It had been two years since the last time Snape had had reason to visit the Other Borough. Really, the American wizarding world was intruding itself more on Britain every day, although that was to be expected between the ruins of the war against Voldemort and the disastrous situation the American Muggles had dragged their British counterparts into. It was, he supposed, an honor that the Tesla School had begged and even bribed him to give a talk and a practical demonstration, but by Merlin's beard, why was it always in the bloody summer? He could almost understand why only the oldline communities around Salem had kept traditional robes instead of Muggle clothing. Even the light summer robe he'd bought at Raggle-Taggle Haggle, apparently the only place in America that sold summer black, was sweat-soaked, much to his disgust.

It was almost for the best, then, that he retreated to the Muggle stadium he had visited twice before. The air was as cool as his dungeons had once been, and there was a graceful beauty in the flowing patterns of the players as they practiced their game. He still could not understand the Muggle preoccupation with segregation by sex instead of skill, though.

Though the last time he had been there had been two years prior, he had a dim knowledge that sides stayed together for long periods of time, and yet he only recognized two of the players in white- indeed, he recognized as many on the opposing team. It surprised him. He nudged the man on the aisle seat to the right, a disreputable-looking character with a cane who- in robes- would not have looked out of place in Knockturn Alley, pointed at the strangely rigid roster, and asked, "I've been out of touch for two years. " He paused, unsure whether he should ask the question or not, then went ahead. "There was a young woman who used to sit in this general vicinity- dark hair, carried a… portable writing device of some sort? She had a disturbing level of knowledge concerning players' travels?"

"I know there aren't a lot of people in the stands anymore, but we don't all know each other by name. As it happens, though, I do know who you're talking about. She's not here anymore." The Muggle opened an orange canister and took two of the small white tablets it held.

"She has lost interest, then? Understandable. If it were cooler outside-"

"Oh, she's still at the games, just sits in a different section. She's got a boyfriend now. Sits with him instead. It'll all end in rashes and running sores, if he doesn't turn out to be her half-brother."

"I… see. Perhaps, then, you could tell me why the roster has completely changed?"

"Shh, I'm trying to enjoy the pain," the Muggle replied. At the first timeout, though, under the dreadful noise that passed for music, the man said, "Greed, anger, sloth, envy, pride, and lust. Can't have the natural canasta, though, since we don't have gluttony, but flat-out incurable stupidity makes a great wild card."

"An interesting list of reasons. Highly logical and thoroughly thought out, I see." Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm, although there was some grudging respect for the man's idea of stupidity as a sin. Clearly he too had taught at some point in his life.

"I'm off the clock. That means I don't have to think. It's a beautiful thing." The Muggle returned his attention to the game, but after two particularly bad calls and one overturned call, he said, "That referee is suffering from macular degeneration. Her sight's starting to go. She missed the block/charge call right in front of her-"

"I was led to believe that this was a qualification for officiating sporting events."

"But she's not blind. At least, not yet. She was to the side of the loose ball foul on #91, and #54 was standing directly in front of her. She made the correct call in a split second with only her peripheral vision. That's- actually, that's kind of nifty. Too bad it's only temporary."

"And your medicine can do nothing for her?"

The Muggle took more of the tablets from his container; they had to be some sort of unattractively packaged candy, then, and Snape wondered how exactly it was that his path constantly crossed those of inveterate sugar addicts, and recalled Dumbledore with a slight pang. He focused on the game and almost forgotten he had asked a question until his seatmate remarked, "It's all fun and games until someone explodes an eyeball. Then it's fun and games with goo all over the wall."

Snape considered this. There were many spells to damage an enemy's sight, make them see what wasn't there, pass over what *was* there, or simply blind them. On the other hand… he remembered Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles, the square frames that had imprinted themselves into McGonagall's face, the black-rimmed glasses of the Boy Who Lived. If there were a reliable spell for fixing sight, surely one of the professors would have used it for simplicity's sake. Curious to know that there were such similar limitations between the two worlds; it might serve as an excellent argument the next time some young idiot tried to argue that more Muggle techniques should be brought into their world. Half-blood as he was, he still recognized the superiority of magic over machinery.

