Sunday Football

There comes a time in every man's week when it's his time, this time occurs on Sunday. When the tv gets turned on and he tunes out, for about 6 hours nothing matters except scores and highlights, instant replays and penalties, birdies and bogeys. You get the point. This Sunday was a fun one. Kevin and I went up to Mike's house armored with sandwiches, chips, beer and a jug of Carlo Rossi (the finest of shitty wines). After a number of cocktails Kevin passed out, not unusual for older men. We only let him lay there for a quick nap and then made him rise and drink once again. I battled boldy against Carlo.

Mike had four tv's set up in a sort of sports bar arrangement and we did not miss a minute of action. At the end of the day we went down to Shaka's Pizza for yes, another sandwich, and devoured them with a manly, drunken passion. The day was complete. Then we walked in the door to see our roommate Judah on the couch, see the pic.

We had our day, we had our "man time" and it was glorious.