55 is a Speed Limiter

Here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere, the eyes of American football fandom are firmly fixed on the playing this weekend of the most anxiously anticipated gridiron contest of the season. The Colonel refers, of course, to the First Baptist Church of Abbeville Youth versus Adult flag football game.

And, unlike the other big game this weekend, the Y v. A tilt will take place where football began--on grass (or a muddy, brown facsimile thereof). Outdoors.

No glitz. No glamour. All Glory.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda has agreed that, to protect his fragile ego, the Colonel may start the game Saturday morning--with the proviso that she reserves the right to bench the Colonel at any moment, to include immediately after kick-off, in order protect his even more fragile body.

There was a time, long ago in the halcyon days of his youth, that the sight of a tightly spiralling football arcing to a point in space and time soon to be occupied by the Colonel's hands focused his attention and quickened his anticipatory heartbeat like nothing else, save the sight of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda.

Nowadays, the Colonel gets all the heartbeat quickening he can stand just climbing a flight of stairs.

There was a time, long ago in the halcyon days of his youth, that, given a step in the clear, the Colonel's jets could zoom him upfield at the speed of heat; defenders strewn in his wake.

These days, the Colonel has a hard enough time generating enough forward motion to outrace an odor.

In all likelihood, the flat-belly playing quarterback for the adults will look for other flat-bellies to whom to pass the football. That's probably a good thing. The Colonel embarrasses himself regularly enough without assistance.