The game had become somewhat harder to watch, although Snape had no attachment to the home team. The incompetence being shown on the playing field irked him; even though he had little notion of how the game was played, the scoreboard indicated that Indiana was doing a far superior job of it than the home team. At least in a Quidditch match, there was the chance of the trailing team catching the Snitch and either coming from behind in a pleasant surprise for their fans or at least making the margin of defeat slightly more respectable (as if there could be any respect granted in defeat). Here, there was only the certain inevitability of humiliation, only the scope of it hanging in the balance.

The Muggle laughed, and there was an element of sarcastic bitterness to the sound. "I've never seen a team try so hard to better their worsts. It's like watching all the worst parts of human nature acting themselves out, only under bad lighting and in really baggy shorts."

"I have found in my experience that the worst aspects of human nature are almost invariably those that people will indulge. It takes work to ignore them, and most people are not willing to put in any work at all, let alone the quantity that it takes to get past one's baser instincts. Ease and pleasure are all they seek in the world."

"Oh, you must be a hit at parties."

Snape raised an eyebrow menacingly, an expression that had been known to freeze the blood of wizards who had long since passed out of his classes. But this mere, crippled Muggle stared back at him for a moment sardonically before mimicking the expression. It worked surprisingly well for him. "I possess a certain inexplicable popularity in some circles, despite my best attempts to quell the foolishness," he admitted.

"People like it when there's one doom-and-gloomer in the group. Makes it easy to pin all the negativity and seriousness on them. Means no one else has to think about what they're doing. If they screw up, they blame him. If they don't screw up, they bitch about him. Nice setup for everyone but the one guy."

"You sound as if you have had experience with that position."

"Who, me? Nooooo. I'm all sunshine and flowers and happy puppies. I fart joy."

"EXCUSE ME!" This voice was distinctly female. Snape and the Muggle both turned to see who had spoken. A brown-haired woman in a truly appalling suit glared at both of them and said, "There is a game going on, and I don't need to hear your conversation during it."

"This is a game?" the Muggle exclaimed. "Really? Look at the scoreboard, woman. It looks more like New York is being kind enough to help Indiana work out the kinks in their offensive and defensive sets. Awfully nice of them, don't you think? Someone must have owed someone else money. Or sex. It all comes down to sex in the end. Who do you think is penetrating and scoring?"

The woman made a noise of disgust and horror and left her seat so quickly that it seemed there had been a repulsion spell placed on the cushion. Snape did not smile, but he had to admit that he was rather impressed with the Muggle's skill at disposing of irritatingly idiotic people. It did not, of course, match his own, but no one had come quite as close in his acquaintance.

When the game mercifully ended, he allowed the Muggle a curt nod by way of farewell, to which the Muggle replied with an exaggerated wave as he limped towards the exit, leaning heavily on his cane; it was not an affectation then, as Malfoy's was- had been. Snape waited for the arena to completely empty out before Disapparating to Idlewild and the transportation corridors of the Other Borough.

I own nothing, except for the young woman with the portable writing device, although there's some question of jerz2555's ownership share in her and vice versa.

Snape belongs to JK Rowling, her publishers, and the people who make the movies from her books. This particular iteration of him, as someone who has been to at least two games at the Garden, is borrowed from this drabble by florahart. I took the, ahem, liberty, of setting her drabble in 2004, and never mind why the girl with the portable writing device still has it a year after she was supposed to give it back.

The snarky Muggle with the cane, the white tablets, and the predilection for diagnosing medical conditions belongs to the nice people at Fox and the folks who created his show. His rationale for being at the game can be found here.

The unattractively dressed brunette belongs to the nice people at NBC and the folks who created the show she's on. Her rationale for being at the game can be found here.

The Other Borough, New York City's wizarding community, was created by quean_of_words for her HP universe; she has graciously allowed me to use it.

The magnitude of the beatdown was real. Foul calls are not from memory, nor am I implying that any of the referees who work for the WNBA are going blind, although I note in passing that two of the refs who worked this particular Indiana-New York game were two who worked the Syracuse-St. John's game, which had several bad calls down the stretch in what was eventually a two-point game. I'm just saying.