$16 Million and The Velcro Number

My husband remarked, to no one in particular, "We just paid $16 million for that guy!" We, meaning our local professional football team. And that guy, being someone who apparently wasn't doing his job last Sunday.

I know it's pre-season but I'm thinking, if my body was worth $16 million, the last thing I'd do is throw it in front of a 300 lb. gorilla.

I don't know how much our much esteemed football team pays for a kicker (I'm guessing less than $16M), but that's my guy. That's the jersey I wear. Last year it was #10, and before that it was #3. (Put those numbers together and you get my birthday.)

I'm worried the kicker's mom isn't in the stands to cheer for them. (I'm worried for all Special Teams but what can one girl do?) I'm worried that no one cheers for them or knows their names. So when #3 was on the team, I had a jersey made with his name and number on it, just like the bigger boys. And after a couple of years of cheering at the top of my lungs every time he ran on the field, he left me. Went to St. Louis. (Wham! Bam! Rams! - the traitor!) I met him. Had my picture taken with him. Worshiped him. And, he left.

I didn't get a #10 jersey which is good becauase he's gone, too.

Now, it's #5. (Go, Jeff!)

Now, I just wear a jersey with a Velcro number.