On Chocolate Chip Pancakes and the last Day of Football. 02/06/26

John is an artist. I am not, unless you consider writing an art. So when I showed him a picture of the Mickey Mouse pancakes I made for my granddaughter, he laughed and told me it looked more french toast than Disney. The secret he said was to pour the ears over the circle you use for the face. This way they drip onto the face and look like three separate circles, a face and two ears instead of one continuous piece of pancake that looks like a misshapen square. Sigh. I hate it when he’s right. But this isn’t so much about that as it is about when little kids learn to manipulate. When they become smart enough to know what you’ll approve of and what you’ll disapprove of. Last summer I came home with two grocery bags in my arms. She said, “Grandpa, can you help me put on my bathing suit?” I said, “Sure honey, let me just put these bags down.” By the time I came back, she had her baby sitter putting on her bathing suit. I said, “I thought you asked me to put it on.” She said, “No I didn’t say grandpa, I said glampa.” I put my chin in my hand and said, “I must have misheard you.”

Onto the SuperBowl or, as I call it, the last week of football. After this I go into football mourning, and no these spring leagues like the USFL don’t cut it. The season kind of ends for me with the previous round. Nobody who doesn’t like football watches the NFC and AFC Championship games. But everyone watches the Super Bowl. I have been to my share of Super Bowl parties. Not anymore. Nobody pays attention to the game, and I like to hear the announcer explain the intricacies of the big plays. But John and I can tell you the worst part. It’s people asking you your opinion of the commercials that just aired. It usually begins with, “You’re in advertising. What did you think of that commercial (or this commercial or the next commercial?” And you’re stuck explaining it while the game is back on. When my family and I first moved to the burbs (when we had our first child and our city apartment was no longer big enough), we were invited to a Super Bowl party in a neighboring town. Trouble is, my favorite team, The Giants, were playing in that particular Super Bowl. This time my other SBPP (Super Bowl Pet Peeve) worked in my favor. Halftime all year long is precisely 12 minutes long. In the Super Bowl you’ve got Bad Bunny, or in the past, Eminem or Tom Petty or even Diana Ross and they’re on for at least half an hour if not more. So this time I got up at half-time and said, “Excuse me folks, I’ve got to go.” And was home to watch the second half in blissful silence.

This weekend, my wife and I are inviting one guest, our son (who is as crazy a fan as I am if not more so) and we will watch. There’s even a possibility I’ll pay attention to the commercials.

Have a great weekend and don’t bet too much,

Andy and John