Formation Lap

Sun, 19 Jul 2026 12:30:50 -0500

World Cup anticipation
isn’t a quiet condition.
It sits in the chest
like a countdown
pretending to be a reasonable way
to spend a Sunday.
So Orca and I
did what we could
with the morning:
Yeppa,
F1 Belgium,
something loud enough
to borrow the edge off the wait.
Amazing start.
Then,
eventually,
the kind of ending that makes a person
check the lap counter for evidence
that time is still legal.
Kimi again, as usual.
Some good midfield drama,
at least,
which is what we say
when the front
has stopped negotiating with entertainment.
Not much thread
this morning,
but that was no scandal.
You aren’t much
of an early riser,
and the sun doesn’t get extra credit
for being first.
King Ron, Kitty Mike, and Apex
kept the group chat alive,
doing their part
to make the wait less dignified,
which is usually the correct amount.
After the race,
Orca and I
made our way to Irby’s…
for much-needed patio time.
Gabe’s kiddos were there.
Orca did _not_ approve.
Not in a cruel way,
exactly.
More in the way
a small queen
might notice several new claimants
to the attention throne
and begin quietly reviewing the succession laws.
I think children
may currently be her rivals.
So,
as Irby’s started filling in,
I took her home for a nap…
because even suspicion requires rest.
Then I came back,
grabbed our corner,
pulled a few extra seats into the orbit,
and even held a parking spot,
just in case y’all decided to drive.
The plan was clean:
if you came here,
I could do the Irby’s parking shuffle,
move Nero across the street
to the spot with his name already on it,
and leave you the easy landing.
That was the formation.
Or at least,
that was the formation
I had in my head.
Then the day changed circuits.
Piedmont Park became your watch party.
Irby’s became mine.
Not wrong,
just different.
The kind of adjustment Sunday makes
without asking whether the pit wall
has finished its math.
So the formation changed.
You at Piedmont.
Me at Irby’s.
Friends on the way,
my corner still useful,
seats still becoming
a joyful afternoon.
Orca home,
sleeping off
her diplomatic failure
with children.
The spot held,
then not needed the way I pictured.
The wait,
still very much the wait.
That’s the thing
about a formation lap:
it isn’t the race.
It’s just the slow roll
before everything gets loud,
all the little corrections,
all the tires warming,
all the cars
finding their places
before the lights finally go out.
Today’s doing that.
Not the grid I pictured,
but still a grid.
Not the corner
I thought I was saving for you,
but still a corner
pointed toward the same whistle.
You there.
Me here.
Sunday,
rearranging us
without quite separating us,
lining up the whole bright mess…
one adjustment at a time.

Hard to Miss

Sun, 05 Jul 2026 09:34:50 -0500

It’s been a while
since the last rambling.
Not because there wasn’t anything to say.
The week simply kept moving
faster than I could stop
and turn any of it
into lines.
Tuesday carried Mari and me
from Cardinals at Braves
to Mexico at Live!
without ever really becoming two separate nights.
St. Louis took the first one.
Mexico took the second.
By the time Nero and I dropped her home,
it was late enough
that simple had become beautiful:
a good game,
another good game,
a bite of Taco Mac,
one clean ride home,
with no need to ask the night for anything else.
Wednesday found us at Irby’s
for the USA game,
then back at 325…
for just enough couch
to make an ordinary evening
feel like ours.
Not too much.
Not too late.
Just right,
which may be harder to nail
than any penalty kick
I’ve seen this World Cup.
Thursday brought Ava to Atlanta,
one more Cardinals win for Mari,
St. Louis taking that series
before the week changed crews.
Friday,
Mari delivered Coal
into a weekend of deliberate spoiling
and Orca’s _extremely_ aggressive
interpretation of hospitality.
Then the days folded together.
Ava learning to code
while I remembered
how strange teaching feels…
when it’s about things
my hands stopped having to explain years ago.
Nintendo and cooking.
Mets at Braves,
an Atlanta win on The 4th,
with fireworks loud enough
to put a proper ending on Saturday.
And always,
somewhere under our feet,
four-legged negotiations
over couches,
attention,
and who exactly
was spoiling whom.
Now Sunday is already here.
The dogs and I are taking F1 to Yeppa,
keeping Coal surrounded by noise,
motion,
Orca,
and every available reason
not to notice that Mari isn’t here.
Ava leaves this evening—
the weekend will get quieter,
Coal may finally have enough room
to start missing Mari.
I know I will.
Monday waits on the other side of that—
USA against Belgium at eight,
and maybe,
if the universe doesn’t get clever,
another one of our glorious Mondays.
No guarantees.
For now,
there are engines at Yeppa,
Ava for a few more hours,
two dogs being kept
impressively busy,
and me,
learning that filling every minute
is a pretty effective way
to make the missing
hard to miss.

Yeppa on Bougyman's Ramblings

Formation Lap

Hard to Miss