Griff McGuire
was a good driver, a little faster than she would drive, but clearly in control. He was wearing long khaki shorts, a substantial knee brace, and a Stanford-red Jersey. It did not say "Stanford" on it, but the message "we are 3-0" was clear. Caydance relaxed. If the morning began like listening to the Red Sox play the Yankees on the long trip to Cape Cod in the early summer, she was comfortable. "How did the game go?" she asked.
"When we got to the field, it was raining, and the stands were a mass of open umbrellas," Griff began. "Rain continued all afternoon culminating in a torrential downpour. The field was wet; the ball was slippery. On our first drive, our quarterback, John Paye, took us to the Oregon State 4, but that's about when their cornerback, Teddy Johnson, intercepted a pass, and a wild celebration ensued in Beaverland."
It was not Caydance's habit to comment during football game recitals. That would be like interrupting Gary Snyder reading "Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout."
