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Showing posts with the label Broncos (NFL)

Abel is dedicated in church; Samuel’s exactitude; weather; football; “E-learning”; ICE vs. Minnesotans

We dedicated Abel to the Lord this morning. Samuel and Daniel remained in the adults’ church service. Upon its conclusion, Samuel ran up to the pastor and scolded him for mentioning Duolingo, which is not discussed in the Bible. (The pastor, in his sermon on Acts 2, had joked about Duolingo’s provision of the ability to speak “in tongues.”)

I approve of Samuel’s zeal for the truth.

Yesterday I said “shoes” when I meant “boots,” and Samuel flew off the handle.

“I misspoke,” I acknowledged.

He was not appeased. “You and Mom say too many wrong things.”

“Do you think you speak better than your parents?” I asked him.

He does think so.

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Across the nation it’s cold and blustery. Today I watched the Broncos and Pats fail to advance the ball in a Mile High snowstorm. The Pats survived, 10–7. (I’m not keen on any of the league’s semifinalists. The Broncos, Pats, Rams, and Seahawks all have terrible uniforms. Their uniforms were better in the early 1990s.)

It was cold enough on Friday that Samuel was kept home. He attended an “E-learning” session with his teacher and four other students who logged in. Daniel viewed the lesson, too, and greatly enjoyed it. He and Samuel fought on camera. Samuel must do “E-learning” again tomorrow. Karin has urged me to send Daniel to the basement to watch TV.

It has been cold in Minnesota, too, and much sadder. ICE agents murdered another civilian yesterday; at least, the videos sure make it look like murder. As awful as each attack has been, a certain implication is worse: that it could happen to anyone. (To any ordinary person, that is; those who live in gated communities probably are safe.) Even non-protestors have been attacked, people simply traveling from A to B.

If the perpetrators intend to terrify, then what they’re doing in Minnesota is terrorism. And maybe even if they don’t intend it.

A past blast; a chill spill

Anticipating next month’s Super Bowl, I watched the title game of the NFL’s 1985/’86 season (Super Bowl XX). Despite its violence, it was a tedious contest. It felt like a walkthrough for the Bears. They led the Patriots 23–3 by halftime and 44–3 by the end of the third quarter. In the fourth quarter, they brought in their reserves, one of whom forced a safety. The final score was 46–10.

Four Super Bowls later, the 49ers beat the Broncos, 56–10. I’ve also viewed sections of that historic snoozer. I think the Bears were more dominant in their Super Bowl victory.

Moreover, they had some real freaks: Gault, the speedster; Perry, the giant; a relentless defensive line; an intelligent, hard-hitting defensive backfield; McMahon, with his cannonlike arm and fiery temper; and Payton, the running back who, more than anyone else on the field, liked to hit. Back then, tacklers were allowed to strike with their heads; downfield blockers routinely aimed below the knee; and, of course, there were fewer protections for receivers and quarterbacks. The punishment meted out to Steve Grogan, the Patriots’ backup quarterback, shocked my modern sensibility. (Grogan actually played well, I thought.)

One thing I know about the ’85/’86 Bears is, those guys went on to live in a world of pain.

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I myself am in a world of pain this evening. Walking home from work, I took a longish route to avoid the worst ice patches, but just a few yards from my building, I fell and badly sprained my ankle. It crunched like when a bicycle changes gears.

I lay on the ice for a good ten minutes. Some other tenants stood around the parking lot and ignored me. Finally, a nice, chubby guy came out of his apartment, helped me off the ground, and walked me into my building.

I called Karin and she left her work and took me to get x-rayed. No fractures – just a sprain. But I can’t walk. One of my old pastors lent me a pair of crutches.