|All Four Could Deal Some Pain To Me|
I'm 48 years old.
The wing isn't quite as fluid as it was in the Fall of '82 when defensive backs wanted my home address to send me Christmas Cards. In the old days, flinging the pigskin was about as natural as blow-drying my hair.
Things have changed on both of those fronts over the last 30+years (gasp!). The FletcherFro hasn't seen a brush in ages and the last time I had an opportunity to provide picks, a Lousiana Downs tote machine took over $120 worth of bona fide nag's.
So why am I even debating this?
|KING HARDWARE... JULY 4th HQ!!|
GRILLS, ACCESSORIES... EVERYTHING BUT THE MEAT!
I should eat my veggies, keep the sodium levels down, enjoy a glass of wine to keep the heart happy and watch some branch of CSI, right?
|Don't Try This Tonight, Fletcher. Knit Caps Look Like Beanies On Your Giant Head|
|Can I Borrow That Jacket? I'm A Don Cherry Stand-In|
But...what if I can drop in one fade route, over-the-shoulder Touchdown toss to a receiver who is a frog's breath in front of his defender? What if I hit the slot-receiver on a back-shoulder throw to keep a game-winning drive alive? What if... I stop asking what if and just go do it?
As long as cold beer awaits the victors and the vanquished, what do I truly have to lose?