Well, it’s over.
As we all try to figure out how to explain those millions of wingless chickens running around, we are either among those who won the office pool, those who are contemplating jumping into the pool because the guy in the next office won or one of the elitists who only wants to discuss the creative impact of the commercials.
The Super Bowl is over and the Ravens won. Sports fans can now spend the rest of February waiting for March Madness, trying to figure out who looks good in the Cactus League as Spring Training begins, attempting to identify, by name, more than two of the current Phoenix Suns and possibly offering your home to the Glendale Nomads hockey team. Please? They just want to feel wanted.
One last Super Bowl question: who was the smart aleck Latin major who decided to use roman numerals in identifying each championship game? So this one was XLVII? Why couldn’t we have just gone with 47?
I don’t want to get all Lincoln with it either and talk about 2 score and 7. Superbowl 48 next year — maybe with the Cardinals?
After all, February was named after the god of purification and all our football team needs is a really good enema.
I’m Pat McMahon.