"How I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb"

With all due respect to Dr. Strangelove, I think Peyton Manning is the true wise man among us.  Such remarkable wisdom at such a (relatively) young age.  What a guy!

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As everyone who lives in the six-county Dallas Standard Metropolitan Statistical Area (all 6.5 million of 'em) knows, my lovely and talented wife K has been a bit under the weather recently....she has a cold.  Here is what I've heard for the past week:

K:  I don't feel good.

ME:  Sorry babe.  What's the matter?

K:  My throat feels scratchy....and I can feel something in my chest.

ME:  Yuck.  Take some aspirin.

K:  Will that make me feel better?

ME:  I dunno, but it can't hurt.

*an hour later...*

K:  Now my head is feeling clogged.  I don't think aspirin works.

ME:  OK, then look and see if we have any of that Zicam stuff.

K:  No, it makes me feel weird.

ME:  Suit yourself.

K:  Oh, and my head aches, too.

ME:  Sorry.

K:  Do I have any fever?

*feeling forehead....*

ME:  No, you're fine.

K:  You sure?  I'm pretty sure I do.

ME:  OK, then you do.

K:  So what should I take?

ME:  In another 3 hours you can take two more aspirin.

K:  Will that make my fever go away?

ME:  Umm....since you don't have any now anyway, yeah, that will cure your fever.

K:  And my back.  It hurts, too.

ME:  Sorry babe.

K:  Will you fix me some soup?

ME:  OK....we have chicken noodle in a can. 

K:  No.  I like Chicken and Stars.

ME:  But a star is just a five sided piece of noodle.  You won't know the difference.

K:  Yes, I will.  I want Stars.

*sigh*

ME:  OK, on my way.

*back from the store with her soup*

K:  My Facebook friends say I should try lemon and honey.  Will you get me some?

ME:  But I just got back with...

K:  I WANT LEMON AND HONEY!

ME:  OK, on my way.

*back from the store with lemon and honey*

K:  Oooooooo....I hurt.

ME:  Sorry babe.

Monday....repeat.

Tuesday....repeat.

Wednesday....repeat.

Thursday....repeat.

Yada, yada.

By Saturday, at my Clarence Nightingale's wits end, I thought I'd share some wisdom from that great Wise Man, Peyton Manning....

ME:  "Rub some dirt on it."

Today, 7 days after she caught a cold, she's well(ish).  Amazing how that medicinal dirt stuff works, huh?  :)  *Thanks Peyton*

S

My take on Super Bowl XLVIIIIII....

Well of course it was.  Who can resist an ad featuring a cute puppy and big, beautiful Clydesdales?

Super Bowl XLVIII is now in the history book, and it begs the question, "Why don't we just call it Super Bowl 48?"  Honestly, this is 2014, not MMXIV.

This morning they were calling the ads "epic", but I didn't see it that way.  Did you?  Yes, the Bud puppy was great, the Doritos ad with the kid riding the dog was cute (Note to next year's advertisers:  include a dog and you can't lose), the familiar faces in the Radio Shack ad were interesting, and I enjoyed the Maserati Ghibli ad right at the first, mainly because I didn't see it coming, but most of the rest were IMO just OK.  

And the Cheerios ad where the kid negotiated for a puppy along with a new brother was cute.  Oh, and the Seinfeld and George and Newman spot was pretty good.  Come to think of it, I guess it was a good Super Bowl ad day.

The game, however, was lousy.  There's just no other way to describe it.  I think Seattle coach Pete Carroll out-coached Denver's John Fox all over the field.  I was for Denver, or more accurately I was for Peyton Manning, but I'm happy for Seattle as I really like their city and their team.

Meanwhile, back in Denver, all the faithful had to say was, "Oh, wow....was that today?"

BREAKING NEWS!  This just in:

Ohhh.....this explains everything!  :)

S

Does "NFL" stand for Narcissist Football League?

Did any of you watch the NFL Championship games on TV this past Sunday?  I watched them both....they were great!  But the image that lingers with me today isn't Peyton Manning shredding the Patriot defense with his laser-like passing or San Francisco QB Colin Kapperticknick running wild through the Seattle secondary like he was Barry Sanders in his heyday.  

No, what I remember is this asshole ^ , Richard Sherman, shooting his mouth off to Erin Andrews in a post-game interview about how great he was.

He isn't the only "legend in his own mind" in the NFL.  Have you ever noticed how, when a defensive player makes a tackle or breaks up a pass, most will jump up and run about 10 yards away from the pile where everyone can get a good look at them, then do their chest pounding "I'm so cool" dance?

We can thank Kansas City receiver Elmo Wright for giving us the end zone dance.  He was the first I can remember doing it.  Yes....no?  Anyway, I've read that today many NFL players will stand in front of their full length "I love me" mirror at home and practice their goofy little arm-flapping, knee-knocking, chicken-dancing moves.   I'm sorry, but I just find that silly.  

Here's my theory:  Most of these more flamboyant NFL narcissists probably came from impoverished backgrounds.  As kids they didn't have much, had little hope for the future, and were told they would never amount to anything.  But then at some point they found they had athletic ability, and suddenly they were somebody.  

They were high school heroes, then they were fawned over by college recruiters.  In college all they had to do was take 12 hours a semester to stay "full time" and keep their eligibility.  Grades were often...."manipulated".  They didn't have time to learn....all they could think about was the post season awards they would get, the NFL draft, and their $$$$ signing bonuses.

By the time they got to the NFL any modesty they might have had at one time was long-gone and they truly believed they were somebody special, and all their antics are just their way of begging for more attention...."Look at me, look at me!"

The sad part is, they really aren't that special.  Most can only do one thing, and that only lasts until somebody bigger, better, faster, stronger, younger comes along, and somebody always does.

Statistically most NFL players will have squandered their considerable earnings within just a few years after retiring.  They might be able to live off their past glory for a few more years, but even that will soon fade.  

The smart players will employ financial guys to invest and manage their money, but most are too busy buying new Bentley's and shiny rocks for their ears to worry about practical things like planning for a future after football.  

As they say, "The bigger they come, the harder they fall."  I'm thinking Richard Sherman is just one of many NFL narcissists who will make a major splat one of these days that will register on the Richter Scale.

  

S