HAT TIPS
Hello,
Well, another winter day! Minus fifteen this morning. Wind out of the northwest. Wind chill of minus forty. Groundhog says six more weeks of winter. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that there is more than six weeks of winter left. I think our snow is so deep, and cold, that if it turned to eighty above, we would have six more weeks of blowing snow.
Now this is the day after the Super Bowl. As a kind of Viking fan, I didn’t really care who won. Because, after the Vikings called time out, and then sent twelve guys into the huddle a couple weeks ago, it is hard to think anything but, “what if?”
But it was a darn good game. And I was up a little late. So with my mind kind of mushy, I searched through some old columns and found one from a Super Bowl four years ago. It kind of explains my outlook on football…
I am writing this on Super Bowl Sunday. Super Bowl Forty. Or XLV, or XVL, or something like that. I never did understand why we have to use the Greek numbers for Super Bowls. I am sure it is not because the players are intellectual persons who study Aristotle and converse in Greek. And to tell the truth, maybe Aristotle was Latin. I get a little mixed up with my philosophers. But, oh well, to each their own. Anyway, I am writing this in the early morning hours before the game begins.
Now, I am a football fan. Not a die-hard, never miss a Sunday fan, but I do follow the sport to an extent. And as long as Terry Bradshaw is quarterbacking the Steelers, I am not giving up. Cause he is a rancher, you know. So you have to cheer for him. Actually, Shirley and Terry are friends. They flew together to some cattle meetings years ago. So, I kind of consider him close enough to come to Thanksgiving.
Oh, oh. Shirley just came by and informed me that Terry is no longer with the Steelers. Wish I had that hundred that I bet back.
We are leaving for Oklahoma today to look at some cattle and pick up a trailer. I don’t know why I picked Super Bowl Sunday to drive, but I think it is a subconscious thing. You know, how sometimes you scratch before you even itch. Or you wake up in the night for no reason and the house is on fire. Things just happen. Shirley calls it fey. I remember taking a Faye to the prom, but that is another story.
When I turned down a couple of invites to Super Bowl parties, well, actually only one, and you had to pay to go, and it was at a relative’s, I was accused of being unAmerican for not attending a party and watching the game. I think I did it because of all the disappointments that have rained down upon my shoulders in past Super Bowls. The Vikings four losses. The missed extra point by the Rams that cost a Super Bowl. The “miraculous reception” and the home run by Bobby Thompson. I remember being in Nebraska in a poker game. And a bunch of guys drinking beer and deciding we should bet a thousand dollars on the Vikings cause Bud Grant was the greatest coach ever. Now, the beer is gone, Bud is gone, the thousand dollars is gone, and it looks like the Vikings are pretty well gone.
The last game I had a lot of interest in was the college championship this year. USC and Texas. I wish it had been on earlier in the evening. For me, Jeopardy is late night TV. But I stayed up to watch. With USC leading by 12 and five minutes to go, I knew the game was over and went to bed.
In the morning, I flipped on the TV to find I had missed the most exciting finish in college football since Flutie ran for that touchdown. Or threw, or whatever, against Notre Dame.
So this afternoon, as I am driving across the northern plains, headed for Oklahoma, for your sake, I hope it was a good game. I will be listening to Sinatra on the CD player. Unless of course, we stop at a bar to watch the game.
Maybe we would have time for one beer and some chicken wings!
Later,
Dean