Live the Dream

Sorry America

Wranglers and a Banquet Beer Woulda kept him warm.

Hello America:

Terribly sorry about that game yesterday in Green Bay. The Giants overcame a phantom holding call on that Bradshaw TD. They overcame the collective will of Joe Buck and Troy Aikman. They overcame the collective will of every sportswriter and sports pundit. The Giants have prevented you all from enjoying two weeks of the Hyperbole-HyperBowl. Two weeks of slobbering over Brady's cleft chin, his dreamy eyes and that toussled hair that you just wanna run your hands through before collapsing into the surf at Provincetown, tummies full of chowder and a heart bursting with joy/lust but on the verge of breaking beacuse you know that a beauty like his cannot be contained by one lover, not even in one sportswriter, but it is a beauty that must be shared with the world. A beauty that should be nourished with SmartWater.

Two weeks of slobbering over that eternal 11-year old who snuck onto the field at Lambeau 14 years ago and never looked back. Two weeks of daydreaming about that Peter Pan running around carefree in your backyard in your safe, comfortable gated community, slinging passes in the snow that break fingers whilst clad only in snug wrangler jeans, k-mart boots and a Lee Fogerty shirt. Two weeks of dreaming that you were staring into that dazzling white smile worthy of Lawrence Welk wrapped in a mischevous smirk worthy of Dennis the Menace. That scamp. Two weeks of daydreaming of that eternal 11-year old replacing your own awkward, unworthy and grossly overweight sons who do nothing but sit around texting each other about getting more Mountain Dew and Elio's Pizza Bagels when not playing World of Warcraft or yanking it to Hannah Montana.

Sorry football fans who were looking forward to cheering for the All-American Heartland Pack against Dr. Evil and the Hateriots. Sorry Peter King. Sorry Bill Simmons. Sorry Tuesday Morning Quarterback. Sorry Dr. Z. Sorry Chris Berman. Sorry Joe Buck. Sorry Troy Aikman. Now you gotta cheer for a New York team, for beer that's sold 24 hours a day, for alcohol that's not sold from a state-run ABC store, for booze sold on Sundays, for fast-talking 47th St. Photo and not Best Buy, for San Loco not Chipotle, for a schmear of lox on bagels and for Seinfeld. Sorry if you're resentful over New York City's dominance of the media. Sorry if you just plain don't trust big cities what with their mechanized forms of underground transport where you can't pick up Rush Limbaugh on the AM dial. Sorry the Super Bowl won't be one big Aw-Shucks Dream-White-Boy Circle Jerk.

Hey, there's still Tom Petty at halftime.