It's Sunday - again. This one is Pro Bowl Sunday (except in Egypt, I guess. Don't think they can get it). But in the US of A, it's also prelude to "Superbowl Sunday". You remember. The one the STEELERS are going to? You most assuredly remember Eileen (Please see, January 23, 2011," And so it goes and nobody knows. . . .") and maybe even the fact that she raised four wonderful sons.What I don't remember sharing with you (now is that phrase a neurotically-loaded, fuzzy wuzzy American-ism or what?) is that her #3 is my godson, Brennan. And a more loving, funny, talented, bright and good-looking godson no godmother could wish for. (or end a sentence with or at). Did I remember to mention good-looking? Oh, yes. It's "bright" that is giving me pause today. Just a 'hiccup', but pause nevertheless. You see, it has come to my attention - and that of the public-at-large on Facebook - that son #3, having sat on his mother's knee and - much, much later - at her side (that would be the "STEELERS' side, of course) has - in what this godmother must assume to be an unguarded, un-intended, demonic moment of reckless abandon - that our Brennan has been dogging Mom's team. This at the very moment that their need for support, prayers, dedicated and enthusiastic praise and the very best of wishes could not be stronger! Most unfortunately - and in the interest of truth, fairness and accuracy, please scotch any rumors, inferences, even references that might cast even a soupcon of doubt on Brennan's unquestioned intelligence - he has elected to utilize, mutilate, and spotlight the STEELERS' quarterback as the vehicle for this uncharacteristically venomous attack on a TEAM. That, dear reader, is what the rooting, shouting, face-painting, all-American passion is ALL about on Superbowl Sunday - a TEAM. Ever hear "Go, trainer (water boy, chains carriers, time keeper, or some such), Go!" booming from the stands or day-glo-painted on 10 foot square placards held up by a dozen or so VERY strog people? Silly, yes? YES! We cheer for our TEAM.
Soooo, godson, dear. Be a good #3 and the loving son and godson that we all (us, the fam, our "TEAM") know you are, slap yourself 'up-the-side' of your good-looking head AND FLY RIGHT, BOY!
Love, Auntie L. . . .
