the constant jersey-grabbing, was that not unsportsmanlike? Insulting someone’s sister, is that not unsportsmanlike?”
“If one just cannot stand to hear their sister’s name besmirched,” says Nicky, “then one should stop playing football.”
Booker actually, literally, hisses. “And if one does not want to be headbutted, one should stop being Italian!”
This time, nobody prevents Nicky from lunging at him. Andy figures it’s probably best if they both get it out of their system. Probably. As for Joe, he's watching it all with a sunny grin.
Andy grabs two beers, open them, and passes him one. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Well”, he shrugs, not even bothering to look sheepish. “It truly was a boring match. While this?” he adds, gesturing to the floor where Nicky seems determined to feed Booker his right fist. “This, boss, is downright shakespearean.”