I’ve Been Waiting All Day For Sunday Night

As I write today’s dispatch on a Sunday night, I’m flipping the channels back and forth between the Broncos/Saints game and Game 4 of the World Series.

 

Denver is currently trying to punch it in while the Giants are up 1-0 in the top of the 3rd.

 

The Broncos just punched it in.

 

Just a little over an hour ago, those debutantes and crackheads who play their own version of football out of Dallas came a matter of seconds away from beating the Giants.

 

No, not the Giants who are up on the Tigers by a run right now in the World Series.

 

Sheesh.

 

This kicker behind the close win for the Giants was the fact that Dez Bryant caught what could have been a brilliant, game winning touchdown in the final seconds of the game.  As he landed on the ground, the first part of his body which hit terra firma was the finger tips on his right hand.

 

 

Granted, they landed out of bounds.

 

This subsequently negated the touchdown call and took the ball back about 35 or 40 yards.

 

Imagine my schadenfreude.

 

None the less, right now Dez Bryant, is waiting patiently in the locker room right now.  He’s made the decision to cut his fingertips off and has demanded a blade.

 

Jerry Jones is currently on a frantic run to the office supply  store on what he will eventually deem as a valiant quest for a paper cutter.

 

The New York Giants, who are in a hurry to return home so as to arrive before the inclement weather slams the northeast in the coming hours, have post postponed their flight home in hopes of taking the dismembered fingertips to put on display with their Super Bowl trophies.

 

Saints just tied it up, by the way.

 

On a side note, the NFL has been wearing a whole buncha pink over the last month in observance of breast cancer awareness month.  The way these guys are wearing the stuff, I’ve got to wonder if they’re required to wear a certain number of pieces of pink for each game.  It reminds me of 15 pieces of flair.

 

Detroit is up 2-1 in the bottom of the 4th.

 

 

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.

Type something witty and eye catching right here: