Monday, January 19, 2015

Not a great deal going on; except, perhaps, there are some funny folks in this world.

In a town near me, in another town, a seventy-nine year old woman was robbed at gun point.

And I found myself watching GB throw away a game. Actually, I found myself watching SEA finally wake up and realize they were about to throw away a game and come alive. SEA looked about as dead, going in, as the Broncos looked playing them in the Super Bowl.

Still I won the pick. And find myself wondering why I was so adamant that the Colts would give New England the type of game GB gave SEA.

Well. Maybe not. I usually fret about the wrong things. It’s one of the characteristics of my life. If I fret about it, it isn’t the problem. It’s the things I’m certain of that get me into trouble.

Unless I know for certain they’re wrong – usually through experience.

I’m just a little bit amused by the leaking of air from footballs. The game ball isn’t gauged by the poundage of the air in the ball, but by the balls weight when inflated. They’re suppose to be just under two pounds, I believe.

So, even with the under inflated ball, and with the rain, the Pats could say; “Hey. The ball weights the correct amount. What’s this B.S.?”

Can the NFL really have a double standard for official game balls? Or, have the Pats really found another wrinkle to the rules they can manipulate.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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