Shouts and cheers are, as you may imagine, not entirely unusual in the West Wing.  On a Sunday evening, though, it's usually quiet.  Which is why I've been holed up in my office for three hours working on a media strategy to deflect the grammatically-challenged Senator from Texas who's trying his level best to paint the president as a hardcore environmental activist.

But, really, how do you respond to something like, "I haven't had a chance to ask the questioners the question they've been questioning.  On the other hand, I firmly believe his stance on the environment is radical."

People actually voted for this idiot?

"CJ?"

I look up, surprised to find Donna in my doorway.

"Hey, Donna.  What are you doing here?"

She rolls her eyes.  "Josh can't bear to be in the building when I'm not here."

"Yeah," I grin.  "What is that about?"

Donna shrugs.  "Who cares, really."

"Is he actually working, or is he watching the Superbowl?"

"What do you think?  Hey, how was that dinner?"

"What dinner?" I ask.

"Lunch?" Donna shrugs.  "The award you received?"

"Oh," I grin at her.  "It was great.  Thanks for asking."

Donna smiles, and I think she's about to say something else when we hear a familiar voice bellowing across the bullpen.

"Donnatella Moss!  It's halftime."

Donna rolls her eyes and shouts over her shoulder.  "That's nice, Josh."

"Did you order the food?" he asks, appearing in my outer office.  "Hey, CJ.  How come you're not in there watching?"

"Because," I answer breezily, "football is a ridiculous sport about which I couldn't possibly care less."

"That's unAmerican, CJ," Josh grins.  "How can you not like football?"

"I didn't order any food, Josh," Donna says, poking him in the shoulder.  "I'm not a waitress.  And furthermore, baseball is America's Pastime."

"Josh," Sam hollers from the bullpen.  "Where's the food?"

Josh nudges Donna with his elbow and yells back, "Donna didn't order it."

"She didn't?  Well, why the hell--"  Sam breaks off as he enters and notices Donna.  "Hello, Donna."

"Sam," she answers, "you do remember how to dial a phone, right?"

"Yes."

"So order your own damn food."

Josh and Sam exchange a look.  "We need beer, too."

"And pretzels?" I ask dryly.

Sam ignores me and circles Carol's vacant desk to use her phone.

"Are you watching this?" comes a pained voice from the doorway.

Donna, Josh and I turn our gazes to Toby, who's standing there with a distinctly offended look on his face.

"What, the halftime show?" Josh asks.

"Yes," Toby nods.  "Aerosmith and N'Sync."

"What?" Donna demands.

"Aerosmith?" I repeat.  "Haven't they been passé since, I don't know, 1987?"

"Yes," Josh answers.  "But these annoying teenyboppers keep requesting those trite power ballads, so Aerosmith keeps writing them."

Toby eases past Josh and Donna and snags the remote from my desk.

"Hey!" I protest.

He ignores me and flips on my TV, switching to CBS in time to see Aerosmith and N'Sync engaging in a horrendous group version of Walk This Way.

Josh grimaces, Donna snickers, and Toby puts a hand to his head in sheer horror.

I examine Stephen Tyler's strangely streaked hair and sigh, "To think I used to find that man attractive."

"You did?"  Josh smirks.  "He's, like, 87 years old, isn't he?"

"Well, he wasn't in 1978, Josh," I defend myself.

"And to think I used to like this song," Donna shrugs.

"Wait," Josh shakes his head.  "Which version?  The original, or the Run DMC thing?"

"Run DMC, of course," Donna answers promptly.  "Although I do give props to the original."

"You give props?" Toby repeats, tearing his gaze away from the travesty on the television.  "Are you a fourteen year old R&B fan?"

Donna ignores the insult and asks, "Why are you watching football, anyway?"

"Pardon?"

"I thought you were a baseball fan," she continues.

Sam rejoins the conversation.  "I ordered enough for about ten people, so we should be fine.  And are those two mutually exclusive?"

"Are what two mutually exclusive?" I ask.

"Being a football fan and a baseball fan," Sam explains.

"Well, no," Donna admits.

"But," I interject.  "Toby is rather a rabid Yankees fan.  I find it strange that he would care about two football teams from... wherever."

Sam, Josh, and Donna start laughing, while Toby gives me his best incredulous look.

"Wherever?" Toby repeats.  "Do you even know who's playing tonight?"

"No," I admit.  "I prefer real sports."

