Last Saturday night, John and his family went to see San Diego FC — the city’s MLS team, just in their second year. He was with Charlotte, Caroline, and Luke. Row 9, south goal, close enough to count the stitches on the ball.
They noticed there was no protective netting in front of them. Shots that went high or wide would come straight into the seats. “Better pay attention,” John said.
Then there was a round of musical chairs — food runs, seat swaps, the usual family choreography. After sharing a Firebird from The Crack Shack with Caroline, John turned to Charlotte: “Okay, let’s switch seats.” He knew Charlotte and Caroline would be talking all game. So he took the seat closest to the left post — just a few feet past the crossbar — and Charlotte moved one spot away.
Not thirty seconds later, he put on his prescription sunglasses, pulled out his phone, and started checking on a project we were working on.
We were mid-conversation — him and me, right there in the stadium — when Lewis Morgan, #9, a Scottish attack winger known for his left foot, ripped one just over the corner of the goal.
The ball landed at full speed into the corner of John’s sunglasses. One of the lenses popped out, his glasses flew off, and he dropped his phone.
Charlotte threw herself around him and buried his head in her arms. The crowd went silent. Morgan walked to the goal line to check on him. After about fifteen seconds, John came to, looked up, and gave him a thumbs up.
Morgan pinched his shirt with both hands: “I’ll give you my shirt after the game.”
So John took one in the face for Charlotte — who’d been sitting in that exact seat thirty seconds earlier. Luke got a game-worn jersey, and John got a puffy red eye while working with his AI.
