Sam and Colby: The Penitentiary

40

The days started to blur together, the same routine quickly becoming old and stale. Same thing day after day. Life was boring.

At least I still got to work in the kitchen. That was actually pretty fun, and it made a lot of the guys be more friendly to me. I got to know more of the other inmates, so I wasn't as scared to be in that jail as much as I used to be. There were still plenty of people I was absolutely terrified of, but the number was significantly smaller than it had been on the first day.

I used my morning yard time to talk to Ray every day. He seemed to think we were becoming really close, our friendship surpassing... well, surpassing a friendship. I was struggling to keep the dude in the friendzone without blatantly rejecting him. But I knew that the more he thought I liked him, the more he'd trust me. Trust all of us.

We'd been there for about two weeks when I walked into the dayroom to see everyone buzzing with excitement. Everyone was standing in little clusters, smiles plastered on faces that had never so much as looked up from their feet. I walked over to Theo and took my normal spot on the couch.

"What's all this about?" I asked.

"The big game. Finally got a tape of it. We get to watch it tonight," Theo explained.

"The big game?" I asked.

"Yes, the super bowl. You know, football," said Theo.

"Oh. Aren't those early in the year, though? It's nearly July," I said.

"Yes, it was much earlier. But the prison just got the tapes last night," he replied.

"Well that's cool," I said.

"It's more than cool. It's an opportunity. A big one," said Theo.

"Opportunity?" I asked.

"Have you seen how many men in here play poker every day? They're big on bets. Real big. If you know what you're talking about with these guys, you could win a hell of a lot of stuff tonight," he said.

Holy shit. This is exactly what we needed to stockpile for the escape. Except I didn't know shit about the super bowl in 1977.

After free time was dinner. I quickly scurried into the cafeteria and shooed Colby out of the way so I could sit between Corey and Jake.

"You guys. You watch football, right?" I asked.

"Uh, yeah. Why?" Jake asked. I realized they'd all been in the gym during free time and probably hadn't heard about the game.

"Do you happen to watch old games? Like the super bowl in 1977 by any chance?" I asked.

"Dude, yes actually. One of our video games has decades themed levels. We've seen all of the 70s and 90s games," said Corey.

"And how much of that can you remember?" I asked.

"All of it," said Jake. I looked over at him.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. We bet two boxes of White Claws on whoever won the most decade rounds. Jake took that shit so seriously and totally kicked my ass," said Corey.

"Shit, I remember that," said Colby.

"He stayed up all night in the Traphouse playing old recordings. We had to listen to those games for weeks," Sam said.

"Why does this matter? The super bowl is in like, January or February isn't it?" asked Colby.

"It is. But people in prison haven't gotten a chance to see it yet. They're playing the tape of it tonight, and we're making bets," I said.

"I heard bets. What are we talking about?" Blaze asked, turning to face us.

"The game they're playing tonight. We want to place some bets on it," I said.

"Nah. Won't work. You guys got here way after January," Blaze said. "Although...," he trailed off.

"What?" asked Corey.

"They'd probably let Mom still bet. The guys might treat her like a friend, but they're still a little sexist at heart. If you act like you're just getting lucky with your guesses and pretend you have no idea what the hell you're talking about, they'll let you in," Blaze said. "But how much do you guys even know about football? Some of the guys in here have been reading the same sports magazines for years, memorizing plays and shit."

"I've won a lot of cigarettes from poker," Colby said. "We can start out with betting those and if she's no good, we'll just stop before we run out."

"Alright, yeah. Go for it," Blaze said. "I don't know jack shit about the game, so I won't be placing any bets. I would say you could get someone else to bet for you, but they'd want a cut of the prize. I'd bet for you if everyone here didn't know I'm completely clueless about the sport."

"Don't worry. I can act stupid, no problem," I said.

"That's a shame. Shouldn't have to be putting your brain to waste like that," said Blaze.

"You got to do what you got to do," I shrugged.

"Ain't that the truth," Blaze sighed.

Seven to eight was yard time, then game time was after that. Jake and Corey spent the entire hour telling me just about every move of the game, but I had them do it a specific way. I had them only tell me the player's jersey numbers instead of the last names and not use any specific terminology for positions and stuff so I could be genuinely clueless as to how most of it worked.

They told me about every field goal, every interception, every touchdown, and what quarter it would happen in. I also specifically asked them not to tell me what teams were playing. The less I had to pretend, the better.

The guards knew that we bet on the games. They didn't stop us so long as they each got a total of one cigarette pack. That was 60 cigarettes, but the two cell pods were joining together for a total of 300 prisoners, so tipping the guards off was no issue at all.

The game started at 8:30. There was an old projector set up in the cafeteria facing one of the large brick walls to show the game on.

There were dozens of tables filled with different items placed on the tops. I walked into the cafeteria with the guys and looked around. I wanted to find Theo, to see if he was making any bets, but I couldn't find him. Instead, I headed over to the table with the most stuff stacked on it. These guys were probably the best at guessing the game.

"No. You guys got here earlier this month," one of the men said at the table, shooing us away.

"Can I try?" I asked in an innocent sounding voice. The man crossed his arms and looked at me.

"Tell me the name of the quarterback on the Vikings," he said. He had said it in that way so that I'd think if I told him the right answer, he'd let me join. But that was a trick. The more dumb I was, the more likely it was for him to win my stuff.

"Uh... is that the guy who throws it or kicks it?" I asked. The guys at the table all burst into loud laughter.

"Sure, sweetheart. Sit on down. You can bet as much as you'd like," the guy said. "My name's Mike."

"Prison Mike," I said.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," he said. I lifted my hand up to my mouth and leaned my elbow on the table to stifle my laughter. "What are you starting with?" he asked. I pulled two packs of cigarettes out of my pants waistband.

"Fair game," one of the other guys at the table said.

"Alright, shut up. We're starting now," Jinx yelled from the back of the room. Waco fiddled with the projector until it finally turned on and the announcer's voice rang through the cafeteria.

"Alright, boys. And you. What are we saying for the coin toss and kickoff?" asked Mike.