"He just loved his country so much," said Mickey's wife. She stared down at his bearded face and long hair remembering him as skinny and clean shaven. Not anymore.
Mickey had gained almost fifty pounds over the past two years. His hair had gotten longer, his views more extreme and his drinking heavier, yet he became more conservative. Mickey merged religion and patriotism so that they were indistinguishable.
Mickey had been at a pro baseball game for the local team. At a key point in the game, "Proud to be an American" by Lee Greenwood blared over the loudspeaker. Mickey stood up moved by jingoistic fervor. He pumped his fists into the air and bellowed a rebel yell over and over, tears streaming down his face. The jumbotron picked him up, and the crowd cheered even more.
Then Mickey had a heart attack. The beer, his weight and the Viagra triggered it. Forty with the body of an unhealthy sixty-year-old.
With life uncertain, his wife said to the family, "He loved God and his country so much, and that's enough for now."