Super Bowl Sunday

The colors were brighter, perhaps, more sharp, more focused; the afternoon sunlight cast an ethereal glow.

Maybe it was the woman with the pretty voice singing a Neil Young song on the radio. I didn't catch her name. But, it was nice.

GK mused a minute with his usual eloquence about the passing of a legend. The words came together, as they always do for the greats.

I felt the warmth of an early burst of spring. I laughed at the motorcyclist weaving between cars on Broadway. I looked at the rubble that used to be the Target store, which before it used to be a grand old homestead, and thought about the times I ducked in there. It is sad, the passing of time. And yet, it is comforting, too.

Life renews itself. Why fight the change? It is as inevitable as the morning.

Now, I'm in Farragut, gearing up for our annual low-key Super Bowl party, hungry for wings and things.

I don't care much about the game. Not really. The Steelers were my childhood team. I wonder what happened to my Franco Harris jersey?

But, nah. Not that big a deal. I'm a baseball guy.

OK, I gotta run. There are hot wings to order. Better do it now before everybody and their dog calls, too.