A Flea Could Bite The Bottom Of The Pope In Rome

Well ladies and gentlemen, how about that?


I’ve been watching football all day and am no worse for the wear at this point.  Strange enough, I actually got some housework done too.  Yeah, I don’t know why.  For the last several seasons, I’ve been able to turn the game on featuring either my Texans or my Broncos, and work on sorting laundry , dusting, or the bathroom.


With that in mind, the state of those tasks in the off season becomes pretty suspect.


Even as I compose today’s post, I’m watching Peyton Manning march his new team down the field in a scoring drive.  He looks good.


All along, my concern has been how long he can last before he gets hit with that season ending, or even career ending injury which will take the wind out of the sails in Denver’s great expectations.  Call me a cynic.  An aging quarterback coming off of 4 neck surgeries in the last 18 months sends a jolt through my Spidey senses.


Anyway, here’s hoping Manning, all of his teammates, and all of his opponents have a good season this year.


All of his opponents except for those opponents who hail from Dallas, that is.  Those debutantes and crackheads can go eat all the pickle-laden sandwiches at Chick-Fil-A for all I care.


*editor’s note* – It should be clarified here that the slam against Chick-Fil-A in the closing sentence of today’s dispatch had nothing to do the familial beliefs espoused by the big wigs at said establishment.  The remarks were completely in response to the restaurant’s practice of putting pickles on a chicken sandwich. 

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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