Glad

In the glory of the gloaming-green soccer field her team, the Gladiators, is losing ten to zip. She never loses interest in the roughhouse one-on-one that comes every half a minute. She sticks her leg in danger and comes out the other side running. Later a clump of opponents on the street is chant- ing, WE WON, WE WON, WE . . . She stands up on the convertible seat holding to the wind- shield. WE LOST, WE LOST BIGTIME, TEN TO NOTHING, WE LOST, WE LOST. Fist pumping air. The other team quiet, abashed, chastened. Good losers don't laugh last; they laugh continuously, all the way home so glad.