You seasoned our kitchen furniture.
You were a canine economic stimulus package to the shoe and underwear industries.
You learned how to potty outside, but had the canine sense to realize it was optional.
You brought out the pup in Kipper and the soft-side in us.
A belly rub was always in store any time you rolled on your back.
You gave me an excuse to sing and brought me joy on our winter evening walks.
You were the puppy of the house--a dog's Huck Finn.
And even though our carpet's a little cleaner, I miss you, pup.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Up From the Depths: A Tale of Football Depression
It's been nearly a week and two days since the Colts lost to the San Diego Chargers in the opening round of the AFC PlayOffs. I haven't watched much news or read many newspaper articles, outside a couple of Bob Kravitz columns in The Star. I haven't listened to sports talk radio one single time. I am just now able to reflect on what was and what could have been. This article is my therapy.
Seven straight years of playoff appearances. A couple of AFC Championship heartbreaks. A glorious Super Bowl. And a few too many 1st round exits, this being the latest. This one seemed to hurt more than others.
When Darren Sproles ran the overtime touchdown into the Colts end zone and those referee's arms went up parallel, I just sat there and stared, trying to be a good host and wish farewell to my friends who cheered on the Colts with me that evening, but my half-hearted smile was false, and my heart was dull. Zombie-like, I ambled through the house, going through the motions of getting ready for bed, needing solace, but craving solitude. Go to sleep, and maybe it will have been a dream.
This one hurt a little more. With no particular tier of importance, let me explain why.
The Coach. Tony Dungy is an honorable man. He will leave football and work for the good of those less fortunate. Today, that was confirmed. But I had the feeling this was it. I wanted a storybook ending. A second Super Bowl ring earned from a game played, with poetic justice, in Tampa, Florida.
The Wide Receiver. Marvin Harrison is legendary. He is a 1st round ballot Hall of Famer someday. The past 2 seasons have been tough. Chances are, he won't be a Colt next season. A championship would have lightened these hard realities.
The Quarterback. Peyton Manning. Who works harder? A rocky beginning of the season after two knee surgeries to a 9 game winning streak and League MVP. Boy did I want that Lombardi Trophy to accompany the personal accolades.
San Diego. The Chargers. Two years in a row, they've knocked out the Colts. It's a little too reminiscient of New England, without the titles.
Pride. I identify the Colts with where I live. I want Indianapolis to be a dynasty. I suffered through the lean years in the nineties, and became a fan. I pay for season tickets. I invest money, high blood pressure, and time with my buddy I'd never trade. It's an experience. I've tasted the pinnacle, and it was sweet.
Before you write this off as drivel, let me say something. I am very lucky. I am lucky because things in my life are good enough to be able to worry about a professional sports team. But I'd be lying if I said the spring in my step hasn't been absent this past week.
Colts blue for all the wrong reasons.
Seven straight years of playoff appearances. A couple of AFC Championship heartbreaks. A glorious Super Bowl. And a few too many 1st round exits, this being the latest. This one seemed to hurt more than others.
When Darren Sproles ran the overtime touchdown into the Colts end zone and those referee's arms went up parallel, I just sat there and stared, trying to be a good host and wish farewell to my friends who cheered on the Colts with me that evening, but my half-hearted smile was false, and my heart was dull. Zombie-like, I ambled through the house, going through the motions of getting ready for bed, needing solace, but craving solitude. Go to sleep, and maybe it will have been a dream.
This one hurt a little more. With no particular tier of importance, let me explain why.
The Coach. Tony Dungy is an honorable man. He will leave football and work for the good of those less fortunate. Today, that was confirmed. But I had the feeling this was it. I wanted a storybook ending. A second Super Bowl ring earned from a game played, with poetic justice, in Tampa, Florida.
The Wide Receiver. Marvin Harrison is legendary. He is a 1st round ballot Hall of Famer someday. The past 2 seasons have been tough. Chances are, he won't be a Colt next season. A championship would have lightened these hard realities.
The Quarterback. Peyton Manning. Who works harder? A rocky beginning of the season after two knee surgeries to a 9 game winning streak and League MVP. Boy did I want that Lombardi Trophy to accompany the personal accolades.
San Diego. The Chargers. Two years in a row, they've knocked out the Colts. It's a little too reminiscient of New England, without the titles.
Pride. I identify the Colts with where I live. I want Indianapolis to be a dynasty. I suffered through the lean years in the nineties, and became a fan. I pay for season tickets. I invest money, high blood pressure, and time with my buddy I'd never trade. It's an experience. I've tasted the pinnacle, and it was sweet.
Before you write this off as drivel, let me say something. I am very lucky. I am lucky because things in my life are good enough to be able to worry about a professional sports team. But I'd be lying if I said the spring in my step hasn't been absent this past week.
Colts blue for all the wrong reasons.
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