Eagles' quarterback was voted most valuable player. Nick Foles.
Nick is 29. He's enrolled in divinity school online. He and another Eagle said something like I owe this victory to Jesus Christ my Savior.
Frankly, I was shocked. Should I convert?
Patriot's quarterback Tom Brady played very well, too, but not well enough.
I wrote this poem early today to put on FB.
Thought of the names Peggy - Peggy Cappy - yoga instructor on PBS, and Miranda Esmonde-White bouncing exercise guru.
Fireworks keep going off for the Eagles.
SUPERBOWL FIFTY-TWO
"It's cold here in Philly, Peg."
" Yeah, but Minneapolis is worse," said Miranda.
"It's all under a dome like the Hagia Sophia,
with fake grass that hurts their tootsies,"
she continued twisting that fabulous muscled
body of hers, as she stirred Breakstone Sour Cream
into the Spinach and Anchovy dip.
Husbands Harry and Max were at Romeo's Bar having
their pre-game Heinekens, watching pre-game maneuvers
on the huge screen over the bar. If they blinked or
went to the loo, big looming screens deleted nothing
from their eager glee-filled eyes.
"I got it," said Harry, peeling out two twenties from
his well-worn billfold.
Back at home, chubby Harry cozied up to Miranda, kissing her
long swan-like neck. "Babe," he said, you got more muscle mass than Tom Brady."
"Yeah, but you're my man, ole man Brady ain't."
"Hey, what smells so good," asked Max, moving to the oven.
"Don't look," said Peggy. "New recipe for chicken wings." He
would never know she was getting concerned about his girth
- all those beers and midnight snacks - and used breaded seitan tenders—BBQ or spicy Buffalo style—served with vegan ranch dressing.
Appetizers ready, drinks set on coasters of flying ducks, the party of four went downstairs to the den, sitting in front of the roaring gas fireplace.
The guys' Lazy-Boy chairs had room for appetizers and drinks.
The ladies drank small shots of Martinelli's Apple Cider or tall glasses of filtered water from the fridge.
Go Eagles Go, said chubby Harry, as he fell asleep and snored.
As game-time approached, they stretched their legs, walked around, went outside for a breath of fresh suburban air.
When they returned, Harry was on the floor, with BBQ sauce smeared on his face. Stone-cold dead.
***
I had until midnight tonight to submit two true stories to Bella Online.
First I had to think of what I would write about. Then I had to write them. The shorter the better.
Titles: Mary, The Pizzelle Maker and the Doomed Apartment Complex.
The Moon and I.
The reason I wrote about the moon was b/c Sandy Wood of the McDonald Observatory at the University of TX at Austin - hey, I went there for one semester - spoke about Schroeder's Valley, a location on the moon, just as Lake Erie is a place on Planet Earth.
I think it's a good story and I hope the editor, Lisa Shea, likes it, too.
I was also watching Mannix, starring Mike Connors, on Decades TV. Channel 3.2
Excellent, suspenseful.
May I now be excused and go upstairs to sleep?
their pre-game Heinekens, watching pre-game maneuvers
on the huge screen over the bar. If they blinked or
went to the loo, big looming screens deleted nothing
from their eager glee-filled eyes.
"I got it," said Harry, peeling out two twenties from
his well-worn billfold.
Back at home, chubby Harry cozied up to Miranda, kissing her
long swan-like neck. "Babe," he said, you got more muscle mass than Tom Brady."
"Yeah, but you're my man, ole man Brady ain't."
"Hey, what smells so good," asked Max, moving to the oven.
"Don't look," said Peggy. "New recipe for chicken wings." He
would never know she was getting concerned about his girth
- all those beers and midnight snacks - and used breaded seitan tenders—BBQ or spicy Buffalo style—served with vegan ranch dressing.
Appetizers ready, drinks set on coasters of flying ducks, the party of four went downstairs to the den, sitting in front of the roaring gas fireplace.
The guys' Lazy-Boy chairs had room for appetizers and drinks.
The ladies drank small shots of Martinelli's Apple Cider or tall glasses of filtered water from the fridge.
Go Eagles Go, said chubby Harry, as he fell asleep and snored.
As game-time approached, they stretched their legs, walked around, went outside for a breath of fresh suburban air.
When they returned, Harry was on the floor, with BBQ sauce smeared on his face. Stone-cold dead.
***
I had until midnight tonight to submit two true stories to Bella Online.
First I had to think of what I would write about. Then I had to write them. The shorter the better.
Titles: Mary, The Pizzelle Maker and the Doomed Apartment Complex.
The Moon and I.
The reason I wrote about the moon was b/c Sandy Wood of the McDonald Observatory at the University of TX at Austin - hey, I went there for one semester - spoke about Schroeder's Valley, a location on the moon, just as Lake Erie is a place on Planet Earth.
I think it's a good story and I hope the editor, Lisa Shea, likes it, too.
I was also watching Mannix, starring Mike Connors, on Decades TV. Channel 3.2
Excellent, suspenseful.
May I now be excused and go upstairs to sleep?
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