Oh the Misery

This is how our nine year old felt as the final seconds ticked off at the end of the Cowboys’ game.

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He was distraught.  Our conversation at the dinner table went something like this:

“I can’t believe it.

“The Eagles.  Really?  The Philadelphia Eagles beat us, Daddy?

“Dad, now the Green Bay Packers might get our spot.  We lost.  We lost.  The Eagles!  We were beat by the Eagles!

“What place are we in?  Oh Dad, what about Romo?

“And I just do not like those Eagles.”

Right now, neither do we, son.

The word obesession comes to mind.  I had no idea that this year would bring an obsession with NFL football.  We have somehow created a monster.  The boy is into everything pro football and routinely wakes up before the six 0’clock hour on Mondays to read the Sports page recap of Sunday’s games.  This weekend he also did it on Sunday to check out the stats from Saturday’s game.  And on Saturday too – before he realized there was no pro football game on Friday.  Dad gets the early morning privilege of being woken up to fetch the paper and talk football scores.  Which Dad doesn’t really mind.  Except at 5:45am.  Saturday, Sunday, and (most likely) Monday.

Dad likes football too.  But Dad is tired.

Mom and Dad are thinking that an alarm clock and a morning curfew (who ever heard of such a thing?) might be in order for the lad.  He just might find a certain something in his stocking on December 25.

And Dad might find a little extra sleep on December 26.

One can hope.

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