Tomorrow I’m packing the family up and taking them to Phoenix, where we’ll spend the weekend with friends, watch the Super Bowl with all those dirty Cardinals fans, and try to enjoy that fantastic warm weather. Today I got an email from Tom to confirm that he’ll be picking us up, and to deliver this message:
“…Fair warning, it’s turned decidedly hostile towards the black and gold down here in the last week or so…. I’m just sayin’…”
And so, my goal for the weekend is to avoid P.O.W. status. And also to document Tom’s return to the “500, baby!” days.
Last night before bath time the kiddo and I sat down on the floor to do a little video recording of his sitting skills. The end of the day is not an ideal time for this since ickle babykins is tired from his long day of sucking on moose caboose and napping, but he mustered the energy for a little evening sport. And Frankie? She’s taken to running downstairs every time she hears us put Cheeks on the floor. Turns out he’s the most willing ear scratcher in the house, and only a little spastic. After last night she started asking if we kept our reciept because she would very much like her money back.
First, I’d like to say congratulations on making history, it must feel nice. I hope that you have enjoyed the past few weeks of winning fever. I pray that you have documented every last rush of joy: Video taped yourself doing a victory dance, written down all of the trash-talk phrases you can come up with, purchased the “Official NFC Champs” ballcap and t-shirt, planned your Super Bowl party down to the red and white tortilla chips to be served with salsa and sour cream. Most of all, I hope that you are prepared to once again feel that familiar sting of defeat when, on Sunday, February 1, 2009, your beloved Arizona Cardinals, finding their face masks full of turf and their jerseys covered in paint, blood, and grass stains, look up to the score board and shed a tear of disappointment when they see their embarrassment in large, bright lights.