CLOCK MANAGEMENT
Lights up
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3:17 a.m. Hospital maternity ward. Dim lights. Monitors beep softly. A nurse charts without looking up. Two exhausted parents buzz on caffeine and the exhilarating feelings of being new parents.
Father: (dead serious, competitive quarterback energy): Honey, thanks for throwing the football at me in the maternity ward. Now throw me our three-day-old baby. I’m ready.
Wife: You are absolutely not ready. You tried to spike an egg.
Nurse: (without looking up): Sir, if you attempt a Hail Mary with that child, I will personally bench you.
Father: (whisper-intense, fourth quarter energy): I’ve been training my whole life for this moment.
Wife: You fainted during the epidural.
Nurse: And you asked if the baby comes with a no-trade clause.
Father: (defensive): I wanted to ask before I sign the birth certificate. That’s just responsible franchise management.
Nurse: I read in the charts that you tried to start high-stakes negotiation during an active labor strike when the baby’s head started to show.
Tiny squeaky baby cries. Everything stops. Father looks at the bassinet. The quarterback melts.
Father: (soft, overwhelmed): …Okay. Maybe we start with a handoff.
Mother: (gentler now): That’s better.
Mother carefully places the baby in Father’s arms. He freezes. Awe. Silence except for the monitor.
Father: (whispering): Oh. Oh wow.
Nurse: Look at that. Rookie season.
Father instinctively adjusts, perfectly supporting the baby’s head.
Father: (quiet, sincere): Alright. I’ve got you.
Wife: (smiling): Very good, honey. Let’s kneel and let the clock run down.
Father: (nods, calm): Smart. Protect the lead. Protect my baby’s head.
Beat. He rocks gently. Softly, almost instinctively, he starts a rhythmic stadium chant under his breath.
Father: (soft chant): Boom… boom… clap. Boom… boom… clap.
He smiles at the baby.
Father: (whisper-singing, proud): We… are… the cha—
Nurse: Sir.
Immediate silence.
Father: (resetting): Lullaby. That was a lullaby.
Beat. He rocks gently again.
Father: (barely containing it): I’ve got the baby secure…
One microscopic step forward.
Father: (urgent whisper): …NOW LET’S RUN
IN FOR A TOUCHDOWN ON A QUARTERBACK SNEAK—
Nurse: Sir.
Father freezes mid-inch. Look at the nurse. Look at the baby.
Father: (immediate reset): We’re kneeling.
Beat.
Father: (to baby, soft and steady): No blitz is getting past me.
Lights out.
