Return of the Whigs

Deflategate, here we go again with the Patriots, more interesting than the nodding, bobbing, shaking heads who necropsy the State of the Union address. Better three or four political parties than two polarized in principle as their single platform. Don’t bring back the Dixiecrats, but something. Tea Party and the Socialists, except words are so charged. The Tories. Or, hey, the Patriots. 

Red, Blue and -- what? Not Purple these days. Not Pink. Not Yellow. Not Black. White, nah. Green maybe. Nope, too Catholic, so not Orange either.  

Imagine that: I don’t have to think about CFB again for six months. B1G may top SEC, but Ohio State is not the new Crimson Tide. Go, Seahawks. Who will win Super Bowl 2015? Probably Pepsi. Lexus, Mercedes, BMW and Toyota. GM, Ford or Chrysler? Why would an auto floormat manufacturer advertise in the SuperBowl?

Time to walk. Up too early, way too early, read sports news but studiously avoided political garbage, wrote an incredibly stupid blog post, closed the laptop, went back to bed and slept soundly for over an hour. Now time to walk. Honestly, I don’t do it, or go downstairs to the exercise room, unless accountable to somebody, who would have thought seventy years ago that I would be accountable to that kid sitting across from me in Mrs. Ridgell’s 2nd grade classroom, the tall athletic boy standing in front of me in our 8th grade picture, who lives in the green house across Massalina Bayou. Except that Robert will reliably be there behind Cove School in 25 minutes, I’d turn over and go back to sleep for another hour, but here I go to walk an hour instead.

Nice day here.

Rule 2. The Ball. Each team provides the other team's twelve balls. The bellboy hands the ball to the Nose Guard, who squeezes it, smiles and winks at the Center, and passes it over to him. That's my solution.

W+ in +Time