Shootin' the Breeze

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Archive for the tag “Broncos”

Name Game

My mother-in-law is a pretty nice lady, but today I am ashamed of her.  I am so ashamed that I hesitate to publish on the internet the gravity of her sin.  Grave sin!  (What other kind is there? Oh, venial and mortal.  Well, this is clearly not venial, so there you have it.)

Now that I have your attention, I will explain my shame and put to an end further speculation.  What is so unpardonable?  I will tell you and you will be equally repulsed if you are a true American.  If you are not a true American, you might not be repulsed.  Or, you might just be a girl.

My wife Sugar is just a girl, yet she handled her mother’s sinful remark (which I am about to get to) in a manner that validated my involvement with the National Football League.  At least some of my investment of time has rubbed off on Sugar.

Ginger, who claims to be Sugar’s mother, learned from Sugar the Facebook news that a cousin of Sugar had a baby and that these parents named the baby Peyton.  So far so good.  Then Ginger said what caused me to lose all respect for her.

Ginger said, “I have never heard of naming a little boy Peyton.”

Thankfully, Sugar informed her that Archie Manning and his wife named one of their sons Peyton.  You can look it up!  It is true!

I hasten to speculate that in Indianapolis, in every classroom of thirty kids, at least five of them are named Peyton.  In Colorado, every boy born in the past two years has been named Peyton, with very few exceptions.

I am thinking of changing my name to Peyton.  I am trying to convince my brother, Johnny Unitas, to change his name to Eli.

Football Season

What is the proper number of football games to watch in a given weekend?

I am trying to live a balanced life, so I pose this question to the people of America, seeking guidance.

Watching no games is un-American and unmanly.  Watching too many games could be deemed by one’s female wife as being an unhealthy waste of time.

Failing to watch televised games of teams to which one owes a duty of loyalty probably borders on immorality.  For example, my father-in-law lives in Texas, in the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex.  Therefore, if the Cowboys are playing and I call to talk about the game at half-time, it is important that we have both been watching the game.  On one occasion in the past, my mother-in-law told me that she had to call him to come to the phone because he was outside filling the birdfeeders.  She might as well have told me that he was crocheting doilies and could not be disturbed.  Since that incident, I have frequently called in advance of Cowboy games in order to ensure that said father-in-law is aware of his obligation to watch.  I don’t want to hear that he got beat up by his neighbors when they asked if he saw the game and he did not know the score.  It is important to fit in with the other men who live in America.

Similarly, when the Broncos are playing, I like to get calls from kindred spirits.  This past Thursday, the Broncos played the Ravens.  My good friend Kirk, who lives in Wisconsin, appropriately called during the game.  Today the Packers are playing the Forty-Niners.  It is half-time.  They are tied 14-14.  I reciprocated by calling Kirk so that he knows that I am watching the Packers, out of respect for him.

The examples that I have used are about NFL teams.  The same principles apply to college football.  Those games are played on Saturdays and there are more teams.  Last week Nebraska played Wyoming in Lincoln.  My friend Tom, who is on the faculty of the University of Nebraska, actually attended the game.  Therefore, I was obligated to call him the next day to ask about the game.  It was fitting and proper that I do this.

Obviously, if one actually attends a game, that pretty much prevents watching other games on the same day.  However, if one is employing the magic of television, there really is no excuse to fail to watch all games involving one’s favorite teams.  I have explained to my wife, Sugar, that I have approximately twenty favorite teams.  It is a huge responsibility to monitor each of them, but it has to be done.

In addition, I am competing in Yahoo Sports College Pick Em.  Therefore, I must, in advance of each game, select not only the winner, but beat the point spread.  Even without betting money, my man card is at stake.

Sugar does not fully grasp the importance of football.  She is, after all, just a girl.  Her friends and relatives never ask her if she saw, or validate whether she is presently watching, a particular game, with the possible exception of being asked if she saw the half-time show for the Super Bowl.  That lack of accountability frees her up to pursue other activities.

She has got it easy.

OOOPS — half-time is over.  I have to get back to the Packers game in case Kirk calls me later.

