It’s half time of the Colts – Patriots game. We are Colts fans because they use to be in Baltimore. Right now, they are having their butts handed to them by the Pats. Poor Peyton. Oh, well. I told dad to pray for the Colts as he blessed our tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. On a side note, tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches are the BEST cold/rainy/snowy weather food. But I (like the Colts, apparently) digress.
I consider myself a cool chick when it comes to sports. I know more about sports than a lot of girls, much less than most guys. I pride myself on maintaining an appropriate level of knowledge without being a tom-boy. But I think I revealed my complete lack of competitive nature tonight. The following comments garnished little more than annoyed blank stares from the Colts cap clad men of the house.
“Is the Patriot’s coach wearing a hoodie? Why is he wearing that colour? It does nothing for him.”
“Think of it this way. Every time the Patriots make a touchdown, we get the ball back and another chance to score!”
“I just love the blockers! They take the tough hits so that their friends can do the fancy stuff. It’s so sweet!”
Looks like I may be pulling for Da Bears in Super Bowl XZninerXLLD. Whatever.