"First," Toby growls, "football is a real sport.  And second, the Baltimore Ravens are playing the New York Giants tonight."

"Oh," I say.  "New York."

"Yes."

"Versus Baltimore."

"Yes."

I glance over at the TV, where a half-million dollar commercial is currently airing, and shrug.  "Yeah, I still don't really care."

"Un-American," Josh repeats.  "Americans should be required to like sports.  Football in particular."

"I do like sports," I argue.  "Just because I don't happen to see the aesthetic value in a bunch of heavily-padded men running up and down a big field trying their best to knock each other down in pursuit of an oddly-shaped ball doesn't mean I don't like sports."

Toby blinks at me.  "I can't imagine why the NFL didn't hire you to be their spokesperson."

"Soccer," Donna says.

Sam and Josh give her strange looks.  "Soccer?"

"Yes," she nods.  "Soccer.  Great game.  I played soccer as a girl."

Josh smirks at her.  "They let a girl play soccer?"

"Yes," Donna retorts.  "Growing up in the second half of the twentieth century must have been a lot less restricted than, you know, your childhood."

"I am not old!" Josh protests.  "I can still bring it."

"Bring what?" Toby mocks him.

"It," Josh repeats.  "Athletic prowess."

"Sure," Sam grins.  "That's why I kicked your ass last time we played golf."

"Like golf is actually a sport.," Donna snickers.  I give her an appreciative grin.

"Golf is too a sport," Josh turns on her.  "It takes talent, skill, and dedication."

"But not athletic prowess," I offer with a shrug.

"Patience," Josh adds.

Toby is actually grinning.  "But not--"

"I can play football, baseball, basketball," Josh starts, "and I should tell you I was an alternate on the Harvard sculling team."

"Sculling?" Sam repeats, trying not to laugh.  "I didn't know you sculled."

"I did," Josh answers proudly.

"My boss, the stellar athlete," Donna deadpans.

"And here I thought my baseball scholarship was impressive," Toby comments.

"I did figure skating," I offer.  "I was pretty damn good, too."

"Aren't you a little tall?" Toby asks.

"Baseball scholarship?" I snap back.

"I was good," Toby answers.

"So was I," I counter.  "And figure skating takes a hell of a lot more stamina than baseball."

"What?" Josh sputters.  "Figure skating?"

"Golf?" Donna interjects.  "Swinging a club a few times to hit a tiny little ball, then walking around in ugly clothes for several hours?"

"Twirling around on skates in hideous costumes?" Toby says.

"Swinging a piece of wood at a ball, and running 90 feet in those skin-tight little pants?" I offer.  "You got any pictures, Toby?"

Sam shakes his head at all of us.  "Sculling?"

There's a momentary silence.

"Well," Donna shrugs.  "I'll consider them all sports until Dan and Casey tell me otherwise."

"Dan and Casey?" Josh asks.  "You watch Sports Night?"

"Yes," she answers.

"You don't watch sports, but you watch Sports Night?"

"Yes," Donna grins.  "That Dan is just adorable."

The three men roll their eyes.

"I prefer Casey," I admit.  "He's taller."

Toby edges towards the door.  "Could you two please--"

"Feeling a little inadequate, there, Toby?" I grin.

"Our food is here," he answers.

Donna and I exchange a grin. "Sure it is, Toby."

"At any rate," Sam says, "the game's back on"

"Wouldn't want you to miss any of the action."

"I appreciate that, CJ," Josh answers.  "And consider yourself uninvited to March Madness."

"And the World Series," Toby adds, heading for the door.

I watch them leave, then turn back to Donna.

"Men," she says.

"Like I have some desire to sit and watch pointless sporting games with aging, self-proclaimed former athletes," I answer.

"Well said," Donna nods.

We stare at each other for a moment, then I sigh and admit defeat.  "Did they order Chinese?"

"Thai," Donna corrects.  "Should be here by now."

I consider for a long moment, then say, "We really shouldn't let them hold on to that unfounded superiority complex they've got going on."

"True," Donna grins.  "We could discuss the finer points of, say, synchronized swimming while we eat."

I stand up and abandon the grammatically-challenged Senator.  "Water polo."

"Oh, that's good," Donna says as she follows me into the hallway.  "Diving."

We are both starting to laugh.  "Gymnastics," I add.

Oh, this is going to be too much fun.

THE END

01.28.01