It's Superbowl Sunday! And Da Bears are playing! Everyone hold your breath and cross your fingers till the game is over, okay?
Did y'all know that I grew up south of New Orleans? I remember watching football games with a paper bag over my head, rooting for the Aints. And I remember cheering for the Cowboys most Sundays -- when you lived near New Orleans, you had to have a back up team. If your team didn't play till evening, or till Monday night, you'd head outside to play tackle football in the yard with all your friends. And hope that the cute guy tackled you. :)
I'm off to tackle the cute guy right now. I've learned that it's best not to wait to be tackled, but to hit him when he's not expecting it. Cute guys seem to appreciate that. My cutie will never know what hit him, but let me scoot before he reads this or my play will be blocked.
Until I write again ...
Flea
3 comments:
Tackling the cute guy, or vice versa, is the only part of football I understand.
I remember how I used to make my first love cringe when I cheered for great plays. I didn't care which team the player was on, I just appreciated any variety of athletic talent, acrobatic skill, or wide open holes in the defensive line.
So I'd start cheering. Woo hoo! But mostly, for some reason, I only seemed to cheer for the wrong team. Since I never picked a favorite team, it defaulted to his favorite team. Can someone explain that?
My wild cheers, I thought I was doing well since I'm a pretty reserved person, were met with hollow silence and a confused look. What?
LOL! I was always a bad date. I generally knew a lot about football and knew exactly which team I was cheering -- the opposite of my date's. So how did I marry a man who wasn't into football? I couldn't cheer against him.
Hey Flea,
All I have to say is:
GO SAINTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Love Always,
Sheryl
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