The Serpent and Other Dangers

Company Name - 17685 U.S. HWY 287 Livermore, Colorado

Sugar only saw one rattlesnake this summer.  For her, that was one too many.

Now that I have your attention, allow me to share with you a true tale of adventures and misdeeds, punished and unpunished.

There are actual forks in the road and there are choices in life concerning which moral path to take.  Read on about the paths of both types which I have taken in a single day and the consequences thereof.

Today, I hauled some trash to the dump, I mean, to the sanitary landfill.  I had put some old tires and an old grill and other actual trash in a seldom-used stock trailer.  As a romantic husband, I invited Sugar to come with me to the dump, but she was not in the mood for a date such as that.  So I went by myself.

At the dump, they charge by weight and charge extra for tires.  The lady at the entrance counted six tires amidst the other stuff.  I had loaded the trailer so long ago that I did not know how many there were, for which the disposal fee is $4.00 per tire. So, the truck and trailer were weighed on a scale going in, I was given a tag, and then the truck and trailer were weighed again going out.  Maybe they are worried that I might be sneaking some trash out.  But, get a load of this — when I unloaded, I counted ten tires, so I told the lady at the exit gate and paid another $16.  What a good boy am I!  Well, not always.

On the way to and fro, I took back roads because the license plate on the trailer expired in 2007.  As a member of the Rural Land Use Board, it would be embarrassing for my political career for a man in my powerful position to be found violating the law.  So I was real sneaky.  (You are thinking — Is publishing a blog about criminal activity being sneaky?)  Well, Concerned Readers, there is no need or benefit for me to continue being sneaky because the cat is out of the bag already and my violation is a matter of public record.  Sin has been exposed to the light of day already, so why not be exposed on the internet too?

Temptation altered the outcome of what otherwise appeared to be the perfect crime.  On the way home, I did not stay on the back roads all the way but risked traveling on the highway for just a few miles because I wanted to stop at The Forks, a convenience store/bar which is less than two miles from home, appropriately located at a fork in the road.  I stopped to get a treat.  I deserved it.  I got an ice cream cone because I need to keep my weight up during football season in case the Broncos need me.  I am a free agent, you see, not having been selected for the 53 man roster, just like Tim Tebow and many other fine players who are still available.  It is just a matter of waiting for a phone call from the Broncos or perhaps desperate calls from other teams.

It turned out to be an expensive cone.  There was a State Patrol officer/tattletale who was parked behind a motor home in the parking lot of The Forks.  Now that is sneaky!  What a snake!

I hoped the officer was just focused on catching speeders.  He had his radar gun out.  I calmly ate my cone on the porch, exuding feigned innocence, and was pleased to see the patrolman eventually leave The Forks.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  I had finished the cone.  Now for my get-away.

My truck and trailer were pointed in a direction that made it easier for me to go out a different way than I came in.  It takes some room to turn the whole rig around and I was worried about hitting something if I tried to back all the way out of the parking lot.  So, I exited in violation of the sign that said “no left turn” because, duh, the ranch is left of The Forks when facing the direction of that exit.

The suspense is building.  You astute readers are guessing that the officer of the law saw my illegal exiting maneuver.  Wrong!  I got off scot-free.  Again.

I drove up the highway less than a mile.  That is all the further my road is from The Forks.  I dutifully turned on my right-hand turn signal, slowed and turned.  What to my wondering eyes did appear, but the State Patrol car parked to the side of my very own road, a mere mile from home.

He had set up another speed trap.  I still believed that I was going to make it okay.   He was looking for speeders.  Surely he would not crane his neck to check out the rear license plate on the trailer when I passed him.  We were, after all, facing opposite directions.  As I chuckled to myself, the officer turned his car around, away from the highway, and headed toward our ranch.  He followed me.  He turned on his lights.  I quit chuckling.  Four hundred yards from our lane, I pulled over.  I waited for the patrolman to approach the driver’s side window of my vehicle.

“It is hard to miss those expired plates on the trailer,” he explained.  (You see, the Department of Motor Vehicles cleverly issues different colors for different years.)  I did not try to pull the “Do you know who I am?” card, like Reese Witherspoon did recently.  Since the officer did not recognize my famous face or name, I just let him treat me as if I am a member of the general public.  I was polite and respectful.   I was fake.  I was phony.  I was ashamed to hear myself saying, “Thank you, Officer.”  Thanks for what?

