Who won last night's game?

He’s got his head stuffed under the covers, curled up into a ball, pulling the blankets up over his head so tightly that the sheets are coming untucked from the bottom of the bed. From the other room, sounds are filtering in. The faint sounds of a baseball game, with the distant, but clearly shouted, sounds of the announcers and the cheering crowd diluted by the walls between them. He can hear them, and he can also hear his dad cheering along, loudly expressing his excitement as his team makes a good move, or perhaps his disapproval as they make an error. He can’t tell which, and perhaps the fact that he isn’t sure (and he certainly isn’t going to reveal that he’s been up past his bedtime reading to ask) which is happening makes it harder to tune out. So in the morning, when he gets up, he’ll ask his father how the game went, feigning interest, having looked up the score before he even entered the room. 

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