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Goodbye Tom, Hello Super Bowl LVII

So long, Tom, it’s been an ordeal to watch you win so many Super Bowls and to set so many NFL records. It has been easier to like Aaron Rogers and Patrick Mahomes. Call it prejudice. I have never liked the New England Patriots or Bill Belichick, though I always did like Gronkowski and Julian Edelman, both of whom made you look good. If you do call the play-by-play on TV Tom, that will be another reason for me to kill the sound and just watch the screen. For one QB to garner as much attention as you have doesn’t seem fair, though you might be one of the best QBs ever in the history of American football. I’m sorry you and your wife broke up; it must be hell to be married to a guy who is married to football. I know what that’s like. My high school girl, Charlotte, called herself “a football widow.” That was in the late 1950s when I played for the Huntington High School Blue Devils and wanted to grow up, join the New York Giants and be like Sam Huff, my hero. Back then I was four inches taller and forty pounds heavier than I am now, most of those pounds, muscle. Yes, football is a young man’s game. It’s time you retired, Tom, before you’re hammered by a lineman weighing 300 pounds. You can bet I’ll be watching the Super Bowl once again, though not with my Sonoma County friends who threw a party every year with Tom Waits joining the crowd and usually sitting there quietly and saying nothing. The Super Bowl is one American ritual I’m willing and eager to celebrate. I think that the Eagles are a better team than the Chiefs but I’ll be rooting for Mahomes, Travis Kelsey, Chris Jones, Andy Reid and the whole Kansas City crew. The score: 28-26, the Eagles out front.

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