4th and Infinity

Sorry about not posting yesterday, but I came home from practice and was just physically and emotionally dead.

My wonderful wife cooked a wonderful dinner, and we ate it with my four wonderful children, yet all I wanted to do, was sit, stare, and wonder about why the hell I'm not a starting quarterback.

At one point, we were listening to Magic 95.5 FM, soft rock, less talk, get through your day, number one arbitron rated listen-at-work radio station and home of the famous 75 minute non stop music blocks, as we always do during dinner, and Eric Clapton's "Tears in Heaven" came on.

It's melodic rhythms and sad tones just got to me as I began bawling over the delicious Burgers my wife prepared. One of my three sons asked his mommy why daddy was crying. Always the quick thinker, my wife made up some elaborate lie about Clapton's son dying when he was a little child, and that's what made me sad. The thought of losing one of my children.

The little bastard believed it.

I'm not saying it wouldn't be tragic losing one of my children, but I have four kids, and only one starting job. Do the math people.

Anyway, another week another Saturday flight. This one is to Arizona. Isn't it convenient how Homo was named starter right when our schedule called for back-to-back-to-back road games. I mean, anybody can win on the road, I'd like to see how this kid handles the pressure of performing in front of 65,000 fans hoping he fails.

You know, I used to look forward to these flights because I got to play little pranks on Homo, as he has a fear of flying. I would do little stuff like opening the emergency door during take off, or putting a drop of ear medicine into a sandwich I prepared for him. But recently, I don't even have the urge to mess with him anymore. Sure I'll still tamper with and disable smoke detectors in the lavatories and blame it on him, but even watching him pay that fine has lost most of its amusement.

Something is going to have to change soon. I can't do this much longer.

PS - I had that dream again last night. The one where I'm leading my team to victory in Superbowl XLVI. But this time, it was Superbowl HOMO. For some reason those Roman numerals made sense at the time. And instead of throwing a game winning touchdown, our team was only down 2, so we went for the field goal, and Homo was the place holder and our kicker (I only dream about Jose Cortez) took a huge swing with his leg and actually kicked Homo's head off through the uprights.

The refs were so impressed that they gave us 4 points. Then I argued with them saying they didn't have to cheat. I pleaded that we would have already won by one point fair and square if they had just given us three points like any normal field goal. The crowd was so unbelievably touched by my gesture that I was named MVP. Here's a question: If I sleep for more hours of the day than I'm awake, isn't it more important that my dreams are far more entertaining than my dismal reality? I need to go to bed.