Can't name the score. Can name who's not okay.
Asked for the score at halftime, you guessed wrong by two. Asked who in the room was not okay, you produced a full triage report without looking up. You watched the match the way you watch everything: through the faces of the people you came with. The pacer got a water bottle placed gently in their orbit. The devastated one got a shoulder squeeze timed to the exact second the replay made it worse. The friend whose team just went out got intercepted before the group could start joking too early. The Eye found you, as it always finds you, holding the room's entire nervous system with both hands. Caretaking is your default seat — it's been yours so long it has your shape. And the Eye wants to file the cost where you'll actually read it: nobody asked you the score because nobody asked you anything. Your radar covers everyone in the room except the person operating it. Somewhere under all that monitoring is a person who would quite like to be monitored back — who wants someone, once, to clock their face during a hard minute and cross the room. The Eye saw you. It's a start.
Get your read — free on iPhoneyou monitor everyone's weather and report your own as fine. the eye checked the radar.