Weekends aren’t for weaklings
That’s mostly a joke. Pretty much they are. My Saturdays in the fall are exactly made up for weaklings. I wake up, do a little around the house, try to write, and then watch a bunch of big, strong men hit each other for 4 hours in the background while I do whatever my weekend requires me to do.
Pretty weak, I guess. But, then, I assure you, I would be out there playing if they’d have me. I mean, I’m still fairly young. I could do it. Play me coach, I’m good!
It does leave one wondering… if this is what so many of us spend our time on (as we get fatter, sitting in our easy chairs, eating chips and dip… (Rebecca, put dip on the list), drinking carbonated (or fermented) beverages), imagine if we did all get out and play. Maybe I need to look into that. I remember glorious Sundays in college, playing football in the mud, getting hit by Luke, who was faster and stronger than most of the rest of us. Those were good days. Those were weekends that weren’t for weaklings.
