Hometown Super Chargers

Yes, I took a picture of my television. Yes, that is Peyton Manning and Philip Rivers talking to each other after the game. Yes, the score that you see underneath the Colt and the Bolt is 28 to 24. Yes, the 28 is next to MY team. No, (for all of you non-football fans out there) the lowest score doesn't win. Yes, if I was a betting person I would probably place my bets on the New England Patriots next weekend. No, I'm not a betting person. So I won't be placing any money on the undefeated Patriots. I will be wishing and hoping that my Chargers win because (long shot as it may be) I will be in San Diego for the Superbowl.

********************************************************

In other news, at the beginning of the game, when I was preoccupied with a particular third down, I realized that my son was sitting on the kitchen floor playing with some kind of watery substance. He was swirling his hand around in it and then trying to blow bubbles (something he now tries to do in even the smallest amount of water). My dog had left his boundaries and was accompanying him. I thought the boy had spilled his drink but, upon further review, it was a smallish amount of upchuck. Garrett looked up at me and there was white vomity substance on his nose and chin. He smiled and then flopped over again, in his bubble blowing stance. When I whisked him to the sink to clean him up, the dog happily lapped up the remaining regurgitation. All this to say that dogs and little boys are kind of gross.