THE HEATHEN HOUR

Years ago Dalton declared Sunday mornings as The heathen hour. This is because you can wander the mall, go shopping at farmers markets or get your hair did without The faithful stopping in the middle of your path to stoop over and tie the laces of their crying rug rat. During the heathen hour you can freely go about your tasks free of screams that can only be generated by small children wanting to suck the life out of everyone near them. When a screeching child starts its fever pitch battle cry is right around the time I suggest to the parent that if you shake the little bag of snot really hard it will stop making that noise.

I bring this up because Super bowl Sunday is like the heathen hour all day long. Going anywhere on this holiday for the unfootballed is probably like going to the movies on the 25th of December for non-gentiles.


I'll give you a tight end.



Saturday it snowed a couple of inches and knowing it would be impossible to find running paths I headed to the gym yesterday. Part of every warm up is waiting for a treadmill to open up, surprisingly there wasn’t a single person on the treadmills. Praise to Jesus and the NFL.

Even after one of my fellow cardio enthusiasts sized me up with my Under Armour cap and shorts and switched the TV in front of me from the Food Network to the Live Coverage from Dallas Pre-Pre-Pre-game show I got my miles completed and headed out to the safe quiet street.

Could be worse, I could be Christina Aguilera right about now.