An Open Letter to the Meatheads of America:

You almost took your cheese-balls and went home, didn't you?

If you couldn't have pretty-boy prima donnas with the toughness to pay the price in the form of risking the loss of many decades of a quality of life worth living...well then, darn it, football was just getting too soft.

I watched every play of all thirteen games played yesterday (honey, do you like the yellow roses---they're all out of the red ones?) and not one time was I left with the sentiment that both the game and I were somehow cheated by experiencing less thuggery; instead more dignity and respect for one another by the players.

I saw stinging hits, great tackles, and feats of athleticism by acrobats on the field from both sides of the ball that left my mouth agape and jaw dragging on the shag carpet. And not once did teams have to join each other in prayer on one knee hoping to dear God that an impact just moments ago wouldn't bring an eternity of regret.