Possum and I were talking about football the other day and, for once, we were in agreement.
Now, neither of us knows much about football, and we each have a few eccentric ideas. Possum says it would be a much more exciting game if they let rats loose during plays and the offense had to catch one before scoring. I suppose he has a point.
I think the uniforms are uniformly awful except for the Saints, who are practically Parisian in slimming black, gold, and fleurs-de-lis. I think it would be a more interesting game if everyone wore basic black, making it a challenge to figure out who was on each team. If the players couldn't easily tell who was an opponent and who was a teammate, football would be a lot more like life. For Possum and me, life is more interesting than football, which is why we want to turn off the Superbowl and watch Downton Abbey at 9, no matter what the score is. Unfortunately, my husband disagrees. To him, football is better than life.
Both Possum and I are conspiracy theorists and we're betting that Rob Gronkowski doesn't have a high ankle sprain, and that he'll play quite well on Sunday. Bill Belichick is no fool; it's much better to have the other team think you're short on weapons, limping tentatively into the big game. We're surprised he didn't put a walking boot or a temporary cast on everybody. Or send in a fleet of wheelchairs. As Possum notes, Belichick is very good at playing possum during press conferences, looking like a failed embalming experiment and giving canned answers that my husband correctly predicts most of the time. Belichick is as clever as a possum; takes one to know one.
In fact, Possum and I are such conspiracy theorists that we believe Belichick has been keeping Ochocinco under wraps for the whole season so he can suddenly transform from the season's biggest disappointment into Randy Moss. Like I said, Possum and I may not know much about football, but we have good imaginations.