I arose early on Splenda Bowl Sundae. I had a boatload of stuff to get done before I could settle myself down in front of the tv to rate several hours worth of commercials which had been specifically created for this annual mega-marketing event. I believe there's a football game in there, somewhere, too.
I dropped off the laundry, went to a 12-Step meeting, schmoozed with some recovering people like myself afterward and then drove into beautiful, downtown Trenton ("What Trenton Makes, the World Takes") to spend an hour or so working with a sponsee of mine on something we refer to as "The Big Book." We read 2 chapters and discussed a range of issues that they stirred up and then I headed home.
Don't faint, but I actually paid attention to the game and was glad when our own NY Giants proceeded to hand Tom Brady his own ass on a silver platter.
I was even gladder that that jerk (and all around poor sport) New England coach Bill Belichick got served a healthy serving of crow.
But, of course, the highlight of the game was the Budweiser commercial with the poor Clydesdale who didn't make the cut of the current year's team (of horses). To the rousing theme of "Rocky" a friendly Dalmation rose to the occasion and proceeded to devise a training program for the horse which would've done Sly Stallone proud. Needless to say, a year later, the horse made the team.
I loved it. It made me cry.
Oh, yeah, and New York/New Jersey won, too.
TAKE THAT, BOSTON. YOU SCROD MUNCHING JERKS.
But I'm not gloating.