The image for this post is a little mean spirited. The hard truth is, I am a poncy dork and it was only at the end of the game when my brother-in-law explained to me that Peyton Manning was not the Florida Quarterback running an anti-choice add with his mom that I eased off on Manning (the game was in Florida, with all these expansion teams Colts could be a Florida team), but by then I had already thought of this image and there was no letting go. I'm like a dog with a bone when it comes to screen grab one liners.
But for all kinds of reasons I enjoyed the game and was genuinely happy that New Orleans won. That town was good to me. As a younger man I had a great couple of weeks there, couch surfing the French Quater, working for Ida Kolmeyer, eating muffalettas (a name that could just as easily fit an Israeli machine gun or a tropical flesh eating disease as it does God's gift to sandwich lovers), and reading Confederacy of Dunces.
And although I think it was a very exciting game (especially when I thought I was rooting against Tebo and his mom) the 44th president is still far superior to the 44th superbowl.
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