Truth is, I couldn’t quite join the torrid love affair America had with Peyton Manning.
For me, he was an average-looking guy, who could sling the pigskin with big feet.
Don’t roll your eyes, you have noticed them too. They are quite… large.
I slightly remember his days at Tennessee (Good ‘ol Rocky Top -woooo- Rocky Top Tenn-ah-Seeeee!) A fight song never grows old in my little mind.
Another little reason why I adore the college ball of foot. Now you know the torrid love affair I’m in *wink*
It’s been a pleasure watching Mr Manning in the hunt for his second Lombardi, which the Denver D so nicely gave, I mean so nicely won, for him nearly a month ago.
One thing is for certain, Manning knows how to be a man.
I wiped a little tear after the man paused to shed a few himself during his presser last week. What America witnessed, or heard was pure class. A REAL man. Cheers.
However, some of the nouveau riche can’t quite handle the essence of the gentle-man.
Brockie Boy my latest character in this little blog, is demonstrating size doesn’t always matter dear hearts. All six-foot eight inches of him.
It’s simple really, he’s taking his ball and crying… right into the arms of the Texans. The big Tex-ass daddy told him, it’s gonna be ok.
Is this a NFL QB, or my dear friend rebounding from her latest little realtionsh… it?
Cheers to when someone makes a fantastic move, in football, business or otherwise. Obviously this was a silly move in the name of money, not building a reputation. A move that makes me feel like pouring one neat, and cheering to a name wasted. (hint, that’s to you Brockie Boy)
One thing is for certain, I will miss the sweet sounds of OMAHA! OMAHA! this upcoming season.
-the femme weeps into the LA sunset-