He gave me a ticket for $95.00.  Expensive cone.

But the joke is on him.  He did not notice that the brakes and signal lights on the trailer don’t work.

When I got home and was unhitching the trailer from the truck, I spied a snake in the grass, literally and factually.  I was not in the mood to live and let live.  It was him or me.  Maybe it was her or me.  It was it or me.

Jesus crushed the head of the serpent with his heel, but I am not in his league, so I am not above using tools for safety reasons.

Having just been to The Forks, I had an idea.  I calmly went to the barn, got a pitchFORK, and skillfully stabbed the serpent right behind the head from which his/her/its forked tongue emerged.  Now I feel better.

And to you snake-lovers out there — get over it!  Save the whales instead.

The front of The Forks 287

(I Will Deny the Tweets That) I Won’t Sign With The Jets

Those of you who are professional football fans are already aware that the New York Jets are looking to trade Tim Tebow.  I hear there are conversations among some of the teams while owners and general managers are hanging out at the National Football League Scouting Combine.  As I have mentioned in a previous blog, I was not invited to attend the combine as a potential player.  Well, I am not a team owner, scout, coach, general manager, or V.P. for Personnel either, so I stayed home.

Now I am concerned that they are talking behind my back.  No one has tweeted me about it, yet I have a funny feeling that I just might be the subject of some wheeling and dealing.  As I wrote a couple days ago, I have been blessed with the perfect dimensions for an NFL linebacker — 6’2″, 247 lbs.  What a specimen of manhood!

Now Tim Tebow ain’t too bad himself.  He has great athletic ability.  He won a  Heisman and two national championships in college.  Nevertheless,  he has had some trouble finding a spot as a quarterback.  He tries really hard.  Still, the NFL is a tough place to get a job.  Some of us have it, some of us don’t.  (That is merely a figure of speech, of course.  I am not actually including myself in the part about “some of us don’t.”  I just like to sound modest.)

I hope some team is not planning to draft me as a linebacker just to position themselves to trade me to the Jets for Tebow.  Therefore, in fairness to all, I am taking this opportunity to declare one of the terms of my future contract.  That is, I have geographical demands.  Feel free to tell the world via your Twitter accounts.  You may have the sports news scoop of the day.  The following inside information is hereby being leaked to the sports media, then I will deny it.

I might be limiting my draft value by saying this, but I will refuse to sign with the Jets.  I don’t want to be coached by Rex Ryan, for one thing, but the real reason is that I have livestock to care for here in Colorado.  I am willing to commute to Bronco headquarters at Dove Valley during the season.  I understand that there will be occasional overnights for away games.  I can make arrangements for those times.  But I can’t go back and forth to New York every day.  Realistically, the Denver Broncos are the only team I want to play for.

Sure, there are teams located in many nice cities.  I don’t want to offend anyone.  I just am trying to be practical and realistic.  I trust that this announcement will be appreciated as it is intended to save the other 31 teams from futile attempts to draft me or trade for me or sign me as a free agent.  Then again, if they offer me a real good deal….

It might hurt me to have slightly tipped my hand.  I want to be honest with the other owners.  I will simply await getting that call from Mr. Bowlen, the owner of the Broncos.  Don’t tell him I said so, but I would probably sign for the league minimum if he throws in a Ford F250 King Ranch diesel pickup.  (I got that idea from Walt Garrison, who negotiated a horse trailer as part of his signing bonus.)  See link below.

Name Change

I’ve been thinking about changing my name to Peyton Manning.  I like Peyton Manning.  I admire Peyton Manning.  Everyone does.  If I share his name, maybe everyone will like me.  People will return my calls.  Who wouldn’t return a call from Peyton Manning?

Of course, folks will be disappointed when they have to talk to me instead of the Bronco quarterback.  That is why I need to practice imitating his voice and manner of speaking in order to keep up the ruse. 

Don’t ask me for tickets to the game.  However, I will be glad to come talk to your Optimist Club.  I’ll tell you a little something about my life and have a free lunch.

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